SOMETHING IS BUGGING MY LEG

On Sunday we took our visiting friend German for a nice long walk in the Forêt Mondah. It's so close to Libreville and yet so magical: a two-hour hike in the forest, which ends with a beautiful, deserted beach, perfect for rest and picnic before going back. Giggling silently at German's doubts about what to apply first - sunscreen or anti-mosquito spray - I packed my backpack, an experienced tropical hiker myself, grabbed the usual shorts, T-shirt and headscarf, and off we went.

We enjoyed the walk and got home safely. When I was getting out of the car, however, I noticed that I had a mysterious bite on the inner side of my thigh, right above the knee. It was rather big (five centimetres in diameter easily), red and swollen but, apart from taking my usual anti-histamine Zyrtec, I ignored it, as there was not much I could do.

On checking my leg the following morning, I was shocked to see that the bite had grown twice its original size overnight. It was now huge, red, swollen and amputation seemed the only solution. Wondering how I would teach Head Shoulders Knees and Toes next term with only one leg, I made our poor friend (who, by the way, having rightly ignored my giggling, came home without a single bite!) examine my thigh every twenty minutes, thus intimating much more than was appropriate and dangerously stretching the limits of our friendly relationship. When Jandro got home for lunch, the boys decided it was time to show the thing to a doctor. Especially as it wouldn't stop growing!

I dutifully went chez le medecin, who gave me a tired You again? look. I explained my problem and he told me to show him the thing, the sight of which instantly made him abandon the usual apathy. Wow, that's huge!, he said animatedly. Huge! Impressionnant! He gave me an injection which hurt a lot, and two other strong anti-histamine drugs to take at home. I am supposed to rest.

What bit me? Funny thing is, I've no idea, as I didn't feel a thing. Probably a spider, and a vicious one, too. Venomous bite, the somewhat vague diagnose was. And again a useful conclusion: Always, always put on long trousers in the forest. Even this close to Libreville.

A HELICOPTER WOULD BE NICE

I am a CEDOC veteran. Last September I fought for my carte de séjour. Then I managed to get a visa de sortie. Twice. I've spent several hours queuing on a hard wooden bench, I've been patronized, proposed to and then patronized some more. I left enourmous amounts of money there. So nothing will surprise me about the place anymore. Or will it? Last week we went over to the magnificent offices to apply for another visa the sortie and to find out that I was wrong - I should never have taken success at CEDOC for granted. My arrogance was punished once more.

To get out of the country you need a visa. To get the visa you need the application form, two photos, a copy of your passport, a copy of your residence permit and proof that you paid the fee (60 000 CFA, 90 euros), which is issued by the CEDOC cash register lady, who always seems to be on the phone. I had my documents, I had my money, I was expecting nothing but big success. Cocky, far too cocky.

On entering the office, we noticed that all the employees were sucking on lollipops. So far so good, I thought, it must be somebody's birthday. As soon as I said down to talk to one of the gentlemen, a lollipop sticking out of his mouth, sucky noises instead of Bonjour, I was confronted with a question I could not understand. I asked him to repeat several times and finally it dawned upon me that I'm one document short. The gentleman was kind enough to explain that I needed to run (quickly) to the Trésor Public office and pay an additional fee of 2000 CFA (3 euros!), where I would get a receipt, vital for the issuing of the visa. Of course, the Trésor is right on the other side of the city, and, quick as I am, all running within the opening hours of both institutions was out of the question. We left the place as most people do, sulking. Once again, CEDOC had won the battle.

Luckily, the story has a happy ending. Three days after the fiasco, I managed to pay a visit at the Trésor. Armed in the receipt and determination, I came back to the visa office and, unless they lose my passport, I will be able to visit my Mom and Dad this summer. What did I learn? A helicopter would be nice.

Picture downloaded here.

A VIRTUAL TOUR OF THE MUSEUM - PART 1

As you know, some time ago we visited Libreville's only museum, the museum of arts and traditions, which has just re-opened. Today, using my illegal photos which I stubbornly refused to erase, I would like to take you on a tour around the exhibition of Gabonese masks.

Ezengi or Jengi, the Spirit of the Forest (from Woleu-Ntem)

It is made of branches and covered in dry raffia. This abstract mask represents good luck. It has a propitiatory function and is used in such circumstances as the ritual before elephant hunt or the ritual of blessing before going hunting.





Mungala or Mongondo, the Alert (from Ogooué-Ivindo)

The mask is shaped as a turtle or sky. It is made of branches, covered with raffia fabric and genet skin; it is painted in red and black. This mask is used in the male initiation ritual, in the circumsicion ritual or after twins' birth. Moreover, it has the function of warning women and children of social danger in which improper conduct might result.




Bodi or Pove (from Ogooué-Lolo)

The mask is made of branches, dry raffia, fabric and eagle feathers. It is an initiation mask, used for funeral ceremonies or at the end of mourning. It protects the little ones and so women offer their children to Bodi, in order to ensure they have enough energy and livelihood.





Emboli, the Burden (from Ogooué-Ivindo)

It is half-human half-animal, made of wood and raffia, and painted in red, white and black. It protects the village against evil spirits and is used when twins are born or die and during circumcision rituals.





Mbudi, Mvudi or Mukuyi, the Ghost (from Ogooué-Lolo)

This anthropomorphic mask is made of wood, animal skin and raffia fabric. It represents the spirit of an ancestor who comes back to the world of the living. Mbudi comes out from Likogha, the sacred part of the forest, when twins are born or die, when there is a trial (to dispense justice) and during the blessing of the village.




Okuyi or Okukwe, the Big Boss (from Moyen Ogooué)

It is made of painted wood, raffia, genet skin and badamier branches. It is an anthropomorphic mask used in the rite of passage from boyhood to manhood. Also, it may be seen during the funeral of an important person, rituals related to birth or death of twins and problems of justice.


All the information is a direct translation from the museum's information panels. If you can spot any mistakes, please let me know!

WHERE COLD IS A CONCEPT

Not long ago, we took part in a boys' night out with some Gabonese friends. Of course, the initial idea was to go out for a drink with just one of them, but we ended up meeting a dozen and, more importantly, all of them men. I inquired if we were expecting female company, but, apparently, the ones who had girlfriends had left them at home in order to have some real guy fun. I was allowed to tag along because I was accompanied by my boyfriend and also because they simply couldn't tell me to leave. Ok then, I thought, used to unexpected twists by now. Boys' night out it is.

The undeniable advantage of such an arrangement was that we would visit typically Gabonese places, where, if unaccompanied by the African troop, we might be looked at in a strange way. On entering the first bar we did turn a few heads, but were quickly left to ourselves. There was nothing particular about the palce. As in any Gabonese club, music was louder than loud, which reduced my comprehension skills to the very basic. Unabashed, we ventured further in. We sat down at a table in the back and ordered a round of beers. The gentlemen were already discussing their lady problems (girlfriend away, Catholic girlfriend, no girlfriend at all) but I was feeling increasingly uncomfortable. Is it the conversation?, I asked myself. No. Is it being the only whites in the place? No. Am I tired? Still no. My eyes wandered up and momentarily focused on the air-conditioning unit hanging on wall. Eighteen degrees. I realised instantly, that I was freezing cold, frantically wrapping myself in the only warm garment I had on me - the shawl I'd brought for decoration more than anything else (God bless female vanity!).

Soon enough it turned out that our friend knew the owner of the fridge - er, bar - and we even got introduced. Here's my chance at making things right!, I thought and asked him why it was so cold. I frankly told him I was freezing and if he didn't start serving hot chocolate and distributing blankets, we would leave very soon. The answer was unexpected. This is the coldest bar in Libreville, said the proud owner, grinning. The cold is a concept. I cannot raise the temperature. As if his reputation depended on it.

Clearly, we left as soon as we'd finished our beers, more certain than ever that the Gabonese are crazy about cold. They make sure they set the air-conditioning to ridiculously low temperatures, of which they are apparently proud. They wear sweaters throughout dry season (twenty-five degrees!). They jog covered from head to toe in waterproof suits to sweat better. And me? I keep forgetting to grab a sweater when I head for a public institution.

THE END OF AN ERA

A year and a day ago, on 8th June 2009, Omar Bongo Ondimba, the former president of Gabon, died in Barcelona. Some people say that he had died up to a month before that day, others gossip that while he was dying, his family was on a shopping spree in the most expensive boutiques in the city. Regardless of the details, it was this date, 8th June 2009, that marked the history of modern Gabon. On this day the country lost its Papa Omar, who had ruled for 41 subsequent years. Things were about to change for ever.

Today the city is covered in posters. There is hardly a hoarding board or a street lamp which is not decorated with a picture of Omar. Omar shaking hands with Jaques Chirac, Omar patting Kofi Annan on the back, Omar being patted by the Pope, Omar sitting sheepishly next to Michael Jackson... The minute president (he was indeed incredibly short!) is everywhere, and so are his overpowering quotes (L'inérêt de la nation passera toujours avant celui de tel ou tel, quelle que soit sa place...). Gabon remembers. We half-expected yesterday would be a holiday.

On every step we are thus reminded that Omar is no longer with us. The inevitable question comes to mind: And..? What has changed? Not much, it seems. Following some skirmish with the opposition, Ali Bongo was elected president - just as planned, no surprises (I must admit it seems slightly less ridiculous now that Poland has a twin running for president after his brother's death). After he became the country's new democratic leader, Ali'9, as he was called throughout his campaign, introduced some small popular adjustments, such as the continous work day or cuts in the number of civil servants. However, normal people have felt no difference. The roads still need some serious travaux. The Gabonese are in great need of decent hospitals. Schools are still terribly crowded (apparently, there may be even 100 students in class!). There are still more civil servants' salaries paid every month than there are civil servants (which simply means some salaries are doubled... or tripled). Some people still have champagne while others make do with palm wine. And I still need a visa de sortie to go home in July (90 euros). Same old, same old.

Papa Omar's death definitely spelled the end of an era. Too bad we are still waiting for the new era to begin.

More pictures here.

ARTS AND TRADITIONS

Saturday was a grey rainy day. Bored, we decided to get some bad coffee downtown. On our way out of the café we noticed something infinitely puzzling. Apparently, the Museum of Arts and Traditions, closed for the past three years, has re-opened! We rushed towards it and saw at least a dozen people wearing identical T-shirts with a collection of Gabonese masks. They must have been museum employees and their number suggested a very promising visit: the museum, located in a huge modern building, looked grand indeed. We were not stopped by anyone. On the contrary, we were actually encouraged to go in and, our curiousity rising, we did.

On entering the museum, we realised it consisted of a single room, and not a very big one, either. There was a big poster with some information on Gabonese masks and eight (eight!) masks described in more detail. This was accompanied by a few musical instruments, brief info on the materials masks are made of and a video presentation of a traditional dance with the use of masks (all chairs taken by some tired Gabonese who seemed to have spent their whole afternoon watching the video).

Despite the obvious scarcity of exhibits, we were not discouraged. As no catalogue was available, and by happy conincidence I had my camera with me, I started taking pictures of the masks and the information posters, to give you a blog tour of them later. When I was about to take my last picture, a big lady sporting the above mentioned T-shirt came running and, with anger worth a better cause, started shouting at me.

- It is strictly forbidden!
- Oh, I'm sorry, Madam, there is no sign informing that I can't take pictures.
- It is strictly forbidden! C'est pas bon!
- But why, Madam? I was not using flash.
- It is strictly forbidden! C'est pas bon! You must erase them!
I started "erasing" my illegal pictures, as she kept repeating I had to do it. Of course, I didn't really get rid of them, as I saw no real need for that. In the meantime, Jandro joined the conversation.
- Can we get a catalogue, then, Madam?
- No! It will come out! But we sell these T-shirts (she proudly pointed to her chest).

The conversation with the helpful lady did not end there, however. I was too curious to let go now. Pointing to one of the posters, I asked why it said that the exhibition had been open since 29th January if the museum had only opened a few days before. She managed to confuse me by the following answer: It was open but not to the public and now it's open to everybody so they can see our exhibition. This made me drop the subject. Nevertheless, as the poster informed that the exhibition would end on 30th June, I asked if they had an idea for the next one. Oh... We've just opened. We'll leave this exhibition till September, October... No, no idea yet. But we have a lot of good exhibits. I said nothing but I couldn't help thinking that yes, they had had a lot of great exhibits, before the French took them away to save them because they were rotting in Gabonese warehouses.

On our way out we were told that in a quarter of an hour, at 6, there would be a traditional dance performance. We hanged around until 6:25, when we saw a technician slowly starting to set the lights. We watched his deliberate, studied moves and thought we'd had enough for one afternoon. We went home, bitterly telling ourselves that we had to visit that African museum in Paris.

INTO THE LABYRINTH

Even though most people say that Gabon is lost between Europe (France) and Africa and that it has little to do with real African life, it does not cease to surprise us. Usually it works like this: you see something, you ask yourself: what on earth...?, and then you start looking for an explanation. Sometimes there are more experienced expatriates to help you, sometimes you must figure it out on your own. Here are some of the Gabonese mysteries that we managed to solve.

Problem 1 - Why do most Gabonese people have two mobile phones?
Description: I don't just mean the rich. The majority of Libreville boasts two mobiles! The European solution is simple: one mobile for professional and the other for private contacts. But then you look around and a very relevant question comes to mind: why would a waitress or a coconut vendor need two mobiles?
Solution: There are two main mobile phone networks in Gabon: Zain and Libertis. It is very expensive to make phone calls from one network to another. For this reason, most Gabonese people use two numbers and two mobiles: they call their Zain friends from their Zain card, while they have another card for their Libertis contacts. Note: if you have some money and you find the idea of two mobiles uncomfortable, you can invest in a phone which allows two SIM cards simultaneously and has two sets of "call" buttons, so that you can use both cards at the same time. Most likely, these phones only exist in Africa.

Problem 2 - Why do Gabonese women hit themselves on their heads with their palms?
Description: At the restaurant, waiting for a taxi or chatting with a friend, many women suddenly start hitting themselves on the head with an open palm. This act of self-directed violence had us puzzled for a very long time. At first, we thought that it might have been some kind of ethnic social behaviour; in the end, some Gabonese men greet each other by banging their temples together several times. However, women kept acting in this bizzare way even when they were alone. Worse still, it seemed they were applying a lot of force. Were they thinking hard? Were they punishing themselves? For all we knew, they could've been praying!
Solution: When I was told the actual reason for all this, I couldn't stop laughing at its simplicity. There is nothing mystical about it, either. As you probably know, African women wear elaborate hairdos, consisting of dozens of plaits and the like. The plaits are very tight and so the skin on the head might itch or ache. To ease the itching without ruining their plaits, they hit themselves on the head rather than scratch it. Mind you, this only proves that we are equally vain about our looks all over the world!

Problem 3 - Why does every person seem to have a different wrist action for stopping a taxi?
Description: All right, so maybe this is not the most interesting anthropological investigation topic but for some a long time we were really puzzled. In order to stop a passing taxi, some people keep their fists close to their heads and, pointing their thumb left or right, energetically move their wrists. Others will extend their arms and with the index fingers pointing down, move the whole arm. Others still will perform a completely different action. Consequently, we kept wondering if there was a secret code behind all this. And guess what...?, there is.
Solution: Again, the explanation (which I discovered on my own, experimenting) is surprisingly simple. With their thumbs and index fingers people show the taxi driver the direction in which they are going. For example, if I'm standing in front of my house, and want to go to Jandro's office, I should point down with my index finger, which means "straight". In this way, only the taxis that are going my way will stop (saves my time and theirs). If, however, I want to take the first right and go to the gym, I should raise my arm and point right with my thumb, which sends the relevant message to the taximen. Can you believe it took me eight months to figure it out?

Problem 4 - Why are there shoes hanging from cables all over the city?
Description: In many parts of Libreville (especially the quartiers populaires), as well as in villages, we've seen shoes hanging from electric or telephone cables. Sometimes more than just one pair. It instantly made me think of Big Fish; in this film there was a villgage, where the inhabitants' shoes were hanging from cables in the exact same way, preventing them from leaving the place.
Solution: None. I've asked several people and nobody knows. Can you help?

Discovering these little things about Gabon is both fascinating and exhausting. With every new solution new questions appear, a great labyrinth of questions, really. Living in a different culture lets you enter the labyrinth and wonder around it, always knowing, however, that you will never find the exit. You might make a little map and understand parts of it, but you will never see it as a whole. You will keep trying, though, it's the only right thing to do.

Picture downloaded here.

RAINY SEASON IS SUNNY AND DRY SEASON IS COOL

The sun is shining, although it tends to be cloudy, my windows are wide open and I'm sitting on the sofa wearing a T-shirt and shorts. Having one glass of ice water after another, I wonder if you'd guess that here in Libreville the winter has just started.

Equatorial climate is still a bit tricky for me. First of all, to my European eyes, hardly anything changes, which leaves me with the impression that time stands still. To a Polish girl, who's been experiencing four well-defined seasons her whole life, the subtle changes between African dry and wet seasons might easily pass unnoticed. I am, however, doing my best to keep track of them. Today I'd like to give you an idea of what the Gabonese climate is like.

According to what I've read, tropical countries have one dry and one wet season. When it doesn't rain north of the Equator, it rains heavily in the south, and vice versa. Apparently, it depends on the circulation of the atmosphere, but if anybody can provide a more mundane (and accessible) explanation, please do. Right on the Equator, due to the masses of air passing from the southern hemisphere to the north, there are two dry and two wet seasons.

Consequently, it rains from October to December (little wet season) and from February to April (long wet season). During these months the air is terribly humid (nearly 80%), it is hot (average temperature might exceed 30 degrees) and it rains regularly, usually in the evening and at night, with lots of tropical storms. During the rest of the year, Gabon experiences dry season. It lasts from December to January (little dry season, which did not come this year) and from May to September (long dry season, which has just started).

As the only reference I have is Europe, I tend to make funny comparisons. You see, to me dry season feels a bit like autumn. When I see the dead leaves on the ground I want to wrap myself in a shawl. But it's too hot for that. Also, dry season feels a tad like Polish summer. The water in the ocean is cooler, the grass is rather dry and you might have to wear a sweater at night because the temperature will oscillate around 20 degrees. The nearly always grey sky, however, feels like early spring. You wait for the rain to come. Only it never does. Finally, at the end of the long dry season the Gabonese burn their savannah. The burned land looks menacing and deserted. And that feels like winter.

I think it's impossible for me to see the season change through African eyes. I will inevitably look for similarities between my new reality and Europe. Subconsciously, I instantly label what I cannot name. I enjoy the cool spring breeze when I go out, I look at the red autumn leaves on the ground, I take a summer plunge into the ocean and I wonder: how can all this be happening at the same time?