THE WHALE TALE

July and August are the whale season. Whales come to the Gulf of Guinea to mate and, as their mating ritual includes plenty of jumping, it's easy to spot them. We've heard so many stories from people who went on whale trips (we were right next to it! it dived under the boat! it jumped so high!), that we decided it was worth any price. After all, you only live once and who wouldn't want to almost touch a whale? We signed up for the trip.

We set off at 7 am (practical info: the boat leaves from Michel Marine, twice a day) last Saturday. The day was extremely grey and the sea was rather rough but that was nothing in the face of the adventure that was awaiting us. The trip was going to take five whole hours, during which we were bound to see these amazing animals. Or so we thought.

The waves were huge. It was very difficult to stay seated on the little motorboat, which looked rather unimpressive when on the open sea. We were struggling to stay seated, clinging to the benches with all our might, which resulted in blisters on our hands and bruises on our calves. There were also some pretty scary moments when, on leaving the estuary behind, we were surrounded by huge waves, which were throwing the boat around like a toy... But still, we were optimistic: at the very beginning we saw two whales jumping out of the water on the horizon and it was only a matter of finding them. Or so we thought.

We spent five hours looking for the whales, soaked through with the sea water entering the boat but also with rain, suffering from seasickness and with our bottoms painfully hitting the benches on every wave. Five hours without seeing any animal whatsoever, apart from a stray seagull which was looking at with - I swear! - pure malice. The whales were probably right below us, laughing their heads off (or whatever it is that the whales laugh off) at our bad luck.

The most painful part, however, was not the boat ride, believe me. The trip cost us 50000 francs per person (mere 75 euro), which we had to pay for what proved to be an extremely uncomfortable morning.

Epilogue: The same day we went to visit some friends, who were shocked at our bad luck, as apparently they had seen so many whales it was boring. In the middle of the conversation our friends' little girl came up to me and presented her dummy. It had a cartoon whale on it - yes, the only one we saw that day.

The lovely picture I found here.

1000 FRANCS FOR A COKE

In order to fully appreciate today's post, you need to know two things about Gabon:

1) There are four types of number plates in Gabon: yellow ones, which mean "I'm just a regular citizen"; blue ones, used by government officials; green ones, used by diplomats and the like; and finally red ones, whose meaning we're not really sure about. It is not customary for the police to stop people with blue or green plates.

2) Gabonese police is extremely corrupt. They organise regular blockades on the roads, where you have no choice but to slow down and, if they wave at you, stop. And then they will do whatever it takes to get money from you, even if it is, as they put it, 1000 francs for a coke.

Right, now I can get to the point. As Jandro works for the EU, we are lucky to have the right to use the green plate. This way, we are hardly ever stopped by the police and when it happens, they are very polite and do not demand money if we present all the papers they ask for. I am, therefore, not very much used to dealing with the police.

It so happens that, Jandro being away for a few days, I went on a little trip with two friends, using a yellow-plate car belonging to one of them. We were thus stopped by the police at the very first opportunity, which made the driver swear: Oops, I have lost the car's papers, actually, she told us. I was rather curious to see how the situation was going to develop. Here's what happened.

The policeman comes up to the driver's window. He puts his head in the car (literally), looks around and begins:
- Good morning, ladies and gentleman. Are you going to Congo?
- No, not as far as that. - we explain (we were just outside Libreville). The policeman asks for all possible papers. Our friend the driver starts looking for them, even though she knows perfectly well she doesn't have them.
- I would like to see your residence permit. - the official asks our friend, sitting at the back. - Are you a soldier?
- No. Here's the permit.
- Uh la la, monsieur, you will get out of the car. Your permit is valid till the end of August.
- So?
- So, it's not valid anymore. - the policeman comes up to the other side of the car, to speak to my friend, who would not get out.
- But it's still August. It's valid till Tuesday, actually. - my friend insists.
- No, no, it's not valid. - he keeps the permit. He looks at me. - Tourist?
- No, I live here. - I say, showing my carte de sejour.
- I'm still waiting for those papers, madame. - he addresses the driver again. She opens the glove compartment, where the policeman spots three 5000 franc banknotes. He suddenly becomes extremely excited and nearly shouts. - Oh, no, that's fine, it's all fine. - he gives my friend his residence permit back. - It's good, all good. Just give me 5000 francs and I'll have some palm wine. It's all good.

5000 francs is 7,5 euro and rather a lot of money. None of us is used to paying the police, but it this case we quickly consented. Having no papers, we could have been in real trouble.

It does scare me, however, how helpless most people are when stopped by policemen absolutely drunk with power (and less figurative alcohols), whose only job seems to be to extort money from the citizens. Nearly everyone has a story of how they were made to pay for some idiotic flaw in their car (e.g. it was dirty) or for the lack of certain paperwork (Can I see a medical certificate stating that you are fit to drive? Otherwise how am I supposed to know that you're not epileptic?).

Luckily, we have managed to stay away from the police up till now. We hide behind our green plate and try to deal with them as little as possible. Especially those who get drunk on palm wine while on duty.

THE LITTLE PURPLE MONSIEUR DACRYODES

I've been blogging and blogging about Gabon (five posts away from an even hundred!) but I haven't really filled you in on a really essential part of living in a foreign country - the food. I've told you how to make faworki, pierogi and the like, but there were very few posts devoted specifically to African cuisine. I do not know how I could've neglected something as vital as la nourriture! I do hereby promise, however, to make up for this grave error, and I start right away by introducing the fruit/vegetable of the season, the ideal starter dish, the easiest thing to cook in the world... ladies and gentlemen: the atanga!

After my mini-research on the net, I concluded that the scientific name of the thing is Dacryodes edulis and it actually boasts six different English names, in addition to the French atanga. Our friend Dacryodes can, therefore, be referred to as african pear, african plum, bush butter, butter fruit tree, eben tree or simply native pear. I have seen it, I have tried it, and consequently I can assure you that the atanga is not a pear, nor is it a plum, and it tastes nothing like butter whatsoever. On the other hand, it's creamy, with a huge pit, and a completely undefinable taste. It's somewhere between avocado and olive maybe, savoury, for sure, not sweet.

Cooking a Dacryodes (now I have discovered the name I use it with relish) is the easiest procedure ever, which even I grasped after only one explanation. You simply boil them until they become completely soft, and you serve them with a bit of salt. You eat them with your hands, dipping them in salt - or not, your call. They are wonderful as a starter, and simply perfect if you are surprised by unexpected guests (I can think of no simpler dish).

So if you ever see the little purple Monsieur Dacryodes in a European supermarket, don't hesitate to buy it. A Central African experience guaranteed!

PS. Five posts away from 100! Any ideas on how I should celebrate?

MY LAND, MY FUTURE

Recovering from a welcome- back- hope- you- enjoyed- your- illnessless- holiday gastroenteritis, we decided to take it easy and not venture out of Libreville. It was Saturday, and a potentially boring one, but this time we were in luck: celebrating its 50th anniversary of independence, Libreville decided to finally offer a cultural event - yesterday we visited the grand exhibition under an even grand-er title Gabon: Ma Terre, Mon Futur (Gabon: My Land, My Future). And, contrary to what you might suspect from the slightly ironic tone of this introduction, we were not disappointed. Quite the contrary, actually - we were rather impressed.

The exhibition is divided into six thematic rooms: Le Jardin des Origines (The Garden of Origins), Le Patrimoine des Cultures (The Heritage of Cultures), Designed by Nature (believe it or not, in English it stands), Regards sur le Passé (Looking at the Past), La République Ciquantenaire (The Fifty-Year-Old Republic) and La Nouvelle Ere (The New Era). Each of these spaces was professionally designed and equipped on a European level.

There is a large room with a flat screen, where you can watch a film on the origins of the Earth. Prehistoric tools are displayed and, more importantly, provided with exhaustive explanations (very rare in Gabon). Several museum exhibits, such as masks and traditional tools, were brought in, together with touchscreens, which show films of traditional dances. Pictures of the colonial era are displayed as a kind of installation - much more interesting than just hanging them on the walls. And the nature room is just lovely: all three Gabonese ecosystems are presented, together with a lot of information and still more touchscreens. A nice gentleman, the boss of the nature space, was very helpful and explained a lot. Only the Independence part, where the government boasts of its dubious achievements, made us want to press a "dislike" button.

All this is packaged in a really superb way: colourful, diverse, touchable... Istead of a guestbook - an ingenious pink plastic tree, on which you stick yellow post-its with your impressions. And right next to the exhibition - a handicraft market. All in all - well done Gabon! We loved the exhibition and are really looking forward to more events of the kind!

Technical info: the exhibition is located on the Gabon Expo grounds, right next to Port Môle, and it's free. The handicraft market is not your regular Village Artesanal, and it's definitely worth taking a look at. Of course, pictures strictly forbidden.

BONNE ARIVEE, MADAME!

The trip takes a bit over thirteen hours. I got on the plane in Warsaw at 6:30 am and I got off in Libreville at 6:30 pm Libreville time, which is 7:30 pm Warsaw time. It only takes thirteen hours for your world to go upside-down-inside-out-and-all-African again.

As you get off the plane the humidity envelops you instantly. You become all sticky, just as every single person around you. And then the noise, and the music, and the taximen fighting for your attention. Your car is higher than in Europe and the other drivers are aggressive. The president looks down on you from almost every street lamp. And you feel excruciatingly white all over again.

And then you get to your flat and are greeted by the security men. The flat has a smell, all together a very pleasant smell, the smell of Africa and adventure, the smell you only feel the very first day. You shower in cold water because it's warm anyway. Your hair and skin and nose and eyes are finally less dry.

The internet is slow. You skype your family and you get cut off in the middle of The flight was all right. There's no TV but that's ok. The socket next to your bed doesn't work for a reason only known to itself.

It gets dark at 6:15 pm. You can hear the ocean at night, when there's less traffic. And you hunt mosquitoes before you go to bed - you really don't want to get bitten (which you do, in the end).

You have papaya for breakfast. And the expensive yoghurt.

And then you realise that, on entering the building, you'd heard your last Bonne arivée, madame! And you contemplate the very last time you arrived in Gabon.

PITYRIASIS VERSICOLOR EXPLAINS A LOT

Even when in Europe, it is not easy to forget where we live. Gabon is always there - in my mind, mostly, it would seem, but I have just discovered that also in my... skin.

A few months ago I discovered little white spots on the back of my neck. I thought they might be a reaction to the strong African sun, maybe mixed with this horrible constant sweating. They didn't look too dangerous, so I just let them be - I had work to do and trips to organise. Moreover, several people told me: Oh yeah, I've had the same thing, so I just forgot about them, waiting for them to go away.

They didn't. Instead, they started multiplying. Ooops. Yesterday I finally managed to visit a dermatologist. She took a very quick glance of my back and gave me a diagnosis: the spots are a manifestation of a mycosis - chromophytosis to be specific, scientifically known as pityriasis versicolor (in Polish: łupież pstry). It's a fungus which lives on your head, so that its spores can land on your neck, back and chest - hence the white spots. Apparently, it's rather nasty and difficult to get rid of. Also, I simply waited too long and let it get really comfortable on my silly head.

Treatment: every other day use a special shampoo. Put some of the shampoo foam onto my back and let it work for five minutes. On shampoo-free days, I should use either a special liquid or an ointment on my back. All these medicines cost ten euros per box.

Epilogue: you can get this kind of mycosis everywhere, as long as you're susceptible to this kind of stuff. However, equatorial humidity helps the fungus a great deal... Oh dear, I really do get it all, don't I?

UP! OR BATTERIES CHARGED

During our holidays we finally managed to visit the Polish mountains, my very favourite place in the whole world. The Tatra mountains are situated right in the south of Poland and we generously share them with Slovakia. They are rather high: up to 2500 metres above sea level, and - have I already mentioned it? - they are absolutely stunning.

Hiking in the mountains lets me clear my head. The strenous physical exercie makes me focus. Suddenly the choices are binary: I can go on or I can't, I'm too tired or I'm not, I'm too scared or I can continue. This helps you get perspective and see your problems from a different angle. Black or white. It's not so hard to choose anymore - after all, we do not make much difference anyway. You breathe in the clear mountain air, you let the views envelop you and you know that at that instant nothing else exists.

This was the break I needed. After all my time in Gabon and Spain, I needed to visit a place where I felt utterly and completely comfortable. Where everything is blissfully predictable: either I will get to the top or I won't. Not too much room for surprises. Things in my head fall into place and I feel a strange kind of harmony. Maybe that's how you feel after meditating?

I've been charging my positive energy batteries before returning to Gabon next Monday. I've been meeting friends, spending time with family (both mine and Jandro's), eating lots of good stuff and speaking plenty of Polish. Our last months in Africa will be full of this positive energy. Before a new adventure starts.

Pictures from the Tatras here.

NO MAN'S LAND

I really didn't mean to be silent for such a long time! It turns out, however, that holidays can keep you very busy. We left Gabon on 8th July and spent two weeks in Poland and two weeks in Galicia. Europe surprised us. Suddenly, we could melt into the crowd, unnoticed. So many products to choose from. Such low prices. Everything was comfortable again, the context so well known. But being away from our two countries for a long time also made us see how different they are from each other: we spent two weeks in a typically Polish home, followed directly by two more weeks in a very Galician environment. And we jotted down several differences we'd used to pay little attention to before. Turns out you don't need to travel as far as Africa to talk about cultural shocks!

Early Bird or Night Owl?
In Gabon we sort of follow the Polish timetable - a great adjustment on Jandro's part for which I will be eternally greatful. We get up at 6 am (for work, of course) and go to sleep between 10 and 11 pm (sometimes - in my case - as early as 9:30 pm!). That is more or less what we did when staying with my parents. In Galicia, however, in the summer the sun sets after 10 pm. It is customary to dine after this hour and meet people even later; a friend might ask you to join him for a drink at 11 or midnight. It is virtually impossible to go to sleep before 1 am and most people go to bed much later. As I'm no night owl, we would compromise and try to get home around 1. Result: we would always get home earlier than Jandro's parents.

The art of eating

In Libreville we start our day with a big breakfast, we have hot lunch at 1 pm and a light dinner around 7 or 8 pm. As my parents don't have lunch at home on workdays, we could follow this framework without a problem, spending as much time at the table as we wanted. Anyway, in Poland having meals together is not such a big deal during the working week: every family member has a different timetable and we simply eat when we get home. On the other hand, we tend to gather for a family Sunday lunch, which includes a soup, a main course and a dessert (during the week there is only one course and the dessert is nearly always skipped). On such occasions we spend some time together at the table, chatting and enjoying one another's company. In Galicia, however, every meal is a celebration. It always consists of two courses, bread, wine, coffee, dessert(s) and spirits. You spend the average of two hours (up to three) at the table, which is a special family time. It is crucial to be home in time for lunch, this being the central point of the day. The food is delicious but you always eat too much. And the hours spent sitting at the table, talking, do not help you burn all these calories. Result: two kilogramms more in two weeks.

My cousin's mother-in-law's daughter is pregnant again
In other words: family. Family is important in Poland. You visit them a few times a year and spend holidays with them. They stick up for you and help you. You like your family. In Galicia family bonds go beyond what you can imagine. Family members visit one another sometimes more than once a day (!) and you often hear gossip as the one in the heading. They meet up socially or go out together several times a week. Jandro has more first cousins than my entire family put together and during our stay in Galicia we must visit them all at least once. And, Jandro's town being as small as it is, you meet everybody anyway by simply going to the fish market. Result: Jandro's aunt made us a delicious empanada de xoubas to take to Poland.

Of course, we had already made note of all this before. Nevertheless, being away made us realise how much we both adjusted: we are neither typically Galician nor typically Polish anymore. We created a sort of a new space - no man's land - in which we share our respective cultures, taking from them the things we both accept and like. And as much as I like being at home, it will also be fun to get back to that special space of ours.

Pictures from here and here.

Photos from Poland and Galicia here.