WHITE CAT, BLACK CAT AND THE AFRICAN PARROT

It is our little tradition to eat out on Fridays. Partly because we don't feel like cooking and partly because we like our little traditions, we end up in L'Embuscade or L'Emir nearly every Friday. However, as L'Embuscade seems to be on holiday and our stomachs felt too delicate to subject them to Libanese sauces, last week we were made to look for a tasty alternative. A friend recommended Perroquet (in English: parrot), a charming Gabonese restaurant in the city centre (not far away from the Grande Mosquée).

The place is simple but nice, with certain attemps at decoration clearly visible, not to mention the immortal flowery tablemats, omnipresent in African restaurants. Of course, they serve typically Gabonese dishes, so you might expect grilled chicken, boiled fish, gazelle, cow's tail, folon (mashed green stuff) with smoked fish and so on... all this accompanied by boiled banana, fried banana and manioc.

By now you're probably thinking that this post is supposed to introduce you to my new culinary discoveries, but no, today's topic is different if related: today I want to talk about the - sometimes complete - lack of integration between the Gabonese and the expatriate community. And our first visit to Perroquet showed me that, indeed, most of the time there is no integration at all. Here's what happened.

As I was happily chewing on my manioc and smoked fish folon (gotta love the green mushy stuff!), I heard the gentleman at the table next to us talk to the waitress. The only words I caught were la blanche (the white girl) and manioc, so I looked the man straight in the eye, ready for battle, convinced that he was mocking me. Are you talking to me?, I asked defyingly in French. To my surprise, the gentleman smiled, gave me the thumbs up and answered in fluent Spanish that yes, he was looking at me and appreciating what I was doing. Apparently, I was sitting there all white, indulging myself in a typically Gabonese meal, which is not at all a common picture in Libreville. We don't see many Europeans in this restaurant, he said, tactfully changing white to European.

This extremely polite exchange left me pondering two things:
Question 1: Why did I assume he was going to attack me? Answer: Previous experience. And - let's face it - my slightly prejudiced attitude. As much as I hate to admit it, I am not immune to judging people the moment I lay my eyes on them.
Question 2: Why was he surprised at our visit to Perroquet? Answer: Easy. Hardly any white people go there, which is inevitably true for other African restaurants, too.

A large part of white people in Libreville lock themselves in their own expat world. They meet at expensive restaurants, which the Gabonese simply can't afford, they only move around in cars, never taxis, they play tennis and they despise Gabon as a Third World country. Other people, like us, do what they can to live a bit of Africa every day but let's be fair: we also go to the European supermarkets and to the gym, and we don't have as many Gabonese friends as we'd like to. We do, however, venture to typically African places (like Jean Paul II or the market), enjoy ourselves, and are either given the thumbs up or frowned upon by the Africans. In spite of our huge bord-de-mer flat, I think we've seen more of African food than some Europeans who have been here for twenty years.

It is not easy to touch upon this subject, and even more difficult to exhaust it. It would be unfair to say that the integration problem lies only on the European side, as if the Africans were waiting for us with open arms. There is little confidence and willingness on both sides, which makes me doubt if any real integration is even possible. On a lighter note, however, we try. And I've met many other white people who try. And many black people who try. And certain mixed couples who beautifully succeeded. Don't give up hope, then, and keep trying!

The picture comes from here.

THE RAINBOW KIDS

For a while now I've had a feeling that Africa should be something more than private schools, safari trips and going to the beach. Up till now, my challenges were personal, private: I had to learn French, I had to work with kids, I had to get used to the new way of living and to being white. Above all, I had to find a way to feel happy and fullfilled in my new situation. Before our summer holiday, it had struck me that, all modesty apart, I actually managed to achieve all these goals: my French is not perfect but fluent (whose French is perfect, anyway?), my classes are going well and both parents and children are happy, I am less vulnerable to being called la white in the street, I take regular exercise, I know my way around the city and I'm actually pretty glad to be here. Ok then, I thought, it's really time I gave something back. Enough of being selfish. About time I did something useful.

Instantly, I set my mind on L'Arc-En-Ciel (in English, rainbow), a street children's centre, run by Spanish nuns. I've heard a lot about it, I even know people who volunteer, and so I decided to see for myself what it was all about. I paid my first visit to the centre with a friend who is a regular volunteer. I had a chat with Sister Cova (and don't you imagine a nun in a habit! African trousers and African accent she had!) and we decided that I would come by, initially once a week, to spend an hour or so with the kids on Tuesday afternoons.

The place itself is very basic. I have visited the boys' building (the girls dormitory is two minutes away), where they sleep, eat, have classes and play football. The classroom/dining room/common room is furnished with wooden tables and benches, with two small blackboards on one of the walls, right next to the kitchen door. There is a tiny room with two computers, a large, dark dormitory, and a small office. The building is surrounded with a fence and the entrance is locked with a padlock. The person in charge decides who gets in or out.

In these simple surroundings about seven boys and seven girls live (during the school year, more). These kids, aged from 11 to 16, have no other place to go and difficult past to confront every day. There are stories of abuse, violence and slave work. Some of them escaped their families in search of better lives. However, I don't know the details and I don't feel I need to. If anybody wants to share such private things, they should be able to do it at their pace.

Inevitably, there came the day of my first visit (yesterday afternoon, that is). I was nervous. I had never worked with difficult kids before, and suddenly I had to gain their confidence in French. I figured I would offer them an exchange: I would teach them some English but only if they they taught me some French. The idea came off as a success: they must have thought I was a bit ridiculous but were rather happy to be my teachers for while.

Here's how it went. First, I just chatted with them, got to know their names, told them a bit about myself. Then we learned some English words and played charades with feelings (happy, sad, etc.), which accidentally turned out to be a blast for them (as was my magnificent game of sit down/stand up/sit down/stand up/stand up, where everybody, everybody eventually gets confused). Finally, I told them to teach me some French words, which they had to write on the board for me, at the same time explaining their meaning, which I think is a good language exercise for both parties. Then we played a round of Connect4, which I badly lost, and that was it, an hour had passed.

And you know what the funny thing is? They were no difficult kids at all. They were just kids, some of them more interested than others, some of them exteremly attentive, kids who were happy to be spared somebody's attention, just as all the other students of mine.

I'm coming back next week. And I'm bringing flashcards.

The rainbow picture I found here.

LONG LEGS, HIGH HEELS AND GINFIZZ

In the corner, taking up two tables, a white man, nearing sixty, sits alone. A bottle of champagne is cooling in a bucket in front of him, next to a bottle of wine and several snacks he doesn't even touch. The man calls one of the waitresses and gently strokes her arm while he orders a beer. She doesn't seem bothered by his forward behaviour. On the contrary, she flirts back. She'd better, too - he's one of the regulars, he comes a few nights a week and leaves a lot of money in Casino Croisette.

The Casino is a very strange place. You'd think I'd be more surprised at the African restaurants, markets or customs but no - I think it's safe to say that the weirdest place in Libreville is precisely Casino Croisette. It is an attempt at recreating Las Vegas in a completely inadequate environment, which makes it rather ridiculous. Let me walk you through the experience.

First of all, the door boasts an official note that elegant attire is obligatory to enter the Casino. I've been there three times (all three I consider a cultural experiment) and each time I was wearing trainers and jeans, my sophisticated white skin giving me an unquestionable - apparently - right to enter. Once inside, you pass all the blackjack machines and roulette tables, mostly occupied by the Chinese, and you look for a place to sit. If you're lucky, a long-haired Gabonese entertainer, who happens to be my neighbour, will play his keyboard and sing a French serenade, while you sip your whisky and coke. Many short-skirted girls come here to find a sponsor for the evening and the waitresses... well, they deserve a whole new paragraph.

It must not be easy to become a waitress at the Casino. First of all, you must be at least 180 centimetres tall, half of which should be your legs. You should weigh around 50 kilos and one third of the weight should be your hair and eyelashes. If you satisfy these harsh criteria, you will get a tiny leopard-skin dress and you are all set to take your compulsory training on how to walk on incredibly high heels. The preparatory stage completed, you can start serving drinks, inevitably tied to the constant stroking and patting, which you must bear with a smile.

Casino Croisette is a parallel universe, a world apart. It does not fit Libreville at all, and yet it exists - a heaven for all sorts of funny individuals. Yes, we feel completely out of place in the Casino. But I think you should try a bit of everything when experiencing a different country, and this place definitely reflects certain social tendencies visible in Gabon, which makes it - honestly - interesting from the anthropological point of view. And, accidentally, GinFizz is actually an excellent drink!

PS. Happy anniversary to all of you! This is my 100th post! Thanks for reading me!

A QUICK GUIDE FOR A NEWCOMER: LIBREVILLE

I've been telling you quite a lot about our travels around the country and by now you should definitely know where to go if you happen to visit Gabon. But what about Libreville, the very city in which we spend most of our time? You can definitely have fun here, too. Let me guide you through my favourite, unmissable places in the ville.

Go for a walk!
As in any city, there are places where you shouldn't wander, especially if you're white and on your own. But Libreville is rather safe and you should definitely explore parts of it on foot. It is a bit intimidating at first but don't get discouraged! The Luis neighbourhood with its small shops and restaurants is very recommendable. On your way to the centre you will be stunned by the huge Presidential Palace (remember not to take pictures!) and the strange statue in front of it. You might also find interesting the huge ministry buildings. Sablière will give you an insight to what the posh part of the city is like, while in the city centre, always full of life and traffic, you can have nice coffee and walk around undisturbed.

Go to church!
Oh yes, excellent idea, not only from the spiritual point of view. But not just any church! You should definitely take a trip to Saint Michel de N'kembo, probably the only example of interesting architecture in the city. It has dozens of beautifully sculpted columns, which represent scenes from the Bible. The mosaic with a black Christ is also worth noting. And the mass itself with its singing and dancing is a must! Even if going to church isn't usually your thing.

Go shopping!
Libreville offers a wide range of places to do just that. Personally, I would suggest Petit Paris and the Mount Buet market. The former is the place if what you're looking for is pagne, the typical African-style material, which, by the way, you should totally get and then go straight to a good tailor and have some clothes made to measure. It's an amazing souvenir and it can be done in a couple of days! Straight from Petit Paris you should head for Mount Buet and just take a walk: fruit, shoes, pagne, meat, clothes, soap, make-up, hairdressers, plates, machetes... and more. Everything can be found in Mount Buet. Trust me. If, however, you're looking for a less extreme shopping experience, take a taxi to the Village Artesanal and haggle to buy souvenirs, or to one of the three supermarkets: M'bolo (which is actually a French Casino), Geant CKdo or the Libanese Prix Import. It will give you an idea of what you can get in Libreville and for how much. Be ready for a real price shock!

Go out!
Libreville, unlike any other African capital, is full of restaurants and clubs. The choice is stunning. You can start by having coffee at Pelisson, a bakery and coffee house, which serves horrible coffee on an absolutely lovely colonial terrace (the fresh pineapple juice is to die for, though!). If you feel like decent coffee in less appealing surroundings, you might choose the Libanese La Genoise, which also has fantastic cakes. And don't forget the Tropicana, located at the beach, definitely worth a visit. For lunch, we usually choose a cheap Libanese restaurant (Les Arcades or L'Emir are equally good) or the absolute king of African kebabs, l'Embuscade. And for dinner... take a walk around Montée de Luis, which is absolutely full of restaurants and discos. Chinese, Italian, European (you might forget you're in Africa altogether), Libanese, African but posh, African but cheap... your call! I personally recommend Mississipi or L'Odika for a pleasant African experience nicely packaged for tourists (it has its price, though), or the famous Jean Paul II, for those of you who are more resistant to the general lack of hygiene in the kitchen.

Go to the beach!
Libreville's location couldn't be better. The whole province is actually called l'Estuaire, and the city is right at the seaside. You might want to take a walk on the urban beach and end up having a drink at Tropicana. You could also go to the very end of the Sablière neighbourhood, and have a Coke on the beach at the SunSetBeach hotel. Here the water is clean enough to have a quick bath and as a special bonus you might see fishermen selling their catch in the morning. For a real beach experience you should take a 30-minute boat ride from Port Môle and relax at the lovely beaches of Pointe Denis, where you can also spend the night in one of the luxurious hotels (Wingombe, Phare de Gombe or La Baie des Tortues to name a few).

Go cultural!
If you're extremely lucky, you might actually find the notoriously closed Museum of Arts and Traditions... open. Don't put it off, then, go right in! It's your only chance to see their - usually extremely well hidden - collection of masks. For more cultural experiences, get La Lettre or an event programme of the French Cultural Centre. Every Tuesday at 20:30 there is a film but that's not all - the Centre is actually very active, so don't miss any of their concerts, theatre plays or dance festivals. Not to mention the library, cafeteria and cheap Internet access.

Well, I hope you're ready to explore the city now. And to those of you who actually live in Libreville: what are your favourite places? What did I miss?

BRACELET IN THE FREEZER OR HOW TO FIGHT EQUATORIAL HUMIDITY

As I've already explained, Gabon is an extraordinarily humid place. Even during dry season, humidity reaches levels hardly acceptable for a European, while during wet season it might rise up to 80% or more. Clearly, you sweat as you've never sweated before, which accidentally, seems to be good for your skin. However, not all side-effects of equatorial humidity are equally beneficial. Let me tell you a story of how humid air can set you back 100 euro. Or more.

Three months last only a week
The first thing we've noticed was that our wardrobe had a funny... smell. Clothes that we don't wear often enough have a stale, musty odour of your grandma's attic, and, worse still, they tend to cover with mould. You thus have to wash all the contents of your wardrobe quite regularly (another argument for a reduced number of clothes!). We have, however, decided to take certain measures - we would not let our clothes rot away in the closet. Consequently, we have found and purchased a French device which was supposed to keep a space of 40 square metres nice and dry for up to three months. It consists of a plastic recipient, on top of which you place a bag with special crystals, which magically gather all the humidity they are in contact with, and change it into water, which slowly fills the mentioned container. I think it worked rather well, only that the crystal baggy thing lasted a week in our 1 square metre wardrobe. Alas, as the price of such a baggy is nearly 10 euro, we decided to revert to the good old washing machine.

Modern jewellery box
Before leaving Spain (a year and a half ago! can you believe it?) I got a lovely good-luck-in-Africa bracelet from one of my friends. It was made of exotic seeds and I happily brought it with me to Gabon, as part of my new ethnic look. Little did I know that this would be the death and complete destruction of my cherished bracelet. Soon enough, it was eaten by mould and I had no choice but to throw it away. As a result of all this, I was very careful when presented with another ecological bracelet for my birthday this year. I watched it closely and as soon as I saw first signs of mould, I put the bracelet in the... freezer. I only take it out when I want to put it on and the strategy has been working very well. Maybe I should buy a portable freezer and put it in the bedroom?

A movie from a rice bag
Before coming to Gabon, we invested in an external hard drive (the 100 euro I've mentioned) to store our data and, above all, pictures and films. Short before the holidays, the device suddenly stopped working. An IT guy told us it was due to humidity and nothing could be done. And he gave us a recipe for storing electronic devices in extreme weather conditions. Here goes: 1) buy a new hard drive; 2) get a plastic bag with a zip; 3) put some rice in the bag; 4) put the hard drive into the bag and zip it, and finally 5) put the bag in another plastic bag and close it carefully. You think I'm kidding? You think we didn't actually do it? Think again! Also, we're contemplating getting a considerably larger bag filled with some sizable beans, which would fit Jandro's I-only-work-when-I-want laptop and all its attitude.

The above are, of course, only a few examples from our "Gotta Love That Humidity" file. All in all, I must admit that I do prefer finding mould on our clothes to discovering fungus on our heads and... toes. Knees have been spared, for now, thank goodness.