THE ODYSSEY CONTINUES

It ain't over till it's over! In the name of this rule and driven by the strong motivation of giving our budget a boost of over 1000 euro, we decided not to give up in our struggle for the carte de séjour deposit, which we had deposited at CEDOC last year. The deposited deposit we now want back. And so the Odyssey continues.

Yesterday, after our Kafkian visit to the Visa de Sortie department of CEDOC (see previous post), we decided to go straight to the highest rank official we knew: the Secretary of Monsieur le General (also known as The Big Boss). Jandro had called her before, when we were applying for my residence permit, and he now decided to repeat the procedure. He bravely made the call and informed her that he, the European Union, had correspondence which he would like to pass on to Monsieur le General. He was told to come by the following morning, that is - today.

The said correspondence, which is actually our application for the reimbursement of the deposited deposit, amounts to quite a dossier. To be precise, it consists of: 1) my letter, in which I kindly ask to be reimbursed the deposited deposit; 2) Jandro's letter in which he kindly asks for me to be reimbursed the deposited deposit; 3) Jandro's boss's letter in which he kindly asks for me to be reimbursed the deposited deposit; 4) the photocopy of the receipt we were given after depositing the deposit; 5) photocopy of my carte de séjour, obtained as a direct result of depositing the deposit; 6) photocopy of Jandro's semi-diplomatic papers; 7) photocopy of my passport.

Armed in all these papers and their copies we'd made just in case, we went to see the Secretary. This time we did not park our car in front of the entrance for regular mortal people. We drove straight into the internal parking lot, were stopped by nobody and entered a building which turned out to be much fancier than the regular CEDOC offices. It had red velvet carpets (with a sign that asked you to kindly wipe your shoes), doors opened with special buttons and men in tight suits who opened these special button doors for you, therefore questioning the point of having installed the buttons in the first place.

The Madame Secretary herself proved to be extremely nice. She smiled a lot, accepted our papers, filed them and even gave us a certified copy. Clearly, we kept introducing ourselves as European Union, otherwise we wouldn't have been granted the right to step on the delicate carpets. We are now awaiting an answer from the Monsieur le General, which is supposed to come next week.

And so, I would like to invite you to gamble with me a little bit: what do you think the answer is going to be? I give you three options:

1. We will be reimbursed our money without further ado.
2. We will be denied the reimbursement (if so, on what grounds?).
3. We will be granted the money but on the condition of delivering more and more papers, and thus the procedure will be stalled until the date of our departure.

What do you vote for? Let me know! Whoever wins gets a coffee as soon as we are in the same country!

The picture comes from here.

OUT OF THE TERRITORY

So, remember my carte de séjour? Inevitably, in view of our departure, The Merry Offices soap opera resumes. This time Kasia and Jandro go to CEDOC in order to fight for the 1000 euro deposit which they had to pay for her residence permit. They are still under the silly impression that if it's a deposit they can actually get it back. I am thus glad to present you with Episode 1 of the new season, entitled Out Of The Territory, which was originally broadcast today at 11 am, live from the offices of CEDOC.

Man (Jandro) and woman (Kasia) park their car in front of CEDOC buildings. She's wearing an elegant light green dress, he - a brown suit. She steps out of the car directly into mud, which substantially lowers the attractiveness of her delicate sandals. They cross the street and pass the security control.

Jandro: Uff, at least we got in.
Kasia: That only proves our clothes are fancy enough. And that they missed my muddy foot.

The couple enter a random building, as they know that, whichever building they initially choose, they will be sent to a different one. The air-conditioning set to -5 degrees, they wrap themselves up in their respective shawls and jackets, and begin their inquiries. As predicted, they are sent to the Visa de sortie building, where they ignore the long queue and seat themselves in the front.

Jandro: Let's talk to that guy.
Kasia: smiles sweetly, the way white women should to African civil servants.
CEDOC Officer: How can I help you?
Jandro: explains the problem.
Kasia: smiles sweetly.
CEDOC Officer: Oh la la, monsieur. Getting your deposit back is a very very long process.
Jandro: That is quite all right. We have a couple of months.
CEDOC Officer: But it is a very very very long process.
Jandro (not at all discouraged): Lucky we started getting about it as early as this.
Kasia: smiles sweetly.
CEDOC Officer: OK then. First of all, you need to get an exit visa. Then you have 15 days to leave the country. And during this time you can apply for the return of your deposit. But, as I said, it is a very long process and you will never make it in 15 days. Besides, you can only get your deposit back after you leave the Gabonese territory.
Jandro: So... how can she get her money back, if she's not in Gabon?
CEDOC Officer: You can get it back for her, sir!
Jandro: But we are leaving together!
Kasia: nods encouragingly.
CEDOC Officer: Well, then the European Union must shoulder the responsibility of getting the deposit back, as long as you are out of the territory.
As neither of them knows how to respond to that:
Jandro: smiles sweetly.
Kasia: smiles sweetly.

The couple leave CEDOC and go get some mangoes. End of episode.

Don't miss Episode 2, entitled: The Secretary Knows Best! Tomorrow at 10 am live from Monsieur General's Secretary's office!

The picture comes from here.

THE ONE WITH THE MONKEY OR MUSINGS ON POVERTY

Heading for Donguila, as we passed through yet another Gabonese village, we saw a monkey (a skinny mandrill, to be specific) tied to a tree next to one of the houses. We are tourists, in the end, and an unexpected possibility of taking a cool monkey picture is always more then welcome. On our way home we thus stopped, got out of the car - camera all set in my bag - and approached the three men sitting in front of the house, in order to be issued an official photo permission. Here's what happened.

Three villagers in their thirties, forties or maybe fifties (in the case of African people it's impossible to tell!) were sitting in the yard of what we assumed was the house of at least one of them. They were chatting and drinking palm wine, which they merrily poured into tall glasses from a 10-litre canister they'd placed in the middle. After the usual hellos and howareyous, straightforward as we are, we asked if we could take a picture of their monkey. They laughed good-naturedly, said they had absolutely no problem with the plan but insisted that we sat down and at least had a chat with them, if not a glass of palm wine. Eager to get the photo, we sat.

They told us the story of Eulalie, the mandrill. She's been with us for six years, they said. She's nice if you give her a treat. Right. Poor monkey, I thought, and suddenly, as if reading my thoughts (or rather, sensing the word poor had passed through them), one of the men asked the last question we would have expected: What is poverty, my sister? (for some reason, he directed his philosophical problem at me). Luckily, it turned out to be a rhetorical question, for he soon started answering it himself.

His reasoning was not far from what I had discussed with Jandro a couple of days before, inspired by an article in the Polish magazine Polityka. The article, discussing the situation in the poorest countries of the world, featured a picture of an African man sitting in front of his wooden hut. This scene, so easily spotted in Gabon, was supposed to illustrate poverty and the resulting misery of those who live in similar conditions. And here we were, in the middle of such a gathering, sitting in front of a wooden hut, drinking palm wine from a canister - well, all right, we weren't exactly drinking - and it seemed we were among the happiest people on Earth.

What is poverty?, the man continued. In the media, they constantly talk about poverty. Am I poor, though? No! I have my house, which I like. I have a small plantation, where I work. I love nature, and I've taught myself to work and live on nature. I have palm wine with my friends on Sunday. I'm very happy. He explained how God had given all these goods to man, and how man must learn to profit from whatever God had given him. Because man had received so much from God! Surely, palm wine does make you much more grateful for whatever God has given you, but I suppose that the gist of what he said would not have changed under different circumstances.

This man, mind you, probably has one decent pair of shoes and his wooden hut has no floor. He lives on what his plantation brings him and makes the palm wine himself. Considering his living conditions, income and whatnot, any European would say he's poor. But... what is poverty? And why do we need all those statistics and spreadsheets to define it?

THIEVES AND BAD PEOPLE

Yesterday we visited the Mission of Saint-Paul de Donguila, built in 1878 by French missionaries. Accompanied by Mr Placide Kombila, the catechism teacher and responsible of the Mission, we took a tour around the place and were even allowed to see the school from the inside. We also admired the views, as the Mission is superbly located on a hill overlooking the vast waters of the Estuary. A spirited trip, this one.

Saint-Paul de Donguila rests around 70 kilometres from Libreville (just take a right turn in Ntoum) and is definitely worth a quick visit, which amounts to a half-day trip. We drove for 1,5 hours (the last 28 kilometres are at times tricky but you see lots of nice villages on the way), and arrived at the Mission at 10 am sharp, just in time for the Mass. Villagers were already slowly climbing the hill on which the lovely church stands, looking at us with unconcealed interest, smiling politely and answering all of our bonjours. Most parishioners were the kids from the Mission's boarding school, wearing their best clothes, and taking up the three front rows. As we entered, and were inevitably noticed by the whole congregation, the singing was already in full swing.

The original idea was to listen to a few songs and silently sneak out in the middle of the Mass to take a look at the Mission. However, the church was hardly full (maybe 30 people, counting several toddlers who kept glancing in our direction), and our leaving would certainly have been noticed by all. We thus stayed the whole Mass, and took part it all the proceedings apart from the Holy Communion (that would've been too much, we thought, but were surprised to see that only two people actually took the Communion).

Trapped as we were in the church, we thought we might as well listen. I tuned in just as the priest was starting his sermon, a simple and straightforward one, directed at simple people with good hearts. He talked about a man who new the Bible by heart, and who was self-confident enough to sit in the front of the church and talk to God. He boldly pointed to another man, sitting at the back, who did not know the Bible, and called him a thief and a bad man. (Inevitably, at this point, the whole congregation followed the priest's hand pointing to his imaginary man, and looked at us, sitting at the back. I almost smiled at waved.) The man sitting at the back, was - surprise! - a fisherman, a humble uneducated fisherman, who did not deem himself worthy to look at God. The Lord, in his love and goodness and fondness of simple fishermen, preferred him to the man who new the whole Bible. End of sermon.

And no, I'm not mocking. I have great respect for all believers and I thought this particular sermon suited the context very well, giving people hope and joy. And after a few more lovely songs in Fang, the Mass was over and we were able to wander around the Mission. I'm not sure, though, how many people (kids, especially) kept seeing us as thieves and bad people, pointed out in church by the priest!

Note: there is not much to do in Donguila, so be careful to arrive in time for Mass, which is definitely a cultural experience. Otherwise, here's what you can see and visit.

THE CHEAP, THE EXPENSIVE AND THE MORE EXPENSIVE

According to an article from the French Libération, Libreville occupies a respectable 13th position on the list of the most expensive cities in the world (which evaluates the cost of life for expatriates). It is worth noting, that it is also the second most pricey ville in Africa, with only the notorious Luanda surpassing it, classified on position number 3. Believe it or not, this means that Libreville is more expensive than Paris, Helsinki or London. Today I will give you an idea of what it means.

Eat up!
Every week we spend more or less 100 000 CFA (around 150 euro) on... food. And no, we don't usually have caviar for starters and lobster for main course. Here is more or less what we buy:

• yoghurts: I must admit I go a bit over the line here; I insist on getting real brand European yoghurts, as I find the local ones inedible; price: 4000 CFA (6 euro) for a pack of four;
• meat: two steaks cost around 5000 CFA (7,5 euro);
• wine: usually a couple of bottles, a bit under 6000 CFA (9 euro) each;
• Spanish ham (oh yes, you can find your jamón serrano - if you know where to look!): 15000 CFA (22,5 euro) per kilo, we tend to buy 300 grams every week;
• cheese: there is a wide selection of French cheese available in two of the three supermarkets, and we might spend 5000 - 6000 CFA (7,5 - 9 euro) on our luxury fromage;
• bread: we buy three loaves a week and freeze them (note: very difficult to find bread made of anything more that air...); price: 1500 CFA ( per 2,25 euro) per loaf;
• fruit and vegetables: we buy from our favourite fruit stands and we generally spend around 12000 CFA (18 euro) a week;
• biscuits and other things to nibble: maybe around 4000 CFA (6 euro);

Not to mention what you don't buy every week: jam, nutella, pasta, rice, olive oil, juice, etc. On the other hand, we drink tap water, which makes things slightly cheaper for us.

Stay fit!
Detached as we are from our cultures and previous lives, we must be very careful to stay fit, both in our heads and physically - although I strongly believe that the two are related. To drive away mood swings and sullen thoughts, you do sports, lots of sports (are you appreciating who this is coming from? The girl who would always skip her P.E. classes?), which also helps you keep malaria and other nasty stuff at bay. The cheapest way to stay fit is to go running at the beach, which is always full of happy joggers, Gabonese and whites (the former tend to wear raincoats - hood included - in order to sweat better!). Unfortunately, due to my asthma I can't really jog: after a few minutes I'm out of breath (even though I'm in really good shape) and that always results in a small asthma crisis. Instead, I take classes. Step, tae bo, bosu and other funny words have come to structure my week. However, to enjoy all these fabulous activities, I have no choice but to pay a monthly fee of... 50000 CFA, which amounts to no less than 75 euro (swimming pool not included and costing 20000 CFA or 30 euro). And this is the cheapest gym in town.

Voyage, voyage...
Yes, being in Africa makes you want to travel the whole time. There is always somebody recommending a new amazing place to go, and no matter how much you travel, you constantly feel that you're missing out. As I have already told you, visiting places in Gabon is anything but cheap and simple. Most of our trips cost between 200000 and 300000 CFA (300 to 450 euro) per person for 3 to 5 days, of which you usually spend two in a plane/train/boat. Luckily, the boat trip to Pointe Denis on the other side of the Estuary is only 10000 CFA (15 euro), which is a decent European price.

Cheaper
Luckily, not everything is extremely expensive in Gabon. Here's a quick list of my favourite cheap pleasures:

• having clothes made to measure: fabric for three shirts costs 4000 CFA (6 euros) and a shirt is 5000 CFA (7,5 euro);
  
• a coconut bought at the beach: 300 CFA (0,45 euro);
• Gabonese lunch at a local restaurant: 2500 CFA (3,75 euro) per person, including drinks;
• basic fare for a taxi ride: 100 CFA (0,15 euro);
• tickets to CCF: if it's not free, you might pay between 2000 and 4000 CFA (3 to 4,5 euro) for a concert/film/spectacle;

And then the cheapest and most rewarding thing of all: the closeness of nature, the possibility to spend the day hiking in the jungle or swimming in the ocean, the picnics and deserted beaches, the sounds of the forest... An amazing, relaxing package, available all year long, and free.

The picture comes from here.

RELATIVELY ON TIME

When I first came to Spain, I was shocked and scandalized at Spanish punctuality. It became clear from the very beginning that me and my Galician friends have a completely different way of perceiving time, punctuality and the resulting (im)politeness.

For instance, we differed significantly when interpreting utterances such as "Meet me at 5 pm". Namely, I was under the impression that "five pm" meant "five pm on the dot" and I would thus show up a little bit early in order not to miss my appointment. Jandro, however, would happily turn up between quarter and half past, explaining that, obviously, it wasn't a big deal, as it was customary to arrive up to thirty minutes (!) late. To me, however, it meant at least fifteen minutes of waiting, during which time I would restlessly check my watch, wonder if I'd got the time wrong, feel silly and check my watch again. After a while, I managed to get through with my message. Jandro started arriving more or less on time, while I made the necessary adjustment in the form of showing up slightly late. My punctuality problems are over, I thought, relieved. I have finally figured this out! Cultural problem solved, big success.

And then I came to Gabon.

Here in Gabon punctuality is even less valued. A Gabonese is bound to arrive late, and when I say "late", I mean Late, capital L. Our own experience shows that it is not uncommon for a Gabonese to respond: Oh, you're already there?, if you call him to ask whether s/he remembers that s/he's supposed to meet you at a certain place. When you, at first surprised, then resigned, answer that yes, indeed, you are already waiting at the agreed cafe, they will usually respond that they're in the taxi, getting there, or, worse still, you will be assured that they'll be there in no time, as they're leaving home at the very moment. I have heard many stories (backed up by personal experience) of Gabonese friends arriving one hour (or more!) late for dinner, which, clearly, would get seriously overcooked in the meantime.

The situation is not at all better in the case of business relations. Your mechanic / cleaning lady / driver / guide will only give you an estimated time of their arrival. If a mechanic assures you that he'll be there at 3 pm, expect him between 3 and 5 pm (that if he decides to show up at all!); there is no point in calling to ask if he's on his way, as he will always say: I'll be there in five minutes!, regardless of whether he's at the other end of the city or just turning onto your driveway. There's more: at an African restaurant you're always in for a long wait: first, for a waiter to take your order; then, for the food; finally, for the bill and the change. And don't even try to get restless and nervous: it will only make matters worse!

To finish up, let me tell you the story which inspired this whole entry: Every Friday I have an English class with a Gabonese student (an adult). Usually punctual, today, sadly, he did not show up at our meeting point. I waited for five minutes and called him. The conversation went like this:

Me: Hello! It's your English teacher. Forgot about me?
Student: Oh, no, I did not forget. I'm still at the bank (as if I knew he was going to the bank).
Me: Oh. OK. Shall I wait for you? Are you getting here soon?
Student: Oh, no. I'm not coming.
Me: Yes, right. Are you coming next week?
Student: Of course (why would you even ask, silly girl?).
Me: Next time when you can't come, can you send me a message?
Student: All right, no problem (as if I were insisting on doing me a big favour).

I sighed and took a taxi home. The funny thing is, I wasn't surprised or angry. C'est le Gabon. Cultural problem solved. Big success.

TELL ME MORE

This week I have re-discovered a magical world whose existence I had forgotten long ago - as most of us do when we become adults. A world where anything can happen, which allows you to travel as far as you wish, where the impossible becomes possible, and where you can be whoever you want. A world where imagination and words are all you really need: the ancient world of story-telling, equally entertaining as most of its modern substitutes, such as the cinema and TV, and yet so much simpler, so much more charming.

On Thursdays I have a morning off, which I dedicate to my French class. This week, however, a fellow teacher invited me to come to school and take part in a storytelling event for kids that she'd arranged. I was curious to see how the I-want-another-laptop generation would react when confronted with a Gabonese tale, so I decided that, within the framework of practicing my French, I would come and see what one Chyc Polhit Mamfoumbi had prepared for the students.

A barefoot man, tall and hairy, walks into the room. He is wearing shorts and an African rattle-bracelet on his ankle. He speaks loudly, clearly, shouts, whispers, dances... He's an African woman, an ugly child, a Michael Jackson wannabe, a greedy king, a malicious doctor, a man who ends up swallowing himself. The (usually exteremely chatty) children look up at him hypnotised, they participate in the story, they are hungry for more. The first question at the final Q&A session is: Can you come back tomorrow, Mister?, followed closely by: Another story, please! Well, to be honest, I was thinking the exact same thing.

Luckily, it turned out that Mr Mamfoumbi, along with two other professional storytellers, Toumani Kouyaté (from Burkina Faso/France) and Mathias Ndembet (from Gabon), were performing at CCF (Centre Culturel Français) the following night (last night, as it happens). This show was directed at adult audience and I was even more curious to see how you tell stories to adults in the XXI century. And in spite of the modern surroundings, I had the impression that the effect was pretty much the same as in the old days, when people would gather around the fireplace to listen to a wise person tell a story. We were all dragged into the imaginative worlds, we participated and laughed, and it was fun, a relaxing pastime, a long-forgotten pleasure. How long has it been since someone told you a story of a young man marrying a princess? Yesterday I realised that the answer to this question was simple: way too long!

Both Mr Mamfoumbi and Mr Kouyaté live and perform in France. If you have a chance to see them, do not hesitate. In the end, it's not that common to see such natural talents, and in their case storytelling is in their blood: In my country, Gabon, the profession of storyteller does not exist, says Mr Mamfoumbi on his website. And this is because EVERYBODY tells stories. Luckily, some of them decided to show the world how it's done.

The picture comes from here.

KASIA'S BOOK OF DEEP KNOWLEDGE: ESL TIPS, PART 1

I have been officially working as ESL teacher for nearly four years. The little French school I teach at, Courte Echelle, has become an important part of my daily routine and I can't believe I've told you so little about it! Today's post might be a bit off topic if what you're interested in are exotic African stories. However, I have been thinking about what I've learned while teaching small children (clearly, still so much learning to be done!) and I really feel like putting it in writing. So today's special is a bit different from all the other ones: ESL tips for those who must confront a bunch of scary 6-year-olds on a daily basis.

Routine is not always a bad thing
Actually, kids happen to love it. They need a sense of continuity and they like the safety of knowing what to do. Of course, I am not suggesting that you do the same thing every time! However, I keep the framework of my class pretty much unchanged throughout the year. This means that we start by singing a hello song (and I must admit that we dance a little bit, too) and waving at one another. Then, I take my little magic ball and throw it to one of the kids, asking the question I want to drill (usually two questions, always starting with What's your name?, as this is a relaxing easy English they all know). The first child throws the ball to whoever s/he chooses and now it's her/his turn to ask the question. While all the kids have a go (and, even though it might seem boring, they just love throwing the ball!), I stick the name tags they had made in their first class on the board. Now that all the students' names are up on the board, the class can officially start. And it will always finish in the same way: with a bye-bye song and praising/scolding.

Discipline is a must
English classes are special. We sing, we dance, we play games and the teacher, who speaks in a funny way, is always a bit of a clown. It's not difficult to forget that we're still at school and appropriate behaviour is still a requirement. Believe me, even good children can get extremely naughty if you let them. I still occasionally have discipline problems and I do get exasperated at times. My method is probably the oldest one known to mankind: carrot and stick. I know, I know, there surely exist new fashionable methods to deal with the little monsters, but praising and punishing seems to be working best. At the beginning of the class, all students get a little plus next to their name tag. If they keep it until the end of the lesson, they will get a prize (five minutes for playing a game, singing their favourite song, or simply a sticker). If they lose it (chatting, no homework or no work done in class...), they must watch their diligent friends happily stick their smiley on a behaviour chart, and re-think their strategy for getting one themselves next time. Promising a cool game usually works but remember to be consequent: kids never forget a promise made to them! And when the whole group gets naughty? I punish them by making the next class extremely boring: no songs, no ball, no name tags, no game. Instead, filling out handouts in complete silence. Appropriate behaviour next time guaranteed!

If it's pretty, if it's active, then it's fun!
Kids have to like the materials you bring in. When I started here in Gabon, I had practically nothing when it comes to teaching materials. Internet was my only solution. Surprisingly, it turned out that, if you know where to look, there are thousands of activities available in the web. I downloaded hundreds of colourful flashcards, boardgames, crosswords and ideas. Children love to look at pretty pictures (colourful ones, above all), they want to touch them, they are happy to name the objects and the number of flashcard games is infinite. I let them play with most of the materials (some of which are simply toys, as the mentioned ball or Teddy the teddy bear), and they love it.
Also, don't forget that your little students are, well, little. It's difficult for them to sit calmly in one place and focus on what you're doing. They need to change the activity every ten to fifteen minutes and it's best to include active games - running, jumping and dancing are always a hit - in your lesson. Change the pace as often as you can: after a song do some colouring or writing, then a game including running or hopping, then a quiet activity, and so on... Until the bell rings. Remember not to be in the middle of a game when it does, though - your students will be disappointed!

Important links for desperate teachers
And the not-so-desperate ones, too. I've downloaded tons of wonderful flashcards with matching worksheets from ESL Kids, and MES English was extremely helpful when it comes to all kinds of worksheets (customized ones, too) and games ideas. You can download great ESL songs from DreamEnglish, and Genki English is an amazing source of ingenious games. Oh, and don't forget the downloadable English books that you can print out, colour in and read!

This is only the first load of my ESL conclusions. I will bore you with some more soon. For now, join me in singing the bye-bye song and... I hope I managed to keep my plus!

Top picture: me at school during School's Day. Carrot and stick picture comes from here.