HAD MYSELF A MERRY LITTLE CHRISTMAS

So, it's not cold. There is no snow. My family is not here. And it doesn't smell like pine tree. Still, this year's Christmas has been, so far, pretty amazing. Yesterday I made pierogi and we had a lovely Christmas dinner chez our friends. Today we celebrated in a slightly different way, though. For the first time in my life, Christmas Day was not about me and my family. We decided to spend this special day with the Arc En Ciel kids. And it turned out to be an excellent idea!

The plan was to take the kids out to the beach, play play play, have a picnic and distribute the presents. The first thing you must know about these kids is that they are absolutely crazy about the beach! Even though they live on the coast, they rarely get an opportunity to get away from the centre. It's a very special treat for them.

First, we splashed around in the water. The old I push you - you fall down - I laugh my head off game was a huge hit. Kids were all over us and, for once, nobody minded. There was hugging and holding hands, and pushing, and climbing on your back. And, careful as I am not to let them get too close to me, I let myself go today. No physical boundaries - Christmas gift for them but, above all, for me.

Then we had a snack. Sandwiches, sweets, biscuits, fruit, juice, Coke... It's an experience to watch these kids eat. They act as if the world was coming to an end, and the only way to save it were by eating as much as you can, as quickly as you can. You can tell them that the food is not going to disappear. They nod and ask for another biscuit, even though they have just stuffed two whole ones in their mouth! Also, here's a useful tip: no quantity of goodies will ever be enough!

Finally, after a professional football match (one of the boys: I'm going to swim. My team has no idea how to play football!), the time for presents came. I'd come up with the following idea: each boy gets a picture of himself, framed and wrapped. As they are crazy about pictures, and I've been taking quite a lot of them during our time together, it was bound to be a success. I thus printed out the photos, put them in the frames that had been brought from Europe by Arc En Ciel volunteer friends, and wrapped them in present paper, with ribbons and name tags - the way it's supposed to be done.

I think for a moment there each and every one of the boys felt special. They got an individual gift each, something that doesn't happen often. Usually, either the centre receives a collective present or each boy gets the same package. This time they were the protagonists, all the pictures were different and, most importantly, they could keep them! Consequently, it seems logical that a few boys wanted to prolong the pleasure. And so some wouldn't open their gifts at the beach, guessing what was inside in spite of the photo-frame-shaped object in their hands. Others still would try to put the wrapping paper back on their frames because the present looked so pretty before.

And the kids would call Jandro Monsieur Kasia.

There are no words that can describe how I felt for the rest of the day. Touched. Happy. Satisfied. Elated. Heart-broken. Too many emotions.

A friend of mine once said she could not do this kind of work. It would be too painful for her. I cannot disagree, in many ways it is painful. However, it is the kind of pain I can deal with, as long as I get to put a smile on those ebony faces.

What a day! Big thanks to the people who made it possible: Su and Tito (who, starting off as the readers of this blog, became its protagonists), Kathleen (who was extremely generous today), and, of course, Jandro, because he's always there. I dedicate my Oscar to... Oh, sorry, got a bit carried away.

I am going to Mayumba tomorrow, and will not have time to upload any photos until after we get back. But this post will have images, I promise!

MONSIEUR ALEXANDRE AND KASIA

Once, a long long time ago, I was not a teacher, I was not an expatriate and I was not even thinking of going abroad. In those days, I was your regular university student, majoring in linguistics, studying hard for her exams and writing term papers. Today's post will only partly be written by yours truly, resident of Gabon. I would rather say it comes from the already-forgotten linguistics student, who is sometimes looking for a comeback. However, do not despair! If you're not interested in forms of address in the various languages I speak, don't give up on this entry. I will tell you a little something about Gabon, too.

You and its many translations
Yes, today I want to talk about forms of address, or, in other words, the familiar and polite ways of addressing other people. The most natural starting point is English, as it's the working language of this blog. However, there's not much to be said about English, because it uses the pronoun you for both formal and informal encounters. Therefore, it is not through the personal pronoun that you mark the difference between a conversation with, say, your future boss, and a chat with a friend. Whatever you say, you it is.

The other languages I speak on a daily basis - Polish, Galician and French - are different as far as forms of address are concerned. All three of them distinguish between the familiar (ty, ti and tu respectively) and the polite (pan/pani, vostede and vous). In theory, polite forms are used between adults who don't know each other or as an expression of respect. Thus, in a Polish cafe, when served by a person my age, I will still be addressed as pani, and I will always refer to my friends' parents as pan/pani, even if I know them very well. On the other hand, the familiar forms are reserved for people of (usually) similar age, with whom you are on the first-name basis, such as friends, colleagues, etc.

In practice, Galician, similarly to Spanish, tends to settle for the familiar ti in most situations. For example, it's not uncommon to use this pronoun when talking to your university professor, which, by the way, came as a great shock to me (consequently, I was the odd exchange student, who would address her teachers as vostede). Only French and Polish really retain the distinction between the formal and the intimate, which means - behold! - that I have actually found a rule in French which came completely naturally to me.

Vous and the Gabonese French
The French are very formal when speaking to people they don't know. The polite vous is omnipresent, and honorifics such as Madame and Monsieur are - even to my Polish ears - overused. So, nothing simpler than to adapt, I thought. Finally something I don't need to learn from scratch! Or is it?

Grasping the whole tu/vous issue in French as spoken by the Gabonese is, sadly, more difficult than it seems. While in theory the rules remain unchanged, most Gabonese address their fellow Africans as tu. This goes in line with the Central-African saying On est ensemble (we are together), which stresses that we are all brothers and sisters. Or, more specifically, that they are all African brothers and sisters, for white people will usually be addressed using the polite vous.

This leaves me in doubt as to how I should speak to the Gabonese: I want to adapt to the African rules, but a tu coming from me may be interpreted as racist, and not as an invitation to a less formal, African-style conversation. It is true that many white people address the Gabonese as tu, while the latter respond with the polite vous. And this, in my view, is indeed an expression of racism. On the other hand, it is sometimes difficult to convince an African (above all of lower social status) to give up vous while talking to you. It took me months of work to have the school's cleaning ladies call me tu, and the security guard still gets confused from time to time and greets me with Bonjour Madame, vous... tu... allez bien?

An equally interesting socio-linguistic phenomenon can be observed in the case of our cleaning lady. She always refers to Jandro as Monsieur Alexandre, as he is the man of the house and her boss. This respectful form is met with a vous-treatment from Jandro as well. However, from the very beginning, I have been addressed as Kasia and tu. Even though I also pay her and tell her what to do, she considers me of little consequence, which is automatically mirrored in her language. I consistently use vous when I talk to her, but the situation is not to be changed, we have been dubbed Monsieur Alexandre and Kasia for all eternity.

Finally, some African people (again, I'm not talking of the emerging middle class and the rich upper class) will employ tu all the time, even when addressing their superiors, but they will stress their respect by the use of a honorific (Madame/Monsieur). This leads to such charming grammatical inconsistencies as Madame, tu as grossi! (Madame, you've put on weight!). This is how I was once greeted by my tailor, and, unfortunately, he was absolutely right. Luckily, gaining a few kilograms is a positive thing in Africa, and my tailor still thinks I'm pretty.

Are you confused yet?
After reading this entry, do you begin to understand what a linguistic mayhem the inside of my head must be? Living in several foreign languages is a huge challenge. The changing cultural frameworks, terms of reference, words you're currently missing, words that you confuse, words, words, words... The two weeks in Poland will definitely do me good.

The picture comes from here.

LOVING AND GIVING, AND SHARING, AND RECEIVING

Christmas is obviously a special time. Last year, I told you about the Christmas tree ritual at my parents' house. I gave you recipes for Christmas food. I insisted on how cold it was in Warsaw. I felt the crunching of snow under my feet. None of this is going to happen this year, though. Christmas 2010 is special in a different way - it is the first Christmas I will spend away from home.

As you grow older, you become more and more detached from your parents - a natural process which I really do not object to. I moved out of my parents' house and went to live abroad over three years ago. We are still very close but, clearly, we don't see each other very often. However, I would always come home for Christmas. Up till now. And of course, I miss my Mom and Dad.

But the things I'm going to miss this year are many. Take the weather, for instance. Is it possible that Christmas is coming, when it's 30 degrees outside? Is it possible to spend Sunday, 12 December, at the beach? It should get dark at 4 pm, it should be white all around, and it should be cold. Freezing, so that you can sit in your cosy living room, lit up by the Christmas lights, and have hot tea.

And then the Christmas decorations around the city. Of course, Libreville is doing its best. There is a Christmas tree made of lights (similar to the one in Warsaw, but it lights up as the Gabonese flag), which has been blocking one of the most important crossroads in the city centre for over a month. Gabonese style, it is still in three parts, waiting patiently to be assembled. The street lamps sport decorations, too. But no, it's not the same.

Moreover, Christmas spirit does not exist. The three supermarkets have been decorated in a dull, sad way, and the black Santa with an extremely fake white beard has been spotted in various places, usually in the process of staring into a TV. Yes, in Europe you are surrounded by annoying pop-adaptations of carols everywhere, but they do the trick. You feel that, as Billy Mack would say, Christmas is indeed all around.

And, finally, the ultimate sign of Christmas: the Christmas tree. Supermarkets are filled with ugly fake trees. I hate ugly fake trees. The Christmas tree is supposed to smell like the forest and gingerbread. It gives you the warm fuzzy feeling, which only lasts a little while but fills you with hope and joy and happiness. A living, scented, fuzzy-feeling-giving joy-bringer, if you will. A fake ugly tree has no such powers. Ergo, I didn't get one.

Instead, I occupied a couple of my lonely evenings (Jandro is still away) with designing and producing my special African Christmas... conical fishing basket (the exact translation of the French word nasse, brought to you by the irreplaceable wordreference). You see, we've had our decorative nasse (please don't make me say conical fishing basket) for a long time and, following the suggestion of my brilliant French teacher, I decided to make it into a Christmas tree. I made balls out of the African fabrics, I used tinsel and some ready-made decorations, partly from Africa (bought locally in a cute yet expensive shop), partly from... the Philippines, the latter generously donated by a Malaysian friend (for which I hereby issue a public thank you). The effect is visible in the photos. I'm rather proud of myself.

So, what is the conclusion? If you are expecting a final wail, I am happy do disappoint you. As I said, the Christmas spirit is mostly absent and my tree happens to be a conical fishing basket. However (and thank goodness for the however!), I still have so many things to be excited about:

1. I get to spend Christmas with my boyfriend. For the first time.
   
2. I have just started our own collection of Christmas decorations. (Again, the boyfriend factor.) I find it romantic. Call me sentimental, see if I care.
3. We have been invited chez our friends for dinner on 24 December, and it makes me very happy to think that we've met people on whom we can count on such a special day.
4. We have decided to spend Christmas Day with the Arc En Ciel kids, and take them to the beach, games and picnic included. I'm looking forward to that, too. I'm suddenly a big fan of sharing, which - careful! - might make me a better person.
   

As Joey would say, Christmas is the time of loving and sharing, and giving, and receiving. And this is exactly what I intend to do, as it applies regardless of the latitude, temperature and availability of fresh pines. Here's my wish for Christmas 2010: may all of us discover the Christmas spirit that lives inside!

AND THE WINNER IS...

I came back to the Treasury today. I was supposed to find out whether the Deposit Saga would finish at last or not. I did, and it is a definite end. Is it a happy end, though? I want to maintain the suspense. To find out, you'll have to read through my story.

After work, I took off my flip-flops (the elegant ones) and put on my new shoes (the flowery ones). I checked my fancy dress for chalk stains and hopped into a taxi. At the Trésor, I asked for my friend Madame la Secretary, and confidently stepped into her office, nearly stumbling upon a huge bag full of money, which she was in the proccess of counting (and when I say a huge bag, I mean thousands and thousands of euros). She recognised me, informed her boss of my presence and told me he would see me tout de suite. Instantly suspicious, I answered that it was her who was supposed to take me to the person who would issue a cheque. I am counting the money, madame. Of course.

The tout de suite lasted forty minutes, during which around ten thousand euros were counted. After I reminded the Secretary that I was still there, blocking the entrance to her cubicle, she sighed, got up and went to see her boss again. He was ready to see me. I was not, however, led to the same cubicle-office as yesterday. Instead, Madame la Secretary took me to a different cubicle and a different boss. Not a great sign, I thought. But I politely sat down in the leather chair.

And then, all of a sudden, everything went smoothly. A person was called to bring my documents. I was asked to sign a form (I did, reluctantly, looking for a catch). And then the money was brought. I left the Treasury with 730 000 CFA, the exact amount we had paid in September 2009. I went out quickly, worried that something might still go wrong. Nothing did, though. We won. It's over.

Impossible is nothing! Luckily - these new shoes turned out to be extremely uncomfortable...

The Complete Deposit Saga consists of six episodes. The previous ones are:
1) Out of the Territory or how we gave it a try at the CEDOC;
2) The Odyssey Continues or how we stumbled upon the right track;
3) Show Must Go On or the neverending wait;
4) ...Et la robe doit dépasser les genoux! or our first time at the Treasury;
5) Call Me Josef K. or how I put on new shoes.

CALL ME JOSEF K.

After our first, slightly unsuccessful on my part, visit to the Trésor, we were asked to call the Secretary of the Director General on the following day. We did and, surprisingly, were asked to come in.

I thus put on my only closed shoes, which happen to be pink trainers, and we set off. I was, of course, stopped at the entrance and asked by a superior security guard if I knew how to read. As Jandro went in, the guard pointed to a specified list of clothes which are allowed at the institution, and instructed me to read it carefully, using the familiar form tu, which is unacceptable in an official conversation. I read, took my usual spot outside the building, and waited.

Jandro emerged not long afterwards, saying that Secretary A directed him to Secretary B, who, in turn, told him to come back on Monday, as her Boss was extremely busy. And this is where today's story begins. Jandro being away, I had to pay a visit to Secretary B on my own.

Dressed in an elegant skirt which modestly covered my knees and the black shoes I had dutifully bought on Friday, I stepped through the threshold of Treasury just before 10 am. The security guards scrutinized my feet and must have been satisfied with the huge flowers on top of my brand new fake-suede shoes. Following Jandro's instructions, I found Secretary B's office. She quickly sent me away to Monsieur C's Secretary. Apparently, it was Monsieur C, the vice director of Treasury, who was in possession of my dossier.

Asking around, I managed to find my second Secretary of the day. She occupied one of the many tiny cubicles, and so did Monsieur C (his was slightly fancier but as cramped as the other ones). I sat down in the Secretary's "office", while she explained to me that Monsieur C was a very busy man. I spent an hour waiting for him to find a minute to see me, meanwhile becoming intimate friends with the Secretary.

Finally, I was called in. I opened the door, hit a huge leather armchair, which was blocking the entrance, and squeezed inside. Even though I had never mentioned my name, Monsieur knew exactly who I was. He was indeed in the possession of the dossier but was missing some mysterious "listing", with which I could not supply him. He called me Madame Kaczynski several times and informed me that issuing a cheque would take 24 hours. I was to come back the next day and ask for my friend the Secretary. She would take me to the person who would hand me the cheque.

Stunned, I thanked him and left. The word "cheque" was still ringing in my ears. Was it possible that things would go smoothly from then on? Would I really receive my money tomorrow? My African experience is suggesting only one possible answer to these questions: I have no idea whatsoever!

BONDING

For a few months now, I've been volunteering for Arc En Ciel, the children's centre I've already told you about. I try to teach some English, using roughly the same methods I use at school. Sometimes I feel successful, sometimes I have an impression that the kids are not very much into it. But I do go there regularly (unless I'm ill, which has been happening a lot lately) and I spend some time with the kids. As I only go once a week, the bonding ritual has been stretching in time. I even came to think that we might not manage to work out a relationship before I have to leave. The latter, by the way, wouldn't be that bad for the kids either, since it means they wouldn't miss me. Nevertheless, yesterday everything changed.

Initially, two other volunteers and I were going to take the kids to the beach. Such outings are organised a couple of times a month, and I think it's an excellent idea. However, the trip was cancelled by the Sister who runs the centre, as the kids had misbehaved in an unacceptable way. The Sister proposed that we came in and did some activities indoors, to which we instantly consented. After a vehement exchange of e-mails, we settled upon the "Christmas Crafts Morning" idea, which included producing various types of Christmas tree ornaments, origamiing and even making the tree itself from a wooden board (or what some might call "macho crafting").

We were surprised at how much enthusiasm was provoked by the crafts atelier. All the kids participated and were very proud of the effects. As you might suspect, I took plenty of pictures, and the children turned out to be fascinated by my camera. Supervising closely, I let them play with it a bit, and we ended up learning how to use the basic options, too. They were extremely careful not to break it, I must admit.

When we were leaving for lunch, the boys asked if we were going to accompany them to the American Embassy's Christmas Party, to which they had been invited. It was supposed to take place that very afternoon, and we were scheduled as chaperons for the event from the beginning. It was lovely to see them smile when we said that yes, indeed, we would go with them. As we came back to pick them up, the boys were already dressed up and beside themselves with excitement. One of them smiled at me and said: Oh, Madame Kasia, you really came back! Why was he surprised? I had promised!

The party was lovely. Lots of tasty food and swings - in short, all you need to give a kid a sugar high! The children were shy, though. They would only get food and drinks when accompanied by one of us, and I did feel a tad moved when R., the youngest boy, put his hand into mine to feel more confident. On our way home they were silent. I knew they felt sad that the day was over.

All in all, the children had a fun day but, to be completely honest, I don't know if it was more fun for them or for me. I felt we really bonded, which is, of course, fantastic. But it also breaks my heart a little. The more I care, the harder it gets, I suppose. And the hardest thing of all is... not to let yourself or the children care too much.

...ET LA ROBE DOIT DEPASSER LES GENOUX!

The Deposit Saga continues. After five weeks and what feels like three thousand phone calls, we managed to obtain the necessary documents from CEDOC. Our dossier is getting thicker and thicker, and it's now inside a fancy yellow CEDOC folder. We have a valuable signature of the Big Boss, and should thus get our money in no time. However, wouldn't you be surprised if things were this simple? Wouldn't you be disappointed? Relax, no disappointment in stock today. Instead, I will tell you a story of incompetence, flip flops and how I have to go shoe shopping.

Stage two
We were informed at CEDOC that now we were ready to take our dossier to the next level, which turned out to be the Treasury. As the name itself suggests a place where money can be obtained, we were fairly optimistic. This morning, just before nine o'clock, we found out that fairly optimistic could easily be substituted with stupid and naive.

We arrived at the Trésor and were confronted by a queue of roughly thirty people. A few security guards (as usual, with their huge guns at the ready) were hovering about, so we asked one of them what one had to do to get inside the building. He, in turn, informed us that the machines were out of order and thus no work could be done. Wondering if the Treasury was employing state-of-the-art robots which did all the work, we asked if we could maybe talk to someone inside. He said yes, but insisted on the fact that no work could be done whatsoever. Robots got broken, yes, we get it. We entered anyway.

Money money money
Inside, there was a number of people queuing in the general direction of a cubicle, where three women were sitting, staring into space. Clearly, as no work could be done, no work was being done. People were just sitting and waiting. We approached the three ladies and politely explained our situation. Shouting from behind the glass pane, they told us that yes, indeed, it was here where we could pay our deposit. Now it was clear to us how unusual our demand was. We patiently explained the whole thing again. Another lady started shouting to us, which quickly evolved into shouting at us. Indignantly, she said she had no idea what we had to do to get the deposit back and that we should go to the Ministry of Home Affairs and ask them for a special document, which later we should take to the second floor in the Treasury.

We left the ladies in the state of extreme agitation, as we had made them work, even though the machines were out of order.

No flip, just a flop
Still full of positive energy, we decided to head straight for the second floor of the Treasury, happily ignoring the whole Ministry recommendation. We thus walked around the building and reached a parking lot. We continued towards the entrance and, of course, as all other obvious terrorists, were stopped by several heavily armed security guards. The one who talked to us was sitting at a desk, on top of which there were several coffee mugs and lots of snacks. Professional that he was, he leaned in his chair and began:

Mr. Big: Yes?
Jandro explains our business.
Mr. Big: The lady cannot come in.
Me: Why is that, exactly?
Mr. Big: The lady is wearing flip flops and they are not allowed.
Me: I wear these flip flops to official cocktails with ambassadors!
Mr. Big: Flip flops are not allowed. The gentleman can go in.

As Jandro disappeared behind the door, I was told to leave the premises. I couldn't even wait outside with the guards, as it was security zone, where accidents happen. I wanted to make things crystal clear though. I insisted:

Me: So, if I'm wearing sandals but not flip flops, can I come in?
Mr. Big: No, you can't. No sandals. Only closed shoes.
Mr. Big 2 (looks me up and down): And your dress should cover you knees!
Me: As in church, got it.

While I was waiting for Jandro outside, it struck me what great satisfaction it was for the guards to send me away. I probably made their day! And just so you know, I had made a special effort that morning, and I wore a fancy dress (which ended right above my knees), a matching necklace and elegant flip flops.

Epilogue
Jandro managed to pass our dossier to the secretary of the chief of Treasury. My charming boyfriend must have flirted away, for she gave him her number and we're supposed to call tomorrow. The experience left me thinking that I had absolutely no closed dress shoes to speak of. Conclusion: in view of the fact that Jandro is leaving for two weeks and I have several visits to Trésor ahead of me... must go shoe shopping! Soon!

The previous episodes of the Deposit Saga are: Out of the Territory, The Odyssey Continues and Show Must Go On.