THE ART OF HAGGLING

In Central Africa, haggling is more than just a social ritual. It's art. You're expected to haggle in nearly every situation, and you lose face if you don't. All the vendors will give you an impossible price at first, at the same time contradicting themselves by telling you that, mon frère, you have to haggle. You thus negotiate the price of clothes, fabrics, handcraft, fruit, grilled fish, guide's or mechanic's services... At first, it feels awkward and stressful. Why can't they just give you a decent price at the very beginning? What is the decent price anyway? With time, the stress disappears and you might even enjoy the experience. But, no matter what you do, you always have a feeling that you've overpaid.

Last weekend, we went to the Handcraft Market, in search of certain objects that we'd liked for some time and wanted to take to Europe with us. The market is small, and so we decided to make a tour first, and then get back to the things we liked. We thus visited all the stands and were cordially invited to enter and ask questions, as the story of an object costs nothing. We promised most of the vendors that we'd come back (otherwise, they wouldn't have let us go) and, when we ended our tour, we were confronted with anxious eyes, reminding us what we'd promised. Ignoring them - which makes you feel as if you were taking the last bits of manioc away from their children - we chose two stands which did offer interesting things. We came back. Let the games begin!

Object number 1: Traditional tube, used to warn villagers that a stranger was approaching the village. First price: 35000 CFA (52,5 euro).
The tube was something I liked from the very beginning. Clearly, you can't be too eager, your excitement will only increase the price. I pick up the object and Jandro addresses the seller. Why Jandro? Well, I've discovered that he's become absolutely amazing at haggling, and I myself am not great. Also, I have a feeling that Gabonese men prefer to talk to men when it comes to business. And so it begins:

- So, boss, how much is it?
- Oh, my brother, it's not expensive. You are the first client today. I will give you a good price.
- Yes, but how much is it?
- Very very cheap. Weekend price!
- Yes, but how much is it?
- For you... Hmm... It's a special price. Weekend price. First-client price. 35000.
- Oh la la...! (Jandro puts the tube down, the vendor thrusts it back in his hand.)
- No, no. It's only my price. You don't like it? You give your price! You know us Gabonese, we like talking, getting to know our customer, negotiating. How much do you give me?
- 8000.
- No!
- Yes!
- No!
- Yes!
- Oh, my brother! Impossible. Give... 32000.
- 9000.
- No!
- Yes!
- My brother, you're making me lose money! I'm giving you a special price! First-client price! 30000.

We continue like this for ten minutes. We reach the final price of 13000, assuring the vendor of our eternal friendship and brotherhood. We exchange phone numbers and shake hands several times.

Objects number 2 and 3: A beautiful Kota mask. A ritual knife. First price: 100000 (150 euro) and 50000 (75 euro).
Our hearts had set upon the mask a long time before, and Jandro was really excited about the knife, too. We've found both these objects at one stand, which would probably let us get a better deal. We begin with the mask.

- How much?
- Oh, my brother, it's cheap! I'll give you a special price.
- How much?
- And how much do you want to pay?
- How much?
- OK, 90000.
- No, thanks. (Jandro puts the mask down.)
- No, no, you can't put it down. (The vendor gives the mask back to Jandro.) How much do you pay?
- 20000.
- (indignant) Impossible!
- If you give me a ridiculous price, I give you a ridiculous price.
- (laughing) Ah, my brother! Good one! I will lower the price for you, special price! 85000!
- 22000.
- My brother, you don't understand. I have to go to Makokou and visit the villages to buy this.
- Oh, Makokou, it's beautiful out there! You come from Makokou? Amazing place!
- Oh, my friend knows it? Yes, thank you, it's beautiful. 80000.
- 25000.
- My friend, (the vendor puts his arm around Jandro and whispers in his ear), for you and the lady, I will lower the price. But you're making me lose money. 70000. Only for you.

We continue (full conspiracy, low voices, furtive glances to see if anybody's listening), until, after around twenty minutes of putting the mask down and picking it up again, we reach the final price of 42000 CFA (63 euro). Now the time comes to talk about the knife. The vendor's first price is completely ridiculous, especially in view of the situation: we'd just bought an expensive object from him. We can't agree on the price, and so another vendor, who'd been listening in on our conversation, intervenes. He sees himself as a mediator and our spokesman, happily making decisions for us (if I can decide for my friend, the boss,...). Nevertheless, his help is not needed, and, having been assured that we make the vendor and his family lose enormous amounts of money, we get the knife for the final price of 20000 CFA (30 euro). We leave the market, feeling dozens of people's eyes upon our back, blazing with hatred and disappointment, ready to strike with all the ritual knives that we didn't buy.

Epilogue: As we were leaving, the first vendor stopped us and asked about our car, sporting a big FOR SALE ad. As he asked about the price, Jandro smiled, looked him in the eye and said: Oh, my brother, it's not expensive! You're my first client today, I'll give you a special price! The vendor wouldn't stop laughing for a long time.

The first picture is of a gift that we got from the second vendor for being such lovely clients (it's worth around 1000 CFA or 1,5 euro).

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

IN THE TAXI

With time I got used to taking taxis. I hardly ever take one for myself now – and if I do, it is only because my destination would be hard to reach otherwise. Sharing a cab is much more fun: you might get stuck between two huge African mammas (at such moments I always wish somebody would take a picture of me), there might be a cute baby staring at you with its enormous eyes, or you might hear or, better still, get involved in an interesting conversation. It is the latter I want to quote today.

7 a.m., the driver complains to a lady passenger:

Driver: …and the one that’s in France! He always says: I have exams! I need money!

Lady: Yeah…

Driver: So I sent him fifty thousand francs last month. Fifty thousand! And you know what he said?

Lady: Uh-huh.

Driver: Fifty thousand is not enough! How is fifty thousand not enough?! Fifty thousand I sent!

Fifty thousand francs CFA is seventy-five euro.

On my way home, the price for the trip is basic, 100 CFA (0,15 euro):

Me: Lycée León M’ba, 100 francs.

Driver: Ok.

(I get in.)

Driver: You can’t pay 100 CFA! It’s too little!

Me: That’s the price for this trip and we both know it. You said it was ok.

Driver: Of course it’s not ok! You white people must pay more! You’re rich!

Me (patiently): If it’s not ok, I’ll get off here. You said it was ok.

Driver: You white people with all your money! You do the same work as the African and you get paid so much more! You get your European contracts! You must pay more!

Me: I am not rich, I have a local contract, I earn the same as my Gabonese colleagues and I will not pay you more than 100 CFA. If it’s not ok, I’ll get off here.

Driver: You earn so much more! You are rich! You white people are rich and you get your expatriation benefit!

We got to my place. I paid 100 francs. I’ve had this conversation countless times.

Going to my French class, I took the taxi for myself for 1000 CFA (1,5 euro):

Driver: So it’s cold in France, yes?

Me: Wouldn’t know, never been there.

Driver: ??!?

Me: I’m Polish. You will notice I don’t speak good French.

Driver: I’m from Ivory Coast. Are there black people working in Poland?

Me: Yes, of course.

Driver: You must take me then. We get married?

Me: I’m afraid I already have a husband.

Driver: Not a problem. We get married and you take me to your country.

Me: Thanks but no thanks.

Driver: Oh, come on… I work hard, I’ll be good for you.

I kept saying no so he wished me a good day.

The taxi driver stopped twenty metres away from the place indicated by the lady passenger:

Lady: What are you doing?! Are you stupid?! I told you to stop and you didn’t stop!

Driver: I couldn’t stop where you told me to stop.

Lady: Are you stupid?!

Driver: I would’ve caused an accident!

Lady: I don’t care! You’re stupid!

The lady had told him to stop on a roundabout.

The taxi drivers are not Gabonese. The Gabonese are far too proud to take such a demeaning job. They are from all over Western Africa: Ivory Coast, Benin, Togo, Cameroon, Senegal, Nigeria… They drive around the city for hours on end – you often see them eat or take a nap in their taxi. They do not make much money and they very rarely own the questionable vehicle they drive; they must pay its owner a daily fee. They are very much looked down on by the Gabonese, who insult them for no reason at all. Do not take for granted, however, that they are all uneducated immigrants. We once met a Nigerian driver, who came to Gabon as an engineer and lost his job. He needed money and he took whatever job there was available. I’m convinced he’s not an exception. Life’s tough for a taxi-man in Gabon. Which maybe justifies a little why they want to make as much money as possible off a white girl.

THE UGLY ALPHABET

I've been unwell for quite a while: first my asthma's impressive come back ("Take my breath away" interspersed with "I will survive"), followed by a lovely duet of Pharyngitis feat Sinusitis - all in all a two week long tour, which had me entertained. I am heading towards being okay again, but all this has inspired me to tell you about something I've never described before: the little things you should be careful about when in Africa. Here it comes: a list of potential problems, pains and illnesses or how Africa changes your daily routine.

W is for Water
In many Central African countries you're not supposed to even wash your teeth with tap water. It may contain loads of bugs and bacteria that you really want to steer clear from. Luckily, Gabon is a happy exception. Here tap water is perfectly drinkable and both of us drink it instead of bottled water by now. Of course, at the beginning it's good to give yourself a time to get used to the local water - it's always different than in Europe. We've switched to tap water completely (cheaper) and it's working out very well, though. However, we never drink it when away from Libreville. When on a trip, we tend to be extra-careful and use mineral water even when we brush our teeth.

M is for Mosquito
And Mosquito is for Malaria. It's out there, just like flu, rather common, I'm afraid. There is no vaccination and you can only take preventive medication for up to one month. After that, you're on your own. Malaria mosquitoes mainly show at dusk (around 6 pm, that is, the very time I'm writing this). This is the right moment to close your windows and, if you're planning to leave home, generously spray your skin with an anti-mosquito product. And don't forget that you're never safe - use a mosquito net at night, the malaria squad doesn't go to sleep just because you do! Of course, you will get plenty of bites anyway. Just another way to test your luck.

S is for Salmonella
Are you obsessed with personal hygiene? Do you wash your hands seven hundred times a day? Good! Africa is the place for you. Salmonella tends to sit on unwashed fruit, in dirty water and also anything that might have contact with the two (the change you get from the taxi driver... somebody's hand you shake... you name it). Once it gets into your mouth - say, you absentmindedly touch it while deep in thought, or you're in a habit of biting your nails - the moment it gets into your mouth, you're done. Typhoid fever is what you get and - I know, I've been there - it's not pretty. Ask my boyfriend.

A is for Air-conditioning
Gabon, and above all Libreville, is not your stereotypical "wild" Africa, not at all. It's got great restaurants, big bildings, lovely flats and European shops. As it's very hot and humid, all of the above mentioned tend to rely on excessive use of air-conditioning. How so? Let me explain. Imagine you're working in an air-conditioned building. You're comfortable in your suit, complete with a tie, it's around twenty degrees and you're rather cool, typing away on your computer. Suddenly, you remember that you've left your snack in the car. So you walk out of your office, open an oven - ekhm, I mean the door - and you arrive at your car, your shirt soaked with sweat. You take off your jacket, panting, head back to the office, open the fridge - the door, I mean, sorry - ups, it's freaking cold! - you put on your jacket, you sit down, still sweating, cold all of a sudden... And there you go, the next day you're down with a cold. Or sinusitis. I really do think that this is one of the greatest dangers we face in Libreville on a daily basis. Ironically.

And B is for...? Can you guess?
Yes, last but not least, you can't speak about Central Africa without mentioning the B. Bugs! Bugs all over the place! To start with, cockroaches; huge fat flying cockroaches, that are everywhere and will probably take over the world some day. You inevitably have them at home (we are only relatively cockroach-free, which is a great achievement anyway), they will cause havoc at school (I'm pretty sure they take great pleasure in disturbing my classes) and they will boldly crouch right next to your chair and stare at you while you have lunch at a restaurant. Oh, and they're rather ugly.
The ants are there, too. And the little worms that you constantly find in your flour, pasta and rice. No matter how many plastic bags you put them in. However, this is nothing compared to the laundry fly (not its scientific name). If you put your wet laundry outside to dry, be ready for surprises. There is a fly that lays eggs in humid fabrics, which later nest in your skin. This leads to a red spot, looking like a mosquito bite, but containing a live worm, growing inside you until it's ready to break the skin and leave. Apparently, you can feel it move and all. Gives you special motivation to iron your clothes, doesn't it?

And that's all I can think of, folks. Not so bad, innit?

The pictures downloaded here and here respectively.

A UNIVERSAL TRUTH

São Tomé, being a whole different country, does not use the Central-African francs (XFA) but its own currency: dobra. One euro amounts to 24 500 dobras, which means that the bills you pay in São Tomé are astronomical: a dinner might as well cost you a million!

Jandro has already visited São Tomé for work, and thus yesterday we started the impossible quest to find the dobras he had left, stashed away somewhere around the house, probably hiding from us on purpose. After a quarter of an hour of futile, frantic search, we remembered that one of the tupperware boxes in the kitchen did more than just keep our food dry: it was there that Jandro used to hide his cash. We proceeded to open the box and examine its contents (Hey! We still have some kisiel left!) but the money envelope was not there.

- I told you it wasn't there. A month ago or so I rearranged that shelf and all the boxes. - Kasia says helpfully.
- Right. Did you throw anything away? - Jandro gives her a suspicious look.
- Lot's of stuff. All the expired products you'd had there for months! - she cries thriumphantly.
- An old box of bisquits that was in the tupperware, by any chance? - that suspicious look again.
- Yeah. It'd been there for ages!
- Right. That's where I used to keep the money before you came. That's where the dobras were. - Jandro is resigned to his fate.

And that's how I threw away all our dobras (could be around 50 euro) and God only knows how many francs XFA that were still in there, forgotten. This is the ultimate proof: nothing good can come from cleaning.

Picture downloaded here.

GABON WAKES UP EARLY

On 1st January 2010 Gabon learned a new phrase: la journée continuée. Until that date the country had followed the French work schedule: from 8 am to 12:45 pm and from 2:30 pm to 6 pm. At the school, I would start classes at 8 am and finish at 5:30, with a long 3-hour lunch break in the middle.

One of the first changes introduced by the new government was to change the working schedule. It is now compulsory to start at 7:30 and finish at 3:30pm, with no lunch break. More or less the Polish way, give or take thirty minutes. What pressing need led the government to act on the matter with such energy? Nobody knows but in general I can't say I mind. It means that I now have my first class as early as 7:30 but I finish at 12:45 and have the whole afternoon to myself (plus the school managed to squeeze my classes into three days and I have Monday off!). So, in general, the change is for better.

However, it wouldn't be Africa if the transition from one system to another didn't cause any chaos. On the one hand, the obligatory timetable change, experienced also by my school, does not in any way solve the parents' dilemma: who will pick their children up from school at 12:45, if all parents work until 3:30? On the other hand, some international insitutions, which in general work according to their headquarter's schedule (so, for instance, the EU Delegation will follow Brussels' timetables), must now face a ridiculous situation: all local employees (drivers, secretaries, etc.) are obliged to work in line with the new Gabonese regulation, while the international staff stick to the European working hours. In practice it means that your secretary will go home at 3:30 whether you need her or not, and you must work until 6pm. Moreover, your secretary will be at work at midday (hopefully catching up on some due tasks), while you have your lunch at home.

Confusing? Inefficient? So what else is new...?

IT DON'T MATTER IF YOU'RE BLACK OR WHITE ...OR DOES IT?

I've had a nice day today. The classes went extremely well - I think I've found an answer to the discipline problems at school - and I was feeling rather good about myself as a teacher. Despite my annoying cold.

As Jandro is away for two days, it was my job to fill the fridge, so I got into a taxi right after work. Affaires étrangères?, I asked, the taxi driver nodded and I got inside, taking the front seat. There were two people in the back, a man and a woman, and they were talking loudly about what I assumed was an innocent topic. After a few moments, however, in spite of my poor French, I realised that they were actually discussing... my looks. Or, to be precise, the man claimed that he would never go out with me. Too bad, I thought and smiled to myself, but life goes on. Fine. I'm white, I'm different, I'm French, I'm rich... Whatever. Couldn't care less if you find me pretty!

Sadly, this was only the beginning. The man started mocking me and the two words I said to the taxi driver. How many different ways are there to humiliate me by means of so little linguistic material? Too many. Everything that's pink is sooo pretty!, he exclaimed ironically. When I informed the driver that Ici c'est bon it gave him something new to laugh at and I heard him do so as the taxi drove away. Throughout the ride, the girl and the driver said nothing.

It was the first time I could not escape verbal abuse by walking away. I was trapped in a car with this man and while he laughed at me, mocked me and insulted me, I couldn't do anything. I wanted to turn and shout: WHAT THE HELL DO YOU KNOW ABOUT ME?! I wanted to give a thousand reasons why I didn't deserve to be treated like this. But I couldn't do anything. I'm white. It will never change. For some people I will never fit in. I couldn't do anything.

But let's stay positive: what did I learn today? Michael Jackson was wrong.

Picture downloaded here. Can I even use it?

SMALL TALK, BIG DEAL

There has been a lot of talk on this blog about how rewarding my Gabon experience is: I get to travel and meet people from a completely different world, living their culture and learning from them at all times. Of course, all of this is pure theory most of the time. I usually meet and spend time with Europeans and even from them it's difficult to learn because they just happen to speak the most difficult language in the world.

However, things have started to look up lately, even if I didn't notice it at first. It was Jandro who's been recently pointing out that my French is getting better and better, and that I can already hold a simple conversation without greater difficulty. Initially I thought that he was just trying to make me feel better but yesterday I got the ultimate proof that his remarks might have been based on reality. But let me walk you through it.

In some inexplicable way (the security men at least were not able to explain it) we got a puncture while the car was parked outside our building. We thus changed the wheel (this story is linked to another exciting anectode - the air filter one - but I don't know if I'm authorized to tell!) and drove to a garage to get the tyre fixed. The garage is right next to a fruit stand (not the one in the picture, mind you, but you get the idea) and while Jandro was dealing with the tyre guys, I went over to buy some fruit. We'd already bought there a few times and the young shop keeper showed some signs of recognition. I bought the fruit, remarked that it was expensive, got the usual "that's Gabon" in reply, said "but still", got the price reduced by 500 CFA, paid and trotted away to Jandro. It's funny, by the way, how you always have to go through the ceremony of haggling, even when both parties know that the initial price is ridiculous.

The fruit girl watched us for a moment and then cleared some things off a stool and offered it to me (You can also put your fruit here. It might get smashed by a car over there). I accepted and sat down, while she herself took her usual spot on the ground. Il fait chaud, I stated, because nothing else came to my mind and weather is always a valid topic. Oh yes, it is hot, she picked up, rather happy that I started the conversation. We talked about some exotic fruit she was selling, about how my skin was not made for this weather, and how I wasn't French, how she was from Benin, a beautiful but poor country, and how Libreville was cooler where I lived because the sea was near. Soon enough, Jandro was done and came up to us. I got up (at that time I was already sitting on the ground as well) and waved goodbye to the girl and she asked me if we had any kids (because if you did I'd ask about their health). I asked her the same question and she said no, looking extremely young at that very moment (it is very difficult to tell the age of African people. I normally distinguish between children, elderly people and the large group in between).

Most French-speaking people in Gabon have these chats every day, hardly even noticing that they are experiencing a different culture. For me it was the first time I actually had an independent and improvised conversation with somebody from here. It feels good to know that my French is improving. But it feels even better to realise that I too can have a go at putting the whole "cultural experience" idea into practice.

ON MY OWN

So, the sun is setting on my alone time in Libreville and of course I'm terribly excited that Jandro is coming back. But I am also very proud of myself: I have survived a whole week on my own, which means that both my French and social skills have developed sufficiently to allow it.

My week consisted of going to work, going shopping and going to the gym, as well as visiting and receiving friends. I also contacted and met up with a new French teacher. I spoke more French than ever and was complemented on it several times. I moved around in taxis, apart from a couple of times when one sympathetic colleague or other picked me up on the road. I was surprised at how natural it was for me to come back to Gabon and take up the life I'd left here.

Even though to you all these things may seem trivial - after all you go to work on your own every day and most of you have lived alone - for me it was a challenge, and one which I tackled succefully. Do you remember the girl you met in April? The one who had doubts whether to go for a walk on the beach or not? Well, she's not here anymore. Africa is really growing on me, the more I learn, the more I want to know. And, believe it or not, I did not see this coming.

LATITUDE DOWN, TEMPERATURE UP

Yesterday I got up at 3:30 am and boarded my plane to Frankfurt at 6. I had (of course) trouble with the weight of my suitcase, which, in short, means that I ended up travelling with a plastic bag full of kiełbasa (I'm sure the smell made me rather popular with fellow passengers).

I got to Frankfurt on time and landed in Libreville as scheduled. In 12 hours my world changed from freezing cold and snowy to hot and stuffy. My body is still making the necessary adjustments, which results in my being terribly tired and dizzy. As I was going through customs I had the following conversation with the customs officer, who was dutifully guarding the exit:
Officer: Where are you coming from?
Me: Poland.
Officer: I said: where are you coming from?
Me (thinking I understood him wrong): Can you repeat the question?
Officer (patiently): Where are you coming from?
Me: Poland. As I said.
Officer: What is Poland?
Me: A country in Europe. Do you want to see my passport?
Officer: Will you go already?
So I hurried out.

I got home, having been picked up by one of our lovely neighbours. The lift wasn't working. I asked the security guy to help me with my suitcase and he boldly claimed to be able to take it up on his own. I told him it was heavy and that I lived on the eighth floor but he insisted on doing it alone, probably not very keen to share his tip. Judging from his face and grunts, he regretted his choice as early as the third floor.

The flat was just as we left it, apart from two things: a huge dead cockroach on the living-room floor and the fact that there is no electricity in the bedrooms and ensuite bathrooms, which consitute exactly half of our flat. Luckily kitchen and air-conditioning work.

And here I am, in Libreville again. Jandro will arrive on Friday night and up till then I'm on my own. Let's just hope my Survival in Libreville skills are as developed as I believe them to be.

THE ONE WITH THE BLACKOUT

Last Wednesday, while we were having dinner, all the lights suddenly went off. This is nothing extraordinary in Gabon. You can depend on power cuts more than on planes leaving as scheduled. We thus took our glasses of wine and positioned ourselved on the terrace to assess the situation. It was the usual: around a hundred metres on the one side and fifty on the other all the street lamps were off. Our location is quite unhappy - if anybody is to have a blackout, it's going to be us, just the tiny square of land occupied by our building and little more.

We were sipping our wine, rather relaxed, as we knew what was going to happen: in about twenty minutes the lights would be back on. We were thus very surprised when, after about twenty minutes, all the lights within our sight went... off. Now that was new. We observed the city buried in complete darkness. Spooky. We went to bed thinking the electricity would come back in the morning.

It didn't. The entire Thursday and the following night the whole city had no power. Most of the food in our fridge went bad in the heat. Computer and mobile batteries were uncharged. No light, no air-conditioning, no lift. For 36 hours.

The lack of electricity is uncomfortable but bearable. The real problem was of different nature: we live on the eighth floor, provided with water by an electric pump. When there is no power, we have no water. In this case, for 36 hours. It also means we must get down eight floors (on foot), fill whatever bottles we have with water and go up eight floors again. During this blackout we only did it once, luckily.

Positive sides? Well, romantic, candle-light suppers and a perfect excuse to read a book all day as no computer work could be done (I don't work at the school on Thursdays and Friday was a day off). Oh, and the fact that they fixed it before Saturday night, as we were originally told they would.

TIA.

PS. I wrote this entry at midday and the very moment I clicked "Publish Post", there was another blackout. African irony, I suppose.

For those of you who are not Friends fans (like us): sorry about the incomprehensible title.