PARC NATIONAL THE GABONESE WAY

Yesterday we went on a boat trip to the nearby National Park of Akanda. We'd already visited it a few months before and so we called up the same Nigerian fishermen who took us there in April. Of course, it would be easier and maybe more legal to enter the park through some kind of "official" body, associated with park authorities, such as the Akanda hotel. However, the price proposed by the hotel was a daunting 40 000 francs (60 euros) per person, while the fishermen we found in the port of Charbonnages offer the same services for 70 000 francs (105 euros) per boat, which seats up to eight people. Even if there were only four of us, the final price per person amounted to 26 euros.

The first stop on our way to the Île aux oiseaux (French for Bird Island) was a place we hadn't visited back in April: a tiny little island, entirely occupied by a Nigerian village. We disembarked among the traditional pirogues, and were welcomed by excited kids springing to view from every direction and huge poster saying: Parc National d'Akanda. Accès strictement réglementé. As soon as we touched ground, a big man, dressed in a European way, appeared out of nowhere, brandishing a large Canon camera. He presented himself as le conservateur du parc and officially welcomed us to the little island, scrutinising our fisherman guides. Afterwards, a conversation followed, which held us scandalised throughout the rest of the day.

- So, as you can see the tourism is not yet developed. We are, however, thinking of building a hotel to receive tourists. Of course, we will not bring them here from Charbonnages, its too dirty (meaningfully pointing to the villagers with his head).
- Oh, but we like the Charbonnages market. Where are you going to build the hotel?
- Right next to the Île aux oiseaux. You will be able to book it through the park and we will offer real guides (again, looking in the direction of the Nigerians who were accompanying us).
- But isn't there a village there?
- Well, yes. We will remove it and build a hotel.
- Oh... But it is interesting to visit the villages. We enjoy that. Tourists enjoy that.
- Well, yes... If they were Gabonese we might understand. But Nigerians...

We were at a loss for words. Of course, we knew that the Gabonese looked down on other Africans. But to remove a whole village in order to build another expensive hotel? How will they handle the people? Where are they going to be removed to? And all this coming from a person responsible for one of the national parks. Suddenly I felt strange loyalty towards our Nigerian guides. The conservateur had an obvious air of a bully and I felt sorry for the villagers who had to put up with him on a daily basis. Before saying goodbye, he took a picture of us, which will probably be included in some kind of a useless report. We left hoping that the hotel would end up as so many other Gabonese projects: in the phase of planning.

Pictures from the trip here.

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?

WHY ARE YOU WALKING SO FAST?

Last night we planned a somewhat adventurous trip to Franceville (we're going away tomorrow!) and for today we scheduled Stage 1: Preparation. I was supposed to go to the city centre and get the train tickets. This implies:

1) getting a taxi to a place I'd never visited alone
2) finding the ticket office
3) speaking French to the ticket lady
4) getting back home.

Originally I thought of getting a taxi for myself and having it take me straight to my destination (1000 CFA) but in the end the explorer woke up in me and I took a shared taxi which left me in the right area (200 CFA). I managed to localise the boulangerie which kind of let me know where I was. And so I went up the street towards it. Things were going really well and I even planned to have some coffee after I got the tickets.

A young man approached me and wanted to give me a leaflet. I politely declined and went on. He followed me. "Why are you walking so fast, princess?", he asked in a low voice, nearly whispering. He followed me for a while but I managed to get rid of him when I got to a cafe full of people. He laughed (in a well-meaning manner, I must admit, he didn't really seem dangerous) and went away.

I sighed, relieved, only to realise that I had to go down that very street again - that was where the ticket office was. I hung by the cafe for a little while and, resigned to my fate, started walking straight to my destination. Another young man showed up, this one looking decidedly more shabby and missing a tooth. "Hello, princess", was his opening line and I made a fatal mistake of saying "I'm sorry, I don't speak French". He grabbed my arm and said he spoke English (suprisingly, this was true to a certain extent). He looked at me in a way no girl likes to be looked at and kept touching my arm, which I kept pulling back, walking really fast at the same time. "Give me...", he started and I very quickly said I wasn't going to give him anything. Suddenly the first guy appeared and, panic rising inside me, I realised there weren't many people around.

The first man, however, turned out to be quite decent, I suppose. He laughed and told the other one to leave me alone, but they both followed me right to the doorstep of the ticket office. They were laughing and saying things I didn't understand. I got scared. For some time they waited in front of the building.

Oh yes, I bought the tickets (picture) and everything ended well. I called Jandro to tell him what had happened (and above all because talking to him has a soothing effect) and he insisted on coming to get me. He drove me home.

When I was waiting for the lift, a handsome guy appeared. He was visiting someone in the building and told me I had a lovely shirt (I was wearing my African blouse). He got off on the second floor, held the door, told me I was beautiful and asked if he could see me again. I smiled, thanked, said I didn't think it was possible and he let go of the door. If it had happened any other day, I would've felt flattered and amused. Today, however, I just wanted to hide under the bed.