AMÉRICAINE?

Last week I started working as an English teacher at a Gabonese (French?) elementary school. I teach ages 5 - 11 and, well, it's not easy but the kids (contrary to what I expected) are mostly great. I don't want to write about the school today, though; this blog is not about teaching in the end. The beginning of term brought about more concerns than just ESL methodology. I had to start moving around the city on my own - Jandro did not want to leave his job and become my full-time driver (the post is still free, interested?).

So, taxis. And, above all, speaking. French. Clearly. It is stressful, this taxi business. I described them in detail in April and, sadly, nothing's changed since then. The first time is always the most difficult but then, remember?, my first taxi was in April. Thus, this experience safely behind me, with new energy I started talking to the taxi drivers. With most of them it's easy: you say how much, you say where, they nod or drive away. Done. Of course, you have to get over the initial shock - the car, falling apart, is usually driven by some kind of NY gangsta imitation. But the rule is still Nike: Just Do It!

Consequently, many people have the pleasure of seeing my struggle with French. I have had quite a few successful conversations in that language, though: cleaning lady at the school (will switch off the air-conditioning), cheese lady at the supermaket (has three children, sister will get married soon), Senegalese taxi-driver (doesn't like Libreville but the job is good)... All of my interlocutors asked me immediately: "Américaine?" There must be something inevitably American about my accent and looks, I guess. I do always say I'm Polish and to that the reactions are many and diverse:
- Ahh, Poland! The Pope!
- Ahh, Poland! There was this football-player in 1970s., what's his name?
- Ahh, Poland! Close to Russia?
- Ahh, Poland! You speak English there?
- Ahh, Poland! Are you finally independent?

I wonder what people from Warsaw would say to a Gabonese person...? Ahh, Gabon! Where the hell is that?!

CARTE DE SEJOUR

Taaadaaaa! Pretty cool, huh? We went to the office and we got it, just like that! I'm official and nobody will deport me unless I go really bad. Big success, yes sir!

Oh, and just so you know - if I can't prove I'm a teacher or whatever, I have no profession. Obviously.

THE KING IS DEAD, LONG LIVE THE KING

Friday 4 September 2009 was an important day in Gabon's history. On this day it was revealed that Ali Bongo, the eldest son of late Omar Bongo, became the new president of the country. The official results were questioned by both Mamboundou and Mba Obame, as they called for their supporters to stand up to the fraud (according to many Bongo did not win the elections).

The riots started in Port Gentil, Gabon's second city and always a hot spot politically. The French Consulate was burned and the inmates of the local prison were set free. Some people were injured during the manifestations and two of them died. The authorities introduced curfew and there was even talk of martial law.

Libreville, on the other hand, remained relatively calm. Unnaturally calm, one could say. There were a few manifestations, people shouting, police intervening (quite brutally, apparently). The streets remained completely empty. No taxis, no pedestrians, no people at the beach, shops closed. At every gas station you could see a couple of soldiers with their guns at the ready. It was not very smart to be outside (even more so because - have I told you? - we're white), so we spent four days locked up at home, watching the empty empty Bord de Mer from our terrace. We drank wine.

Everything seems to be more or less back to normal now, after only a few days. People work, schools and shops have been opened again, even Port Gentil has calmed down quite a bit. You might think nothing major's happened. But the truth is that - regardless of the fact if Ali won or didn't really win the elections - Gabon is giving up an important opportunity for a change. And even though above anything I want to remain safe, I feel slightly disappointed that it's done now, game over, just like that.

A lesson of democracy? Not quite yet.

Photo: www.ali9.org

CEDOC 2 : KASIA+JANDRO 1

After all the elections mess when we had to stay home practically the whole time, we finally managed to make another trip to the glamorous CEDOC offices. It was about time, too - my visa expires on Sunday, September 13. This time we were smarter: we had called the boss' secretary or the boss' secretary's secretary... we had called a secretary and made an appointment with the General (they use military ranks out there, even though they're not soldiers).

The first obstacle (beyond which we did not manage to get last time) was the big gate and the two soldiers guarding it. We informed them of our appointment and they let us pass. The gentleman in front of us was not as lucky - they didn't let him in because he was wearing sandals and thus was not dignified enough to enter the building. Jandro was wearing nice shoes and a jacket, looking dignified as hell.

We waited in front of the Carte de Sejour building for about 30 minutes until it opened at 8:15 or so. Inside it looks a bit like a post office, which was a bit of a disappointment, I think I was expecting at least a Ministry of Magic kind of aesthetics. There were various employees stationed at their respective counters of which there are four types: Verification, Signing (don't ask because I don't know), Photo and Collecting, plus a cash register where you are supposed to leave huge amounts of money. All this guarded by angry-looking employees who are the very opposite of helpful and a policeman who chose the lucky ones to come inside.

We were interviewed by the General (or was it Captain?), who took all of our papers and frowned upon the fact that we're not married (according to the law it's impossible for me to get a carte de sejour: we're not married and I have no official work contract). But with a wee bit of goodwill everything can be solved. We went through all the stages: a lady at the first stand "verified" my papers (took her a while since her main occupation was chatting to her colleague). A gentleman from Signing signed and send us to the till. We waited while the big cashier finished talking on her mobile and accepted our money (don't even ask how much). A nice gentleman took a picture of me and took my fingerprints and said we could now wait for my card by the last stand.

Impossible! In less than an hour I get my carte de sejour! People wait for months, they must resolve to bribery, they falsify papers to prove they're married and me... I get it so quickly, so painlessly! In high spirits I rush to the little window when my name (or something to that effect) is called out, I show my passport, I take the pretty little card in my hands, I smile at Jandro, tears of happiness in my eyes, we both look at the card; me - a resident of Gabon!, yes, it's my name on the card! ...or is it? KATARZAYNIA KONIECKA, it says. Hmmm.

They told us to come back in two days (tomorrow at 10 am, specifically) and pick up the card with the name corrected. Apparently, it is impossible to correct it on the spot. They wouldn't give us any confirmation that we'd paid, any receipt, nothing. What did I learn? Don't wear sandals. And don't get excited until something becomes a solid fact.

TIA. This is Africa.

ALI B IN DA HOUSE?

We are still waiting for the elections results. Apparently, everything will be made public tonight, between 6 pm and midnight. People are saying different things but one seems to be certain: if Ali wins, we should stay at home and see to the fact that we have enough food. International observers have called for calm and asked the cadidates to respect the results when they are finally given. Most people seem to think that nobody will. We are rather anxious to know how the situation will develop... and for the power cuts to stop. Today it has been impossible to send text messages. The mobiles work reluctantly but it tends to be difficult to reach the dialled number. People are gathering at their respective president's headquarters. We've bought tinned food.