GETTING TO KNOW EACH OTHER

Before going away to Franceville we consulted a travel agent's and found out that we would have to pay nearly 1 milion francs (almost 1500 euros) if we wanted them to organise our trip. Of course, this was out of the question and thus we were left with the only alternative: organise the trip alone. You'd think it's easy - you call up some people, book some hotels, talk to the guides... well, nothing is easy in Africa. However, we did tackle the challenge rather satisfactorily and met a few interesting people. I think they deserve a more detailed presentation.

Hilaire
Hilaire is the guide who picked us up at the train station and whom we'd contacted from Libreville. He works for the Eco-Museum of Franceville and can organise your stay in the area in the sense of giving you contacts and letting you know what you can do. He also works for an eco-turism organisation associated with WCS. The organisation is based in Kessala, a village not far away from Hilaire's birth place. Large numbers of elephants live near the village and thus Hilaire came up with the idea of making them a tourist attraction. It is important to make the villagers see that they can make money off the elephants, because this is the only way to stop poaching. Hilaire sees that Kessala needs to open up for tourists: maybe give them something to eat? Maybe show them some of their traditions? It is difficult to work with the villagers, as they don't really understand the idea of attracting tourists. They don't trust Hilaire and think they want to use them in some, as of yet unknown, way. The guides were thus rather mediocre and it was from Hilaire and not from them that I found out that elephants admired white women.

Papa Jerome and the Kessala village
Papa Jerome is the president of the eco-turism organisation and takes his role quite seriously. He let us camp by his house and took us for a walk in the evening, having put on what I assumed was his finest jacket. He is a little man and you have to at least smile when you see him put on his glasses to read a message on his mobile. After we came back from our elephant hike, we showed our pictures to the male representation of the village and they asked us to send them the pictures. We should send photos to them directly, mind you, because if we send them to Hilaire he will keep them for himself (I strongly believe they think Hilaire's Franceville house is crammed with pictures that he didn't share).
The village itself was quite an experience. It was startling to see tin huts with mud floors and mobile phones charging inside. Progress is everywhere, or maybe just bits and pieces of it. We asked why women spoke no French and were informed that they must get married instead of going to school. We thus asked about marriage and dowry and Papa Jerome told us that when a girl is twelve or so she is chosen a husband and then the trial period begins. When the man feels ready, he tells his fiance's parents that he wants her to live with him and they continue with the trial period until they are around twenty. The dowry consists of money, animals, food... whatever you have to spare. Having said all this, Papa Jerome looked at Jandro and asked: How much is the dowry chez vous? My boyfriend smiled and answered that he paid nothing for me. Jerome processed for a moment and concluded: Trial period. You can take her to live with you but you can still change your mind. Oh how safe it makes me feel!

Roger
We met Roger when we were looking for a taxi which could take us to Leconi (100 km away from Franceville). We negotiated the price and got into what turned out to be a death cab - he drove so fast and so dangerously that I thought we would crash on every turn. After a while he started chatting to Jandro (he requested that the gentleman sat in the front "for our security") and we found out several things about him. He is from Bongoville (the native town of president Bongo) but he travelled to Italy and France. He loves nature and hunting and thus he chose to settle in Gabon. He plays music. Roger was not only a driver, he actually turned out to be a very good guide. He stopped the car several times to show us pretty views and told us interesting things about the area. Then he took out his mobile and had us listen to a song recored by his band, Ngoss Brothers. The song was pretty good and sounded interesting (they sing in teke) and we asked if he could sell us a CD. When he picked us up from Leconi in the afternoon, the front seat of the cab was occupied by a guitar. He sold us a CD and took us to Bongoville, to see the bar he plays in. Then we went back to Franceville and had dinner together. He took us home and played Aisha for us. He promised to call us up when he came to Libreville.

I must say I really enjoyed this aspect of our trip. We were with real people, making chance acquaintances, getting to know Gabon a bit more. For five days we saw no white people. Libreville does feel rather European now.

THE WAITING TRIP

As you probably know, we took a little trip to Franceville in the south of Gabon. It was our third big African escapade and in many ways the most extreme one: as the travel agent's offer was way out of reach financially, we organised it all by ourselves. I have many things to tell and it will definitely take up more space than just one entry. I've thus tried to divide the events into chunks and I hereby offer you Part 1: The Waiting Trip.

On Wednesday evening we got on the train to Franceville. The Transgabonais is a big deal out here, as there is only one railway in Gabon. The trip lasts 12 hours and you go at night. Our experience shows that it's impossible to get there in less than 14 hours. Getting on a Gabonese train is surprisingly complicated. Every five minutes a voice with a fake French accent informs you about the boarding time. You must check in oversize luggage. Then there are three controls: policemen and train station officials (oh yes! there are train station officials!) control first your ticket, then your ID and then your ticket and your ID. Finally, you are allowed to get on the train. It's not bad but there are no beds, so it's not very comfy to travel by night. And the air-conditioning is set to 12 degrees, so, in spite of our polars and sleeping bags, we were simply cold. It didn't matter much though, we were ready for our adventure! We got off the train, showed our IDs yet again and were allowed out of the station.

We had called up a guide to meet us at the station and, shockingly, it all went well and he was there. It took only about an hour for the 4x4 car to show up too (do you now get the idea of why I called this "the waiting trip"? if not, read on, there's more) and we set off to Kessala, a tiny village in the wild. Originally we were going to camp by the river to go and see the elephants early in the morning. However, the moment we picked up our backpacks it started to rain (heavy tropical rain) and it continued throughout the whole afternoon. We were thus stuck in Kessala, waiting for the rain to stop, awkwardly sitting in the villagers' huts and listetning to teke, the local language of which we understood nothing. They ate our peanuts and offered no food in exchange. Terrified that they would also eat our precious cans of tuna (we did not have enough food to share with the whole village!), we retired to our minute tent to have the most uncomfortable dinner ever. The rain continued throughout the night but we were surprised to discover that our little chez nous remained dry.

Early in the morning we were going to set off to see the elephants. We were all ready at 5 am but it took one of the guides 30 minutes to show up ("I live far away"). We hiked through the jungle, got terribly wet and saw a big herd (is it?) of elephants bathe in the river, it was awesome! We got back to the village, were fed a local specialty (sandy African aubergine with a plate of manioc), promised to send photos through a thing called "the internet" and went away, escorted by three men, to meet the car that was going to pick us up at 10 am. Of course, he was not there. We called the driver and found out that his car had broken down and that he'd sent another one to meet us. He wasn't lying, only that the other driver showed up three hours later. We sat on the road with the three villagers, chatting, taking silly pictures and waiting for our boots to dry (they didn't throughout the whole trip). Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Finally, a pickup truck in a very bad condition arrived and we were ushered inside. We took the two seats in the front next to the driver, while the back was occupied by around twenty people, a lot of manioc, our backpacks and two smelly sacks of smoked wild hog. (I will get back to Kessala in a separate post.)

When we finally got to Franceville it was too late to do anything (we had planned another trip), so we just looked for a decent hotel, didn't find one in our price range, chose the smallest evil, left our stuff and had dinner with the guide that picked us up at the station. We chose a typical African maki (cheap, tasty and very shabby), where the very pregnant waitress totally checked out my boyfriend. The waiting for the chicken completed our waiting trip. We hoped things would take a more energetic turn the next day. Luckily, they did.


The top left picture was taken by Jandro.

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.

TAILORED TO YOUR NEEDS

A few weeks ago we went to a place called Petit Paris, the place to go if what you’re looking for is pagne, material. We are always very eager to have some African clothes made and so we went to the same shop we had visited back in April. The place is overwhelming - so many different designs to choose from – and it took us quite a long time to make the decision. In the end, Jandro went for a very masculine khaki/bottle green/dark orange, while I fell in love with pink and dark green. We paid 3500 CFA each (around 5 euros) and all we needed now was a tailor.

We asked around and consequently discovered the atelier of a man by the name of Dialo. A friend gave us precise directions: You know the restaurant Chez Gorge? Ok. You know the roast chicken stand nearby? Ok. Turn right after the chickens. We did, and stumbled upon a kind of a garage with sewing machines, materials and a man sitting in the middle.

- Hello. We are looking for Dialo.

- I am Dialo.

- Are you a tailor?

- Yes. How do you know my name?

- You were recommended by E., our Belgian friend.

- I don’t know her.

- Oh.

- But don’t leave. I will call my brother.

- But we are looking for Dialo… What’s his name?

- Dialo.

Right. E. had warned us this might happen. Another man came by and indeed his name was Dialo. Sadly, he also denied knowing E. and we were on our way out when he finally mentioned a Spanish girl that was a direct link to us. We turned back at the sound of her name and immediately demanded two shirts for Jandro and a blouse and a dress for me (I left him my European clothes to copy).

The man called a few days later and told us we could pick up our order. And – wow! – he really did a great job! I absolutely adore the shirt (check out the picture) but the dress needed a bit of trimming. We thus came back to his workshop – a tiny place with three Singer sewing machines, three men corresponding to the latter and a lot of mess. As I was very happy with his work and I still had some of my pink/dark green material left, I ordered another dress. This time I did not, however, bring anything to copy, and I – in French! – demanded to see African designs. They are there on the wall, in the form of posters with numerous pictures of the same big African lady happily wearing different dresses. I pointed to one that I liked (a very simple thing, not typically African) and Dialo took a yellow post-it. He occupied half of it with a minute drawing of the dress and discussed the details with me. Then he measured me, noted down all the numbers on the same post-it, and there it was, all ready. The time came to negotiate the price and I did, in French. It took us around ten minutes and, after he explained in detail why he couldn’t lower the price, he did, from 10000 CFA (15 euros) to 8000.

We are now awaiting the results. In the pictures you can see Jandro in his new shirt (he had two identical shirts made and only because I stopped him from ordering three), me in my gorgeous blouse and me in the dress I had made in April. What do you think? :)

GABONAISES

One of the most interesting things about living in Gabon is the possibility to get to know its people and their culture. Clearly, I am very far from saying that I know or understand the Gabonese ways, but I have noticed certain universal things which seem rather interesting and might serve as useful guidelines to a newcomer in Gabon.

Three is company
Whenever you offer round a treat (such as gum or sweets or cigarettes), be careful. Do not give a Gabonese person direct access to the items. They will not be happy with taking just one, they will gladly take two or three or all of them, consume one on the spot and put the rest in their pocket. Placing just one cigarette in their hand might seem stingy to you now, but after they take your last chewing gum or a whole bag of sweets you will probably change your mind.

Yes yes yes!
Avoid asking yes/no questions. The Gabonese tend to answer "yes" to every single one:
- Will you be here in five minutes?
- Yes.
- Will you be here in two hours?
- Yes.
- Are you a mechanic?
- Yes.
These answers may be absolutely true or they may have very little to do with reality. There's no way of knowing.

Liar Liar Pants on Fire
Actually, the above does not apply out here. People lie as a rule so no pants on fire, no sir. I notice that in the children I teach but it is also normal for adults. The curious thing is that lying is not as much of a sin in Africa. In Europe, when you lie and get caught, you feel ashamed and uncomfortable. In Gabon, when you are proved to have lied you... shrug your shoulders and carry on what you're doing.

Is she flirting?
Some time ago we went to a party where we spent most of the evening talking to a Gabonese girl. The coversation was nice and easy even for me (although it was in French!) and we enjoyed it a lot. When we were discussing the event afterwards, an interesting topic came up. Jandro admitted that most of the time he'd had a feeling that the girl was simply flirting with him. The smiles, the "accidental" touching of hands while sitting very close to each other... I thought for a second and answered: Baby, no worries. I think she was flirting with me as well. Yes, that is their way of being, we figured. The same thing happened with some of Jandro's Gabonese mates - many times I had a strong feeling they were hitting on me, and in my boyfriend's presence! In the end, we decided not to read too much into it. Just another cultural difference, I suppose.

My cousin's brother's nephew
Gabonese families are very big. Huge. Enormous. Of course, they tend to have a lot of children (I know a family who have a child in every class at my school) but it is not only about that. Here your village is your family, all the inhabitants are your sisters and brothers. Of course, it gives a lot of support and creates a wonderful atmosphere of love and devotion. However, family also means responsibility. Imagine what happens when suddenly five or six or seventeen of your siblings find themselves in financial trouble...

Supernaturally Superstitious
The Gabonese are incredibly superstitious. Back in April, I wrote a post on how we were warned about the ghosts that live on the waves. During our trip to Lopé we were told a tale of a magical spear stuck in one of the rocks (sort of a version of the Arthurian legend) and the guy who showed us the rock, an engineer working for a big company, would not touch the spear: what if he managed to get it out? He was not ready for this kind of power (for the whole story click here and follow the pictures). It is also interesting to notice what they do with their dead. I once asked where the Libreville cementary was. Apparently, it is very small and not much used, as people prefer to bury the dead elsewhere, in a less obvious place. Otherwise, somebody might dig them up and perform magical rituals on the corpses. All in all, the supernatural is not a joking matter in Gabon!

So there you go, just a few observations we've made so far. For now this is it but we continue our socio-anthropological studies and the list will probably expand. Obviously, I'll keep you posted. Keep popping in.