NEW LIFE, NEW BLOG

We have already agreed that my adventures in Belgium cannot be described here, even less under a heading which says Paradise News. I thus invite you to join me on

La Nouvelle Vie,

where I will tell you all about my new life. I hope we will all enjoy it!

LA NOUVELLE VIE

I wish I could keep looking back. I still enjoy imagining that I come back to our safe old African life, in a comfy flat, knowing what I'm going to do not only tomorrow, but also next week, next month. But no, I can't live in the past, and so, as the last proof of my moving on, I took my Gabonese residence permit out of my wallet. I am ready for my new life.

Or nearly ready. First, one more part of the skin shedding process. Saying goodbye to you and my blog, that is. As much as I don't want to do this, it is clear to me that I cannot write about Brussels here. It just wouldn't be right. Right?

The chapter of my life called La Nouvelle Vie begins on Monday, 14th February. Please do not miss the daunting romanticism of the date: after a month of separation, Kasia and Jandro will skip towards each other at the Charleroi airport, only to settle down and create a home together, starting on no other than Valentine's Day. Is this charming or what?

And so, before La Nouvelle Vie takes place, I must say goodbye. I had a great time writing this blog and it certainly let me discover that I enjoy telling stories. Thank you for letting me share them with you.

Nothing else is left to say. Only, maybe... Goodnight and good luck!

And after the official part do allow me to make two announcements (no, I'm not getting married and no, I'm not pregnant, for now it's just me, Jandro and Brussels, just as in the picture!):

1) Check this blog for still one more update. I will give you the link to the new Brussels blog, where you will be able to follow my exciting Belgian adventures. I'm not giving up on blogging, no sir. It's too much fun!

2) I have never asked you to leave comments here; however, this is my last opportunity to get to know my regular readers. If you are one of those, please leave a comment now. Even if it's your first one. Thanks.

THE BLACK KASIA

The time for summing up has definitely come. The good, the bad and the in-between. The wrapping up of my African life. I feel a need for closure. I feel that, in order to start something new, I must inevitably say goodbye to the thing that ends. Up till now, I've been living in a post-Gabon bubble. Not so much looking ahead of me, I kept glancing back, reliving the last days in Africa, almost feeling the sunrays on my neck. I continued writing this blog. I struggled to keep every single memory. But these past few days something changed. I feel I'm ready to look ahead now, confident I cannot lose what has become an integral part of me. Things are to be gained, not lost. And so, with my suntan fading a little bit more every single day, I try to move on. Yes, the time for summing up has definitely come. Here we go then - the lists.

ONE: Among other things, I have learned...

• to be around African people and feel comfortable
• to be around kids and enjoy myself more than I had ever thought possible
• to accept even though I can't understand
  
• French
• what racism is and why you shouldn't stare
• to make a pizza
• to teach kids
• to wait, to look for alternative solutions, to anticipate all kinds of problems
  

TWO: I'm going to miss... or rather: I'm already missing...

• the interminable, stunning, deserted beaches of Gabon, its nature, its sun
• the Arc En Ciel kids, so much
• our friends
• our flat and the view from the terrace
• not having to worry about what to wear
• having clothes made to measure with the African pagne
• eating out at the cheap maquis... oh, the poisson grillé!
• travelling into the brousse
• writing this blog
  

THREE: The things I'm not going to miss...

• the constant sweating
• being called la white in the street
• malaria (and other diseases) threat
• not ever being able to make plans until the very last minute
• big huge ugly cockroaches
• public administration
• traffic in Libreville
  

These lists could probably go on and on. The point is, I have changed. I understand more and adapt better. Gabon is under my skin, just like Poland, just like Galicia. It has shaped me to be a better person.

My friends have shown me that it's possible to live on the move and that you can be happy everywhere, as long as the ones you love are with you. Travelling opened me to the ultimate way of experiencing nature. The African people, and especially the kids, taught me how happy you can be with very little. My job made me work on my creativity and improvising skills. Learning French made new things possible.

I managed to do something which I considered beyond my possibilities. Not giving up on Gabon when things got difficult was the best decision I could've made. And I got something priceless in return: a new facet of me, of whose existence I had no idea. The African me, the black Kasia.

This amazing portrait is the work of Fran - again, thanks so much!

I MISS CEDOC

I know that I'm not in Gabon anymore and that I should be saying goodbye, if not to blogging, to this particular blog. I have already planned my last entry, and I promise you it will be as touching and inspiring as only my writing can be. Before it sees the light, however, I will still tell you a couple of stories.

The first one concerns our good old friend, the temple of African administrative hell, - have you guessed already? - yes, CEDOC! Do not get too excited, though. I have not (yet) received a call from Gabon telling me to give back the original of my carte de séjour, which I managed to smuggle out of the country. But I did lose an administrative battle today and, believe it or not, it made me remember CEDOC warmly. It turns out Polish bureaucratic world might even be worse than the Gabonese one. Judge for yourself.

Crucial information: in February Kasia and Jandro will be conquerring Brussels.

And now the story. It all started with an epiphanic moment of clarity:
"I won't have insurance in Belgium!", I exclaimed one beautiful morning.
"Do not be distressed, my daughter", replied my Father, "for you are in Europe, where life is easier and public offices less corrupt."
"You speak the truth", I said. "Let us google the Social Security webpage".

We thus googled. After a quick visit to the office in question (and I will not call it the SS Office due to my Polish prudence), I found out that all I had to do was register at the Employment Office (fill in registration form, show ID, university diploma, all contracts, and possibly several baby pictures), get the U2 form from them (and no, ladies who work at the Employment Office do not appreciate Bono jokes so you can stick them up the body part often displayed in the baby pictures), take the U2 form to the Social Security, fill in another form and show ID. You will get your insurance card in a day!

It all sounded extremely simple and I decided to follow the advice of the chirpy Social Security lady. First obstacle: the Office is about 700 kilometres away from my parents' place. Undeterred, I boarded a bus, the underground and another bus - the trip rounding up to an even hour and a half - only to find out that the number of people queuing was a charming 136. The security guard told me I had no chance of getting in that day. No worries, I'll come back tomorrow, I thanked him and trotted away to catch a bus, the underground and another bus home.

I'm tough. I'd defeated CEDOC. I'd defeated Trésor. I was ready to stand up against The Queue. I came back the next day, much earlier, at 8:30 am. There were 55 people ahead of me. I sat down and started reading. Do I have to tell you how depressing the Employment Office in Warsaw is? Sad, grey people, sit in apathy; they don't even bring anything to help them pass the hours they must spend there: no books, no mp3 players, only staring into space. The air is charged with frustration and, in some cases, with the stench of alcohol or unshowered male bodies. I felt blue ten minutes into the experience. Three and a half hours later, when my turn finally came, I was desperate to get out.

952! My number is finally called! I pick up my bag, I put a CEDOC/Trésor smile on my face and I enter the magical Room 9. I quickly localize the counter which called me and direct my CEDOC/Trésor smile accordingly. At this very moment Man sits on my chair, opposite my civil servant, who rudely informs me that Man was there before and was asked to come back. She thus blocks me, as no other lady will attend to my registration needs, because my number was already called. I have no choice but to wait for the monstrous Man to finish his buisness. He finishes. Nothing can stop me now! Courage!

Well? What happens next? It's Europe, n'est-ce pas?

Yes, it's Europe. Which, as of today, means absolutely nothing to me. You see, my conversation with the civil servant lady was full of contradictory statements, which left absolutely nothing clear, apart from the fact that I was not in the correct office altogether, as I was locally assigned to a different one.

Conclusions: I don't know if I should register. I don't know if I can get insurance free of charge. I don't know where I can get the U2 form. I don't know how to get to the correct Employment Office. More conclusions: administration works badly everywhere in the world. Only in some countries it's corrupt and/or messy enough for you to stand a chance.

And, while Jandro is trying to convince Galician authorities that he has indeed left Gabon and is now in Spain, there is only one thing I can say: I miss CEDOC.

The image comes from here.

BECAUSE ALL NORMAL PEOPLE HAVE A CONTAINER

Thursday, 13 January 2011, was the worst day of my life. At least that's what I thought at the time. Reasons... Moving? Leaving Gabon? Leaving the kids? Separating from Jandro for some time? No job? No flat? Wow, I could really get depressed, right? But no, it was not any of the above that made me sit down in the middle of my living room and cry like a baby. The monster that made me do it was the scariest one of all - and its name is Packing.

Let's face it, I had never been fond of packing. But this time was different. This time, the plan was daunting: to gather all of our earthly possessions and fit them into six suitcases, twenty-three kilogrammes (and God forbid half a kilo more!) each. We were to pack up our whole huge flat, give or throw away whatever we weren't taking with us, so that by the end of the day the big white flat were clean and tidy and big and white.

Right.

About three hours into packing, my crisis began. First, I felt anxious. I didn't know where to start from and I could not evisage the end of the whole process. It seemed to me that we would never leave Gabon, because we would simply not manage to pack.

Consequently, I decided it was time for some damage control. I thus sat down on the big white floor of the big white living room and gave way to the packer's rage. This having no effect on Jandro or the suitcase, which stubbornly refused to pack on its own, I moved on to the second stage: despair. A lot of crying followed, during which I requested a container (like all normal people... since when do I believe that all normal people are in a possession of a container anyway?). Finally, I stated firmly that I wasn't leaving. The statement was closely followed by stage three - resignation, or thoughless staring into the big white wall.

And then Jandro, the most peaceful, the most rational packer in the world (have you any idea how annoying this felt back then?), ignoring my blaming him for the lack of container that all normal people have, picked me up from the floor and took me out to buy an additional suitcase.

Slowly, the packing continued. By 5:30 pm we were nearly done and the world did not end. Six bags were filled with exactly 23 kilos of stuff each. The flat was as big and white as ever. That was it. We moved out.

And if I don't say it enough, here comes: my boyfriend rules! Totally.

IT'S EASIER TO LEAVE THAN TO BE LEFT BEHIND

At this very moment, I'm having hot tea with raspberry syrup. This can only mean one thing: I'm not in Africa anymore. This chapter of my life is slowly coming to its natural end. Clearly, so is this blog. But not just yet. I still have some things to tell, the last entries to write. I'm determined not to forget. You see, now I know - I have left a part of my soul in Africa. And, as it happens, a part of my heart in Arc En Ciel. So, one more time, please let me write about my boys.

It's easier to leave than to be left behind, people say. I desperately hope it's not true. I want the sadness to be all mine, so that the kids can only remember the good things. I want them to think about our trips to the beach, how we swam in the sea and how they kept diving to catch my legs, so that I would get indignant. I want them to remember the joy of opening the Christmas gifts, sitting on the sand in the shade of a huge badamier, wrapped in towels. Or how we made Christmas decorations. I prefer to believe that during the months (because they were only 4,5 months!) we spent together, they did not have enough time to get really attached. Because for me, giving up AEC was the hardest thing I had to do in Gabon. It's easier to leave than to be left behind... Is it really?

Only last Tuesday - although now it seems weeks away - the Arc En Ciel sisters organised a goodbye party for me. I provided drinks and biscuits, they took care of the entertainment bit. For the first time in my life, children sang and recited poems for me. I received a gift (a coconut bag), a copy of the poem and the most valuable present of all: a card where they all wrote their goodbyes. I hugged everybody several times and then... I left. They watched me go and they seemed sad. I was on the verge of crying. How do you leave someone for ever? I have yet to find an answer to this question.

I miss my boys. I want to keep seeing them. I want to help raise them. I want to discipline them. I want to teach them and play with them and put smiles on their faces. I want to know what's going to happen to them. And yes, I'm the one who's the most surprised by such a turn of events when it comes to my feelings.

Does this entry seem sad to you? Well, it shouldn't, really. I'm beyond happy to have met the Arc En Ciel lot. If you're still in Gabon, why don't you go and sign up as a volunteer? On my part, no regrets. Well, maybe one: that I hadn't started earlier.

FAREWELL DIARY

Saying goodbye is never easy. And neither is leaving. When I first came to Libreville it was full of strange, new places. With time, they have become familiar and comfortable, and, without even knowing when, I started feeling that I was really chez moi in Gabon. Sadly, the time has come to leave, to do everything for the last time, and, above all, to say au revoir to all the amazing people we've met.

Right about now you're thinking that I'm getting sentimental. That I will write a long whiny entry on how sad I am to leave. What great people I've met and how I'm going to miss them. But no, fear not! Even though I feel extremely whiny, I will stop myself from sharing - this is my great parting gift to you. Instead, I will tell you about the logistics of our last week in Gabon.

Behold, here comes the tight schedule of goodbying aka the Farewell Diary:

Friday, 7th January
- Prepare the Goodbye Gabon Party
- Host the Goodbye Gabon Party
- Make sure a certain Polish person gets to Ntoum (obscure as it seems, it is a secret message for those who actually got to attend the party!).

Saturday, 8th January
- Take the kids from Arc En Ciel to the beach for one last time
- Attend a galette de rois party hosted by E & J

Sunday, 9th January
- Go to the beach for one last time
- Play Scrabble
- Do nothing

Monday, 10th January
- Try to assess if our stuff enters our suitcases
- Face the obvious truth that our stuff does not enter our suitcases
- Decide how many extra suitcases we need and start throwing away some of our stuff
- Have dinner with M & G

Tuesday, 11th January
- Prepare the goodbye party at Jandro's office
- Have the goodbye party at Jandro's office
- Say goodbye to the cleaning lady
- Have a goodbye party at Arc En Ciel
- Have dinner with Jandro's colleagues

Wednesday, 12th January
- Have morning tea with N & C
- Have coffee with J
- Bye a gift for Kasia's parents
- Say goodbye to N's kids
- Have dinner with E & J and E & E

Thursday, 13th January
- Pack up the flat
- Get exasperated while packing up the flat
- Overcome the crisis
- Buy extra luggage
- Get a massage (yes, really!)
- Have dinner with N & G and S & T

Friday, 14th January
- Relax
- Take a walk at the beach
- Say goodbye to everyone yet again
- Catch a very big plane

As you can see, we are a tad busy. It is physically challenging, above all for our stomachs, because it seems that all we do is eat. However, I'm far from complaining. I am touched and greatful that I have so many fantastic people to say goodbye to. I guess what I'm really trying to say is thank you. Also for the great presents!

Oops, getting sentimental again. I'll go then. Let me just check what's next on my to-do list for Wednesday...

NOT SO HIGH FIDELITY

People often ask me about the cultural shocks I've suffered in Gabon. I must say, I always have trouble thinking of something shocking enough... I suppose we have a tendency not to notice certain little things and as we get used to them, they cease to be differences to our eyes. However, there is one cultural difference which I find hard to understand and impossible to accept: the Central African concept of fidelity.

In Europe, being faithful to your life partner is the essential condition for a relationship to work. In Africa, being faithful to your life partner is not an option. The general belief is that all men - no exceptions! - cheat on their wives. Sadly, the more I talk to my African friends and acquaintances, the more true to life it seems. Clearly, the social permission to have as many lovers as you want works only for men. Women are supposed to tolerate their spouses' behaviour, and forgive, of course. Forgiveness and tolerance form a solid ground for a relationship, the Gabonese law teaches us. If, however, all women remained faithful to their partners, and all men cheated on their wives, who would the cheaters cheat with? But that's just a reflection of a silly European.

How did I arrive at the horrifying conclusion that all men cheat, though? Do not doubt me, my friends, for I have sufficient proof to support my case! Let me introduce you to several of the men I've met during my stay in Gabon. Read and judge for yourselves.

Jean is nearly thirty years old. He is still looking for his one and only. For now, he regularly sees two girls, claiming that he's in a relationship with a still different one. When asked about his bizarre relationship status, he tells me that men need their options, variety is a good thing and no man was made for only one woman. Does he intend to continue in this way for a long time? Of course. That's what it means to be a man.

Patrick is recently separated and has two kids. He continues living with his wife but they are both seeing other people. He doesn't like the fact that his ex-wife has a boyfriend. He intimates that all men cheat, they just hide it better than he did. At first he stayed faithful but in the end he succumbed to the laws of nature. His wife should understand and forgive him, for this is what it means to be a man. He hopes to get back together with his spouse.

Monsieur Mba is closing up on the noble age of seventy. Children? Yes, he has children. How many? Oh, well... With my legitimate wife, I have eight children. These are my house children (les enfants de la maison). Now, outside of marriage, I have... well, it's seventeen in total, so it means I must have nine. These are the outside children (les enfants de dehors). He stopped counting his grandchildren some time ago. You think Monsieur Mba is an extremely active exception? Think again.

Landry is a young professional. He adores pubs, discos and dancing. He pays a lot of attention to his appearance and likes to look at his reflection in the mirror. He has no trouble attracting female attention in the disco, and often ends up with a pretty girl on his lap. At such moments, he's greatful that his religious girlfriend - with whom he's in a steady relationship - doesn't like going out as much as he does.

And what about the female point of view? Meet Julienne, Jean's official girlfriend. She will inform you that she knows perfectly well about his affairs, so don't you dare take her for an ignorant idiot! And you can leave your shocked face at home, she will tell you. Life is what it is, and I love my boyfriend. He cheats on me, yes, but I know he loves me, too. What if I break up with him, and find another man? He will also cheat on me - they all do; but he might not be as nice as this one. So I would be much worse off than with Jean, can't you see?

For more information on how to deal with unfaithful husbands, I refer you to Amina, a popular magazine for women. Let me quote the opinion of Valerie, who sees eye to eye with many African women:

Forgiveness is the cement of your home. Of course I'm ready to forgive my unfaithful spouse! Yes, it's difficult but not impossible. Actually, I've already done it, and I'm ready to do it again. Where can we find a faithful man? We should ask ourselves this: if we leave our man, will we be able to find a better one? I think not. It is thus better to stay with the one we already know, the one we have kids with, and not hope to find a faithful man, a rare bird. I try to communicate with my husband. I ask him what went wrong, why did he end up in his lover's arms. I ask him to promise that he won't do it again, even though in my heart I know he will. And the most important thing is that he uses protection, especially against AIDS, so that he doesn't pass it on to me (Amina, issue 484, p.22).

When I tell African men that my boyfriend is faithful to me, they laugh and wink at Jandro. Clearly, they think he's doing a fantastic job lying to me. And how trained I am to protect him, too! They seriously don't believe me. Instead, they offer Jandro to present him to their many female friends, if he ever feels lonely.

So, dear male readers of this blog, do be honest! Are you or are you not big huge cheaters to remain thus forever and ever? The time for answers has come. I am waiting.

PARADISE NEWS' GUIDEBOOK: MAYUMBA

A trip to Mayumba is not the easiest one to plan. Getting there from Libreville is complicated enough (although Mayumba airport is supposed to re-open soon), but organising activities which will let you see more than just the stunning Mayumba beach - that's a real challenge. There is no tourist base in the Park of Mayumba and you can only try contacting the park itself or WCS, who work within its grounds. We were lucky to have contacted the local boss of the latter, who was awfully nice and agreed to organise our stay. Here's what happened.

A day in Gabon profond
We arrived in Mayumba by taxi-brousse, which had left Tchibanga three hours before, making just one brief stop for palm wine, which we dutifully drank. We left our luggage in the Mbidia Kou-Kou hotel, which consists of bungalows located practically on the beach. The place is recommendable, in spite of the obnoxious receptionist, and so are the lobsters, a local specialty, cheap, delicious and abundant. We also took a turn around the town, which proved to be extremely calm. As we walked to the city centre, having been slighted by one of what seemed to be three town's taxi drivers, we felt as if we'd been transported to a different country. This was not the Gabon we knew, where even small towns like Fougamou aspired to something more than a village made up of wooden huts. Mayumba seemed more like São Tomé... peaceful, slow, with sheep trotting down the main street. This really was as far as you could get from Libreville.

Luxury camping
From the town of Mayumba, we were taken to the National Park in a boat belonging to one of the local guides, who works with WCS. In about two hours we reached our destination: a turtle-technicians' camp, consisting of a sleeping bungalow and a kitchen (with a gas stove!), set between a lagoon and the ocean. The bungalow was of course taken by the technicians themselves, but we boldly camped on their terrace, which gave us excellent protection in the case of rain. Having set up our humble abodes, we headed for the beach, the magnificent beach of Mayumba, which goes on and on for miles. Four people in the middle of nowhere, enormous waves and golden sand. Bliss.

Tourist's nightlife
Clearly, however, it was not for the beach that we came to Mayumba. We were after exciting hikes and that's exactly what we got, the excitement increased by the guide's rapid pace: it was so difficult to keep up with him that we were constantly wondering whether he was trying to lose us. Luckily, he did slow down after our third remark on how unbelievably fit African bodies move much faster than only humanly fit European ones.

During our first trip, in the afternoon, we marched - fast - through savanna, swamps, swamps and more swamps, and finally we stumbled upon the beach. Result: one sitatunga and a huge varan, who was peacefully devouring turtle eggs when we disturbed him and made him run away towards the sunset, taking a dip in the ocean. Romantic.

After dinner and attempted rest (too hot to sleep in the tent!), around midnight, we set off for our turtle trip. We walked along the beach for an hour or so and there it was, our first turtle! We saw a huge Maman luth digging her nest. Fascinated, we watched her in the moonlight, a stunning, graceful animal. Soon enough, three more turtles appeared nearby. We strolled from one animal to another, observing the whole process of laying eggs: the struggle when the tortoise leaves the ocean, the digging of the nest, the actual laying of eggs (50% real ones, 50% empty), the covering the nest with sand... the huge effort of reproduction, which takes about two hours. Accompanied by the turtle technicians, we even got to touch the turtles and let me just say that their skin is surprisingly soft.

Enchanted, we continued along the beach. We walked until around 3:30 am, and then we simply slept on the sand - something I'd never done before. Two hours later, at the break of dawn, our guide woke us up, pointing towards two buffaloes which were strolling at the beach, quite close to our improvised campsite. We followed them onto the savanna, where we saw the most beautiful sunrise ever. The walk back was exhausting, I admit. We'd had hardly any sleep and many kilometres ahead of us. But it was worth it, even though I might not have fully agreed at the time!

Back at the camp, we sunk onto our brand new inflatable mattresses and slept soundly for three hours, waking up just in time for our scheduled afternoon visit to the Senegalese village. We'd seen many of these before but here, thanks to the kindness of the village chief, we could take photos to our hearts' content.

At night, we were promised to go and see the crocodiles. That means hours of wading in knee-high waters, surrounded by the musty smell of swamps and complete darkness. The turtle technicians were kind enough to supply us with wellington boots - while our guide walked barefoot - but we soon found out that in each pair one boot had a big hole. Not at all discouraged, we continued, and were rewarded: after spotting a few pairs of eyes, which belonged to gazelles, hypnotized by the light of our torches, the guide told us to wait, only to emerge from the swamp a minute later holding a small crocodile. We got to touch it, photograph it and hold it, before we released it into the swamp. For a moment there I thought: very well then, we are now strolling through swamps full of crocodiles in the middle of the night. Instantly, I made the thought go away. From such silly considerations the road to a very real panic attack is short enough.

Balance sheet
Even though we only spent two nights in the park, the trip turned out to be full of things we'd never done before: We witnessed the actual process of luth egg laying and touched the turtles. We spent the whole night at the beach. We saw the sun rise over the savanna. We were shown the hallucinogenic iboga plant. We saw and held crocodiles. We walked in the jungle at night. We followed a varan. We nearly died of heat and exhaustion. We could not have asked for a better way to say goodbye to Gabon!

Pictures from Mayumba are here.

PEOPLE WITH PEOPLE SKILLS

As a rule, it is said that people from the capital are more haughty and mean and obnoxious - and about ten more negative adjectives - than your regular citizen. Being a capital-city girl myself, I always used to say that it was a big fat lie. Here in Gabon, however, this old superstition gains a new meaning. And I can only say that it is absolutely, utterly and completely... well, true.

Whenever we travelled outside of Libreville, we noticed that the people changed. They would smile, they would be cordial and helpful, and the racist comments where almost non-existent. While the usual librevillois response to Hello tends to be Mhm, the country people are very fond of talking to you. And this was the case in Tchibanga and Mayumba as well.

We had been warned by a Gabonese friend: People in the south are completely different. They are famous for their hospitality! And I must say that we were not disappointed. In Tchibanga, and above all in Mayumba, nearly every passer-by would say Bonjour. The Mauritanian hotel owner (we do recommend Hotel Golfe in Tchibanga) was adorable. Always smiling, he recommended an excellent restaurant and even offered to call and book us a table. To those of you who live in Europe, this might be the most natural behaviour in the case of a person who runs a hotel but do not be deceived - in Gabon in it extraordinary. We politely declined his offer to make the call but we did follow his suggestion and ended up in Les Palmiers (again, we recommend!) for a lovely dinner.

In the restaurant, we were confronted with even more surprises. Namely, the service was excellent. The waiter was quick, smiling and efficient. When we expressed the wish to change our order, he did not frown, he did not complain and just did what he was asked to do. When we were done with our meal, the chef himself appeared to have a chat with us, and he also called us a taxi (again, let me stress that very few people out here will spend their own money for somebody else's benefit). Finally, yet another person came to greet us. We were shocked to find out that we had just shaken hands with the governor of the province, who was dining in the same restaurant. Seeing a group of white people, he decided to welcome them to Nyanga.

We received the same warm treatment from the taxi driver who took us to Mayumba, and his bosses, based in Tchibanga, with whom we had a drink in the Consensus bar (Nous sommes ensemble jour et nuit) before leaving for Libreville. After only a short conversation we became intimate friends, which does not usually happen in the capital.

The only grumpy person we met throughout the trip was the lady who ran the hotel in Mayumba. She was almost caricaturally arrogant, which did not, however, prevent her from openly listening in on the conversation we had with the other hotel guests (she would actually stare and lean on a table to hear better). She was also kind enough to inform us that she had no idea whether there were any turtles in Mayumba, for she'd never went to see them. Here I must tell you that Mayumba is the third most popular place in the world for the majestic luth turtles, and everyone in Gabon knows that. Moreover, the hotel had a little area surrounded by a low fence, which, as we later found out, served as a little incubator for turtles (eggs from destroyed nests were transported there by eco-guards). How could the hotel lady have missed that?

But here I am, telling you about luth turtles... and that's a story for a completely different post. For now, let me just assure you that, if you decide to visit the Nyanga province, you will receive excellent treatment. Moreover, as long as you ask for permission, you may take as many photos as you please. The result of which you will find here (Tchibanga) and here (Mayumba). Enjoy!

TWO PEOPLE, THREE SEATS AND 600 KILOMETRES OR HOW WE WENT TO TCHIBANGA

The trip to Mayumba started a bit earlier than planned. Initially, we were going to fly to Tchibanga and continue to Mayumba by taxi. Our flight to Tchibanga was scheduled for Monday, 27th December, but on Christmas Eve La Nationale politely informed us that it had been cancelled but we were welcome to fly as early as Wednesday, 29th December. We had thus two options left: either looking for an alternative means of transport or staying home.

As far as an alternative means of transport was concerned, again we were presented with two appealing choices: 1) taxi-brousse (bush taxi) and 2) teleportation. Not being skilled teleporters (am I making up words again?), we opted for the former. Now the new plan was ready, all we had to do was to get our money back for the airlines, find out how the taxi-brousse business worked, get a phone number, book ourselves one of these babies, and we were all set! Lucky us that travelling is so simple in Gabon.

After a few phone-calls, we managed to lay our hands on the number of a transport company. We were assured that a comfortable pick-up truck would leave on Sunday, 26th December, at 7 am, heading for Tchibanga, and we were welcome to get on board. We booked our seats and tried not to think about the fact the trip would take ten to twelve hours - if everything went as planned, that is.

On Sunday, we left our house at 6:15 am. We took a taxi to PK8 (or Point kilométrique 8), where all the transport companies and a large number of pickpockets are based, and proceeded to find the man we'd spoken to on the phone. Needless to say, we were the only white people in the vicinity, carefully scrutinized by tens of curious eyes. We paid for our three seats and sat down, prepared for a long wait (of course we weren't going to leave at 7 sharp!).

Yes, you've read correctly and I did not make a mistake when I wrote that we'd paid for three seats. To find out why, you need to ask yourself a simple question: how many seats are there in a regular car? Let's see... The driver. The co-pilot. Three people in the back. Wrong! In Africa, the co-pilot's seat is deux places (yes, two people in the front!), while in the back you can easily squeeze four. There also additional places in the back of the truck, where you can stand holding on to the piles of luggage and get covered in dust and mud for twelve hours. Consequently, we bought three seats out of four, which ensured a comfortable trip not only for us, but also for the gentleman who bought the fourth place.

Now all that was left was to build up the incredible pyramid of luggage. The loading of everything from garlic and manioc sacks to our backpacks took an hour. Then, the six unlucky souls loaded themselves next to the luggage, while we took our luxury seats inside the air-conditioned truck. The third passenger positioned strategically between us (no seatbelt in the middle), we began our 12-hour long journey to Tchibanga.

It was more comfortable than expected. The air-conditioning turned out to be a blessing. We often stopped to stretch our legs. The driver knew the road inside out and drove surely, safely and quickly. Only two things stood between me and full happiness; one was the extremely loud African music that the driver would play incessantly during the whole trip (hits such as Chanter à Libreville and Doucement, vas-y doucement will stay in my mind forever); the other was a horrible cramp in my thigh, which would stay with me till the very next day.

Nevertheless, as I've already said, we were lucky to have many thigh-stretching stops. Some of them, however, were not a mere whim of the driver. During the twelve hours of our trip, the police stopped us around twelve times. Each and every time the driver had to pay a little bribe (between 1000 and 5000 CFA), in order to continue without problems. Otherwise, the policemen might stop us for as long as they pleased, controlling our papers, luggage, the state of the car, etc. If you want to arrive on time, pay up my friend! We were appalled.

We thus arrived in Tchibanga - backs hurting, thighs cramped, mouthing the lyrics of unknown songs - around 6:30 pm, exhausted but satisfied with the trip. The driver was nice enough to take us to our hotel, where we discovered that our bags sported distinct smells. Mine, which spent the whole trip on top a frozen smoked fish sack, was now wet and smelled of - can you guess? - frozen smoked fish. Jandro was even less fortunate, as his backpack had been placed upon a garlic sack. One smelly hotel room that was!

To wrap up, two pieces of advice: 1) Always buy an extra seat in a taxi-brousse! No European back is made for travelling the African way! 2) Put your backpack in a plastic bag if possible. I'm pretty sure my parents will recognise me by the smell of smoked fish when I land in Warsaw two weeks from now!

The first picture shows our Libreville - Tchibanga taxi. The second - the taxi we took to get from Mayumba back to Tchibanga.

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.

KASIA'S GREAT COOKBOOK: PIZZA

Have I ever told you about all the things I've learned in Gabon? Well, there's French, of course, and working with kids, and all those enriching experiences that make you a better person, too. But what I've really learned during my stay in Libreville is... how to make a delicious pizza. And so the time has come to share my knowledge with you. Here goes: pizza a la africana.

First make the dough. You will need 0,5 kg of flour, 4 tablespoons of olive oil, a pinch of salt and sugar, some basil or oregano (whichever you prefer), two tablespoons of dry yeast and some warm water. You mix the yeast, four tablespoons of warm water and some salt and sugar. You leave it in a warm place for fifteen minutes. Then you mix all the ingredients until the dough is smooth and soft and you let it rest in warm place for it to double its size.

Now you can prepare your tomato sauce. I use fresh tomatoes (3 medium ones should suffice), which I peel, dice and stew for a few minutes. Once they become soft, I take them out of the pan and I smash them with a fork. Tomatoes back in the pan, I add some fresh garlic, herbs (oregano, fresh basil and whatever you like), white pepper, salt and a bit of sugar. I leave it to simmer until the sauce gets thick. Then I spread it on the dough.


Now it's time to prepare your topping. I like it simple, so I usually use green pepper, ham, mushrooms, olives and mozzarella. Because of the prices in Gabon, I must settle for canned mushrooms, but I'm really looking forward to using the fresh ones in Europe. Also, as you can see in the picture, we are now forced to use black olives, because of the green olive shortage in Libreville, but both types will work, depending on your preferences.

And here we are, almost done. Put some olive oil on your baking dish, spread the dough, the sauce and your ingredients (I cut the mozzarella into thin slices but you could also grate it). You will notice that I only put olives on Jandro's side of the pizza! It's probably not very sophisticated of me, but I do hate olives and there's nothing I can do about it. As a final touch, sprinkle your pizza with some oregano. Remember to pre-heat your oven!


Clearly, to make a real Italian pizza, you must a) have a special oven, b) have all the vital ingredients and c) be Italian. Sadly, none of these points apply in my case. However, my pizza turns out delicious every time, as most of my friends will confirm. Also, it was sampled by a real Italian (and being a real Italian means you are inevitably awfully picky about food) and she was kind enough not to throw it away. Big success, I'm sure! Enjoy!