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.