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| Teaching after giving up on the headscarf |
It was my first training in French, though I had a
translator speaking Chadian Arabic. The thing about Chadian Arabic is that I
understand it fine, but people who aren’t familiar with the Sudanese or
Levantine or Yemeni mixed-accent that I now have, don’t always understand me.
This is especially true for village women who don’t speak Arabic as a first
language anyway. I had wanted to do the training in their local languages, but
then we would have to have about 5 translators, so we decided to stick to
French and Arabic. But the poor Arabic translator on the second day was really
terrible. He stared off into the distance and spoke in a monotone, and he did
not translate the way I wanted him to. Just a head’s up: if you translate for
me from a language I know into another language that I know, I will make sure
you use the right words or I will stop the training and show you on my phone
dictionary the exact vocabulary I want you to use. I also get annoyed when you
don’t translate my jokes. I am funny, dang it. The women will laugh even if you
have no sense of humor. Anyway, after the first tea break, I waited until he
left the room and then changed to another guy who is a very charismatic
translator who finds me hilarious. He also approved the activity I made up for
the training involving candy. Is there a point in having a training if there
isn’t an activity involving candy? I
don’t think so.
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| The candy part of the training |
So the training was successful, but my brilliant
money-saving brain decided that we would drive to the town and in order to save
even more cash, I would drive instead of hiring a driver. Partly why I wanted
to do this is because I did not want to take the bus. I don’t love loud music
and violent Thai movies that are the accepted form of bus entertainment here,
and also I feel like I have a whole lot of living left to do. Though you might
not have known it from the way I was driving.
In the days leading up to the trip, I kept telling people
that I would drive slowly.
“I’m a good driver,” I said, making sure to stand in an area where lightning strikes are rare. “I will just take it slow and let others pass me, if they want.” (If I were Catholic, here is where the priest would assign me 75,000 Hail Marys to atone for my lying ways.)
“I’m a good driver,” I said, making sure to stand in an area where lightning strikes are rare. “I will just take it slow and let others pass me, if they want.” (If I were Catholic, here is where the priest would assign me 75,000 Hail Marys to atone for my lying ways.)
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| Pre-trip selfie with Antani's beautiful niece who came along for the ride to their home town, which was on the way. |
I also had to prove to Emelie that I know how to change a
tire because she doesn’t read this blog and she didn’t know about the last timeI changed a tire by the side of the road in South Sudan. “What if we get a
puncture?” she asked. “Would you even know what to do? We probably need a man
with us.” This did not sit well with me, as you can imagine, and I was even
more determined to drive and not bring ANY men with us.
Since the road is mostly tarmac all the way to Mongo, I
really wasn’t worried. And really, I did think that I would just drive along
slowly like a big haired old lady in a Cadillac on the way to church. I had
forgotten about my debilitating strain of competitiveness, and I was not
prepared for the exhilaration of hitting 160kmph and beating Leif’s record of
150kmph and the glee I derived from the looks on the faces of the drivers I
left in my dust.
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| Post-trip to Mongo car |
It was also nice to be traveling with another girl because
we could keep a lookout for places with convenient tree coverage to serve as
bathroom breaks. It is not always easy out here in the desert. But it was
Emelie who had the brilliant idea to bring a couple of chickens with her back
to N’Djamena as egg producers since Cameroonian chickens are currently
suffering from some chicken virus that is making eggs very expensive here.
“Will they die if we put them in the trunk?” she asked. “Probably,” I said
confidently, having no idea. And that’s how we ended up with two chickens in
the back seat. I don’t actually know if they were noisy, though. About a
quarter of the way into the trip back, the car started making a horrifying
noise that we discovered we could not hear if we put the windows down. So we
could also not hear the chickens if they were protesting their transport.
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| Teaching while holding a participant's baby. Good times. |
Or maybe the sound came from when I tried to drive into
Job’s driveway and instead sank down into a hole. The car came to a crunching
halt. I was wondering what to do about this because the last time I got a car
hopelessly stuck, I had to wait for the mailman to come dig me out. But this
time I was able to drive forward and backward and inch by inch work my way out
of the trench. It WAS impressive. But it also dislodged a piece of the front of
the car, which was graciously replaced the next day.
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| Chickens getting all cozy. |
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| Camel train crossing |
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| Bitkine--one of my favorite places here. I love these interesting lumps of rock masquerading as mountains. |
I think it was that latter incident, but between the noise
and the racing incident on the way to Mongo, I decided that I should drive more
carefully on the way home. On the way to Mongo, I passed someone who then
passed me and slowed down (I HATE THOSE PEOPLE) so I passed him again, and he
kept catching up and slowing down and I let him pass once (I’m so magnanimous!)
and he slowed down again, and that was it. I passed him and he ate my dust.
Unfortunately, he caught up when I had to stop at a police checkpoint. If the
police had just said, “Show me your travel papers” and let me go (like they do
with everyone else), then he would never have caught up. Instead they wanted to
see the travel papers and my driving license. Note: whenever I’ve been on this
trip with Leif or Khaled driving they have NEVER, not once, been asked to show
their license. It was just assumed that they knew how to drive. But get a woman
behind the wheel and suddenly we are in Saudi Arabia and I need a male guardian
to assist me. After convincing them of my driving ability (and--unlike Leif--my
ability to stop at police check points), they decided to have a leisurely
conversation that you can’t turn down because they have guns.
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| Must have notebooks at training, even if the majority of the participants are illiterate. |
“So,” he said, leaning into the open window, “You from
France?”
“No,” I said briefly. I never volunteer information. It must be
directly solicited.
He solicited. “Where are you from?”
“The US,” I said.
“Oh ok. So you come from America,” patting the window.
“Well, ok, you can go, I guess.”
Naturally, the evil driver caught up and flew past us. I let
him go because this part of the road was dirt and I had a short-tired car (he
did not). But I did see him at the same gas station in Mongo where I had met a
group of American militarians heading out for a safari in Zakouma (they have a
look and it’s not a subtle one). I had been planning to go to that station
(because it is the most reliable for petrol), but I decided it would not be a
great idea to meet him outside of the car due to some of the hand gestures that
I made when he slowed down in front of me. And, in the interest of full disclosure, in
spite of my very best intentions, I also raced people on the way back to N’Djamena.
I kept telling myself to slow down and enjoy the ride, but I rarely listen to
what anybody says, so of course, I ignored this sage advice.
But I think that the real problem is that I look like a very
suspicious person to most Chadian security people. I didn’t realize this until
after a day of airport trips in N’Djamena. With drilling stopping for the rainy
season, we were saying goodbye to our drilling chiefs who were going home to
Kenya to visit their families for a month or two, depending on rains. In order
to get out of a particularly boring set of UNICEF meetings, I volunteered to be
errand-girl for the day. I thought that would involve an airport run or two,
but it ended up getting more complicated because we don’t believe in simplicity
here in Chad.
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| 'Do not wear the lifai when you teach with your whole body.' ~ advice from Amanda But on the other hand, you have no idea I'm not African when you look at this picture. |
Everything started off fine—I had excused myself from the
UNICEF meetings, where I had been the only foreigner the day before (though I
don’t think anyone noticed, as I was wearing my African clothes). I picked up
the men from the office and headed towards the airport. The last day of
Ramadan, security was extra-tight. Driving into the airport we were not just
stopped and asked to show ID, but they also did the under-the-car mirror check.
It was thorough. Finally we got into the airport, said our goodbyes, handed off
luggage, and I left to go to the store to buy gummy Smurfs.
While at the store, I realized that I had not gotten my
office key back from Jackson, who had used it while they were staying the
previous night there. I called to see if by some happy chance he had left it on
my desk. No such luck, but he agreed to meet me outside of the airport with my
keys. I drove back in, ready for long security lines again. The soldier
recognized me, “What are you doing back?” he said.
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| Baby Jafar--how cute is he? He loved me. |
“One of my passengers has my keys,” I said, “and I need them
back.”
“Fine. Just go on through.” And he waved me in without
bothering to mirror my car again.
I drove in, Jackson was waiting for me with the keys, which
he handed to me through the window. I wished him a happy vacation again, and I
went back to the office.
I’d been at the office about 20 minutes when I get another
call from Jackson. Apparently, even though he has a ticket with Ethiopian
Airlines and the plane was not full and he was at the airport and had been for
about 1.5 hours, they decided his ticket wasn’t valid because Leif had bought
it from another website. To be fair, sometimes these Swedish itineraries are a
bit confusing. When trying to change a flight in Khartoum, the lady had to
confirm that my first name wasn’t “Hej,” the Swedish word for “Hi” (the email
said “Hej Amanda Stillman, so you can see how difficult that is). But even
though they could have told him this issue with the flight an hour before, they
did not choose to do that for reasons unknown. But don’t worry—if you go to the
Ethiopian Airlines office in town, you can get the ticket redone and he can
still make the flight.
I got in the car and rushed back to the airport, having
planned to spend the next day (a holiday) in the pool at the Hilton and not
wanting that interrupted by another airport run. At the airport, I was once
again remembered by the short-tempered security guard who was not fasting (I
saw him take a swig out of the hose) but definitely suffering in the heat.
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| Baby Jafar's half- sister. |
“Why are you back AGAIN?” he demanded. “This is too many
times.”
“I know,” I said, “I agree. But my colleague is having an
issue with his ticket.”
“Open the car. This is suspicious behavior. You can’t come
so many times to the airport in one day.”
“Well what am I supposed to do? I have to get this ticket
issue fixed.”
“And you are wearing tapettes (flip flops) ! This is a
serious infraction. A serious infraction. You cannot drive in tapettes.”
“OK,” I said. “I’m sorry, but I’m here now and this is an
emergency and I have no other shoes. I am not trying to be suspicious, but I
have to do this today. Are you telling me that I’m not allowed to go to the
airport?”
“Fine. Just go,” he waived me through, glaring.
I picked up Jackson and we zipped over to the Ethiopian
Airlines office, while I said horrible things about Chadian airport security
officers and he tried to calm me down. At the office, I let him go in because
of course there was no parking. I stayed in the car and drove up and down the
street waiting for him as he, in true Jackson fashion, slowly and methodically
strolled into the office, while I revved the car engine outside and responded
shortly to people trying to sell me cell phone chargers I can’t use. To kill
time, I called various people and ranted and raved, which made me feel a little
better.
Jackson finally came out. “They are wanting 134,500CFA to
change the ticket,” he said.
In spite of the fact that we were seriously limited on time,
I took a moment to rail at Ethiopian Airlines customer service before giving
him all the money I had with me (127,000CFA). “Just make it work, “ I said.
“Don’t take ‘no’ for an answer. This is their fault.”
About 15 minutes later, Jackson came out, ticket in hand. “I
had to pay an extra 100USD,” he said.
“Did you get a receipt?” I asked.
“No, I forgot,” he said.
There was no time to go back and get it, so we zoomed to the
airport, and I just now remembered that I was supposed to go back later when I
calmed down to get that receipt, but I didn’t because I forgot about it the next
day while I was getting really sunburnt at the Hilton. Sorry, Finance
Department.
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| First selfie ever (for the ladies, not for me) |
Finally, luck was with me. Cranky security guy was not at
the airport. The other guys recognized me but were less angry with me. Also, I
had driven there barefoot just so I could have an answer for them if they asked
me about driving in tapettes, but they didn’t. They just said, “OK, this is the
last time you are coming, right?”
“Right, “ I said. “I promise I will not come again today.”
And I told Jackson that he could expect Urbain to pick him up if there was
another issue, but fortunately there was not. Still, I have avoided driving to
the airport again, and I will be avoiding it for a while. I’m trying to build
back my credibility with Chadian security officers. As long as none of them saw
me zipping around pot holes and zinging past princess drivers, I think I’m
good. I made it back from Mongo in about 5 hours (500km trip), and Emelie was
impressed anyway. And the chickens are still alive, so there’s that.
Photos of Em and me getting ready to go home to N'Djamena:
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| Packing up the chickens. |
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| Ready to go! |
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| Serious selfie |
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| Laughing at something--the chickens? Amanda's driving? |
