Holiday Seasoning in Chad

Me and la belle Emelie chez le Hilton

Whenever I take photos lately with friends, they frequently ask “if this is going to show up on the blog” sometime. To be honest, it’s always a possibility—unless you specifically tell me not to put it up there. But don’t worry: my mom, aka my main reader, always loves all my friends and her text messages to me go something like this:

“Hi Amanda! How are you today? What are you doing today? Are you feeling ok? Are you eating healthy food and drinking all the water? If you don’t drink enough water, you know you will get sick and die, right? How are all your friends? What is Claire doing? How is Naomi’s work going? When are you going to hang out with Rhyan again? Is Emelie feeling better? Maybe tell her to drink more water. What about Herve? How is his wife after the motorcycle accident?” Add in a few Bible verses and assurances of continued prayer for all of our well-being, and you’ve basically talked to my mom.

My dad’s text messages are shorter: “How are you doing? When are you coming home? Have you bought tickets yet?”

But yes, Claire, this photo of our Thanksgiving celebration is going to end up on the blog.

I'm the one with the crazy eyes in the middle of my lovely group of normal-looking yet beautiful friends.

As you can see, it was an epic celebration of Thankfulness. We ate lots of food and generously invited the former colonizers (those dang Brits) to celebrate alongside of us.

Last year I was in Uganda eating mangos for my Thanksgiving feast. It was not a bad feast. But this year I had my own oven and I got serious about making the food I really like for Thanksgiving, though we can’t get canned cranberry sauce out here, which is one of the few things that tastes better than home-made stuff. You can disagree with me, but you are wrong. Anyway, I baked and baked and baked and bought a can of whipped cream at the store and ate it all and had to buy another.

Baking-don't be fooled: the blender doesn't work.

Finished products (not all by me)

Dinner plate

Dessert

Then I started on Christmas celebrations, watching Rhyan’s employees put up a giant tree. I realized that though I really like Christmas and I enjoy looking at other people’s decorations, I do not mind at all not having to help with the process. As a child, I used to disrupt the process greatly, adding blasphemous Santa hats into the manger scenes or decorating an unappreciative cat. Usually, my sisters would not appreciate my creative additions to their careful home-making skills, but thanks to heightened seasonal Christmas Spirit, they could accept my jokes with good grace and not get too annoyed with me when I didn’t help with anything else.  Fortunately, no one at the Hilton asked for my help.

Hilton decorating

Rhyan is also super helpful and she was crazy busy preparing for the Christmas Market
(which was amazing, by the way!)

The Hilton also ended up being the location of our end of the year IAS Christmas party, thanks to the beautiful Rhyan, who always hooks me up. My staff were so excited to see the Hilton all sparkly and decorated up for Christmas.  I even dressed up because I knew they would love it, and I was feeling generous. Hopefully that image of me lasts for a long time in their minds so I don’t have to do it again any time soon. I have one blurry photo of me that Marthe took, and naturally, I’m carrying my only bag, a lovely cloth one crafted by the Acacia ladies, which Claire made me buy so I’d stop carrying my wallet and phone around in my hand like a man. Since unlike most men, I wear girl(ish) clothes that don’t have pockets, the bag really helped. It did not exactly match my dress, though, as Rhyan kindly pointed out. But Herve said, “Tu est très belle ce soir et je te tire mon chapeau,” so I guess it was worth it putting on the heels.

Joe didn't want to take dress-up photos with me

He's not wearing a chapeau to tire at me,
but I do appreciate this guy

The rare sight of Amanda in heels and a dress,
complete with unmatching bag.
The camera was so shocked, it blurred.
Photo credit: Marthe's phone

My team said they really enjoyed the experience, though everyone was a lot quieter than usual, awed by the splendor around them. One of my staff said, “It’s like you brought us to paradis.” I had one of those moments when I was happy to have given him that experience and also overwhelmed by the unfairness of life where a day spent at the Hilton for me is not a rarity (I like hanging out with Rhyan by the pool!), but it is an other-worldly moment for people I work with every day. I have so much more than I need or deserve, and I'm grateful for it, but it really isn't fair. 

The team in front of the Christmas tree

Our beautiful table

In the end, I have really enjoyed my holidays in Chad. I saved a free day, earned by working straight through various weekends to have Thanksgiving Thursday off, and then I pouted until my friends let me bring my dog to the party (then they all loved him, of course, because he is the best and so lovable). And I love Christmas anywhere. I can get into the spirit in the middle of the desert or enjoy the dulcet disco-beat tones of “Feliz Navidad” blaring through the speakers in our fanciest supermarket. I can make my puppy watch Hallmark Christmas movies with me because they are unintentionally hilarious and they make me think I could be a good actress if I suddenly became stunningly beautiful. I listen to Christmas music (and last minute agree to lead carols in church even though I'm sick so I end up croaking like a frog the whole time—thanks Tara for singing with me and over me) and bake cookies for people, and buy presents for my family. And really, as I was traveling around the last couple of weeks—to Koumra to install a water system at a hospital (while miserably sick for most of the trip) and to Dourbali to finish up ipad reporting for 2 wells out there)—I started thinking: Chad is a perfect Christmas place. We’ve got shepherds. We’ve got camels. We've got long-suffering donkeys. We’ve got a crazy despot on the throne and foreign militaries running around. We’ve got abject poverty and people who would let visitors stay in their barn and/or random government building if there is no room at the local inn (or if there isn’t any local inn available). And we’ve got people waiting to hear the Good News that “unto us a Child is born, unto us a Son is given…of the increase of His government and peace there will be no end.”

A long suffering donkey

Camel! And some wise kids.

Shepherds on a bike

Finally, as my Christmas gift to you, please enjoy the following photos:

Trying to see the submersible pump we installed at the PMI (Protection Maternelle et Infantile) in Koumra.
I couldn't see it, but Jeanpierre also made sure that I didn't fall down the well. He is a gentleman.

The beautiful Rhyan talking to a mother bringing in her child to be weighed.

The crew hanging at Jeanpierre's moringa factory in Koumra.

Rhyan, lovely traveling companion and Hilton connection, with moringa flowers.

She is clearly exhausted from weeks of planning for the Christmas Market,
and I was sick the whole weekend. We're still almost beautiful enough to play the lead in a Hallmark Christmas movie.

Life hack: when the hotel you're staying in for one night has a water heater but no towels,
take the hot(ish) shower and just use the bedsheet as a towel (make sure you shower in the morning before you leave, of course, so you don't have to sleep on wet sheets).

The lovely Absa, who is a famous movie star thanks to Neverthirst videos.
Whenever I go to Dourbali, she comes to say 'hi'.

King Cow. Seriously--he is wearing a tiara.
I don't have the photo of Djibrine 2 standing by him, but he came up to the tail.

So I found a pathetic tiny puppy.
I couldn't leave it to die in the street.
I could NOT. If I were capable of expressing human emotion in a normal female way,
I would have cried in the street over his miserable shivering body.
Instead, I brought it home, washed it, and convinced the guard that he really wanted a puppy.
He wanted to trade for Joe, but I said, "absolutely not," so he agreed to take Tiny Pathetic Puppy.
Joe was interested at first, but then he got super jealous, so I gave Tiny PP to the girls downstairs.
They played with him and then the guard took him home. He might not survive, but at least his last days will be happy ones.

SO SAD!!!! But he plumped up and was even wagging his tail
(after I protected him from Joe and he dried off after his bath).

 Merry Christmas and Happy New Year 2018!

Birthday and Other Types of Traveling

Already my traveling life is blurring, and I’m barely a third of the way in. I like traveling, and I like being in the field, so these are good things. I also like long road trips. But sometimes my life decisions are tiring.

 

On my birthday in the past, I’ve enjoyed taking time off and going on adventures. Number 30 was in Spain, 31 in Hungary, 32 just back from Nepal, making Mexican food for the office in N’Djamena (they liked it). This year I didn’t get a chance to plan an adventure, as I was informed early on that the donors were coming on that day. Naturally, I then informed them that it would be my birthday. With the generous openness natural to most Americans (really that is our reputation out here, I don’t know who thinks THEY hate us—we are much more lovable than most of the French), he offered to bring me a present. “What do you want from the US?” I asked him for a tub of that icing that you can buy in the supermarket. Simple, small, hopefully with funfetti. But I’ve noticed that men often smile and nod like they are hearing the words that are coming out of my mouth, though they have already made their own decision. He brought me Starbucks coffee and lotion. I’m sure that any other 33 year old woman would have been very happy with that, but I’ve already been open and honest about the maturity level of my taste buds, and I never drink coffee by choice. But they redeemed themselves by giving me a box of Little Debbie Valentine’s Day chocolate cakes, which fits into my nutritional system.

Gibraltar on my 30th.

Budapest on the 31st-same scarf, which was
stolen by the SPLA a few months later.

Driving face

The rest of the day was mostly uneventful, though I did drive from Massaguet to Bitkine (about 400km). I dodged potholes masterfully this time and punctured no tires. I did, however, hit one speed bump full on, and after that people kept jokingly reminding me of all the up-coming bumps. Then, after Tamadji took back the wheel, he immediately pinged a goat, and he became the brunt of everyone’s new jokes. He also never relinquished the driver’s seat to me again, but I think that was because he didn’t want to be squished in the front middle seat, straddling the shifter. It was an awkward position that I accepted because being the smallest, I was really the only one who fit there, though Tamadji managed to squeeze in and take over half the driver’s seat while I was driving. I think T didn’t love my driving style. He gave me a few pointers like, “When you’re going around the holes in the road, why don’t you slow down?” and “You can wait for the animals to go by instead of honking at them until they move faster.” Sadly, for the goat he offed, he didn’t take his own advice in this. I also got a tiny bit defensive and asked him how long he’d had his driver’s license. “Fourteen years,” he said. “I’ve had mine for 15,” I remarked casually. Of course, we won’t talk about the years living abroad when I drove at most once or twice when forced. The point is, I don’t need your middle-passenger’s-seat driving. If I don’t want to downshift to 4^th to get around the potholes, hold on to your door handles, there will be swerving, but as long as there are at least 2 points of contact between the car wheels and the ground, we’re probably good. I have not yet flipped a car. And I definitely got us to Bitkine in time to see the view in my favorite Chadian town.

Remember how I can never leave Bitkine area without chickens?
This time we brought a goat (and chickens too).

 Donor trips can be exhausting because managing expectations is hard, but I successfully treated a dehydrated donor (“drink ALL the water”-I’m basically a doctor), I crashed a wedding (I danced, I ululated, I took photos and gave the bride who I’d never met before money), I lectured little children standing in the road soliciting money from passing cars about road safety, I climbed up the water tower ladder in a dress, I read the book Marian sent me on Kindle while everyone else was watching the Jesus Film, and generally, it was a good trip.

Wedding crasher!!!!

She wanted to take a serious selfie.

Little girls showing me the clay toys they made.
I almost bought the tea set for my teapot-collecting grandmother,
but I was squished in the seat and was afraid they'd break on the road.

Jean Pierre, Herve, and The Author.

I had one day at home before jumping back in the car again to visit an orphanage needing a water system in the southern part of the country. I was pretty excited about this, having never been to the south. As a general rule, I tend to like the southern parts of the countries where I’ve lived—south coast of Java=yes, southern Yemen=set them free from the evil dahabashis, southern India=masala dosa (though I didn’t actually go there while I was in India, YES to their food), and so on. I really enjoyed visiting Koumra with the wonderful Jean Pierre of whom Emelie said, “He’s so nice you would think he was American and not French.” He was born in Bitkine.

Jean Pierre showing us the moringa he is growing,
packaging, and distributing to malnourished women and children.
Look up moringa online to see how great it is.

At the maternal health center playing with a recovering malnourished baby

I also had fun traveling with Herve. Someday, if you ever have the chance to travel with Herve, here are some things that you can expect from the trip:

1.     He will bring more than enough water bottles. This is a good thing, as I’ve been on trips with others who do not bring enough. Herve jokes that he is a camel, but camels only drink about once a month. Of course, then they drink 200-500 liters, and he probably averages about that amount per month too.

2.     He will throw the water bottles out of the window. Don’t freak out about this. It isn’t littering. The water bottles will be picked up and used. Usually you can see people run to pick them up as you speed away.

3.     He will bring music. This is mostly good, except I want to take this moment to complain about francophone Africa. Everywhere else in Africa and Asia you only have to listen to some of Celine Dion’s English songs. Here you listen to those AND her French stuff. There is no escape. At least ABBA only sang in English and Herve doesn’t know who they are. DO NOT ENLIGHTEN HIM.

4.     He will stop and buy all the weird fruits and oils being sold by the side of the road. He will buy you some too, even if you tell him that you don’t want them.

Chadian sesame snack

Did you know that this is how cashews grow?
The fruit is not my favorite, and sadly, you
can't just eat the cashew right off the top like that.
You have to cook it somehow.

5.     He will talk about how the French are the root of all evil in francophone Africa.

6.     He will lecture you about getting married. Or maybe just me. We started out with a lovely conversation where he told me that I was one of the strongest women he knows. “And,” he said, “I know a lot of strong women. I have 5 older sisters and my wife is also a strong woman. But you are the strongest. And I like your simple direct leadership style. You are honest and open. That’s a good thing.” After all of these compliments, I was feeling pretty good about myself until a while later when he said, “You know why you don’t have a man? Because you are too strong. You need to be a little weaker so that the man thinks he can come in and help you.” “What if I don’t need him to come help me?” “He wants to think that he can,” he said. “You have to give him an opening.” I clearly don’t know how to do this, but he didn’t accept my protests that I am not going to change who I am to catch a man. The problem is that I haven’t accepted that my life will be meaningless if I never have any kids. And as my window of opportunity is shrinking, he is becoming more and more concerned about me. Therefore, he will spend several hours lecturing me about “openness” and “God’s plan for me to get married” and “your babies will be so cute” and “I know if you actually wanted to get married, you could get married. Why don’t you want to be married? Just find a man and get married.” And then we reminisced about the time that he told me that men are like mangos, and you just have to pick a good one that you can reach. And then we stopped and bought a lot of mangos.

7.     And he will share stories about his time as a child soldier that will haunt you for the rest of your life, even though a few of the stories will be kind of funny. But you’ll start to figure out where his deep animosity for the current regime and their European allies stems from.

At any rate, we had fun. The car suffered but kept going like the Little Engine that Could. She is an amazing car that can withstand Amanda’s and Herve’s driving (though he didn’t let me drive because he believes in traditional masculine chivalry).

I have a few more trips planned this up-coming month, but for now, I’m enjoying the comforts of home. And the giant box of gummy crocodiles and other assorted candies that my friends, who know who I really am, gave me for my birthday.

Showing off the new pants I got from Denis (though it looks kind of like a pregnancy shot)
And the mango pie I made for Djibrine's birthday.

Either I'm trying to convince him to try the pie,
or I'm trying to get him to explain to me why the car is still making that noise.