N'Djamena Marathon

 

Jesse wanted a photo of us under the sign that said "Marathon de la Paix"
What a marathon it was!

A few days ago I saw an ad on Facebook for a race to be held in my city on the weekend in solidarity with Sudan put on by Sudanese youth living in N’djamena. It was advertised as a “marathon 5k.” I figured the distance would be 5km because Chadians usually say “marathon” to mean a running race of any distance, but you never know. The advertisement was sufficiently vague on other information as well, but it had a start and end location, a beginning time and a date. In the comments people were asking for more information about how to run, and the response was being sent a screenshot of the same advertisement that we were all already looking at. I decided to send a message, and I was sent a phone number to call. I don’t like calling numbers I don’t know, so I sent a text message. I got no response and I forgot about it until I had a call later that night. Usually I don’t answer numbers I don’t recognize, but I did for some reason. Our conversation was as follows:

Me: Bonsoir Salam Allo (because I didn’t know what language to speak when I don’t know who is calling).

Him: Bonsoir.

Long pause….

Me: Uh..excuse me, but can you please tell me who is calling?

Him: Mohamed Idriss. (This doesn’t help me much—including being the name of our current president, it is a very common name here). Who are you?

Me: Uh…yeah…but you called me?

Mohamed Idriss (not the president): Oh yeah. I’m calling about the marathon.

And then the rest of the conversation was about how to register (give name, age, and contact number) and also he mentioned that they had met a guy who is really great at organizing races and the race was going to be 10km. I signed up and signed up Jesse, my friend from Nigeria who has run with me a couple times. The first time he ran, I was thinking he was going to be miserable and stop early because last time I had guys tell me they wanted to run with me and that it would be no problem because they play football a lot, they died after 1km. Jesse had said he wanted to run and 5km was no problem because he plays football, but he is also a good runner, so he was fine, and I had to keep up a faster pace than I wanted to the whole time to make sure I didn’t embarrass myself. I did also try to remind myself that he is 10 years years younger than me and that helped sooth the ego a bit too.

Hissein, Jesse, random vertically challenged nasara, Tresor

The night before the race, my evil Cameroonian neighbors decided to have a loud drunken orgy that made everyone miserable. They were still going, screaming and drunk singing and peeing all over everyone’s houses when I left at 6:40, and I was not in a great mood. I knew there was no point in getting to the race on time, but I did anyway. My friend Tresor who is a great runner and runs all the N’djamena races told me that it was for sure 10km and he had gotten there at 6:30am and was already texting me about it. 

Jesse and I got there and found a group of people looking for their race numbers. At one point a line formed but then the organizers started yelling out names (Mohamed Idriss, Mohamed Abdullah, Mohamed Issa, etc) and the line system fell apart quickly. Eventually we found our numbers—pretty quickly actually: we were 002 and 003 because I was one of the first to register for the race. We were also given a couple of little vest top things, which we were told were for advertising. Jesse had “American cola” (a local coke brand) and I had “Planet” which is also a type of beverage. We asked about pinning the numbers on our shirts, and were directed to the guy with a stapler, who was stapling numbers to people. Two minutes later, the stapler was broken. Were there any spare staplers? No. They started breaking off bits of staples and handing them out so people could pinch them with their fingers and mold them into pins to hold the numbers. I was not good at this and Jesse and Hissein helped. Hissein agreed to run in Steven’s place because Steven wasn’t feeling well, but he’d told me he would run. Steven, Hissein, and Tresor are deaf friends of mine who are all great athletes and helping to film a dictionary for Chadian Sign Language. (We want to make a dictionary app, so if you know anyone who can help make apps, please tell me.) Tresor is well known in the running community because he is an excellent runner and he trains people. Hissein and Steven prefer basketball to running, but wanted to come along for fun.

Stapling by hand

At 8am, the race still hadn’t started and it was getting hotter. By 8:30, just before we lined up, an announcement was made: this race is not going to be 10km. It is going to be 2 kilometers 300 meters. (According to my watch, it didn't even end up being 2km, and I didn’t cut off the corners like other people did.) 

Post-race with Tresor and Hissein laughing as they bent down
to be in the same photo with me and Jesse.
Jesse said he bent down too to have some self-respect,
which is why it looks like we are the same height when actually he is taller than me.

So everyone is lined up, now ready for a short sprint to Place de la Nation, and the start line happens to be right next to the city morgue. So as people are jogging around and pumping each other up, cars are driving up full of mourners with photos of the deceased precariously perched on their roofs. It was an awkward juxtaposition. 

This is the starting line where we kept having to move over
to let mourners through

The guy who informed us of our race distance change clapped two wooden blocks together and we all sped off. While there were a couple of policemen at one corner, the other roads we were on weren’t really blocked off and motorcycles and cars dodged us as we dodged potholes and it was all very exciting. 

The beautiful and amazing Fraida

We crossed the finish line and went to chat with Tresor and Hissein who were way ahead of us (note that Jesse and I are also half their height) and unfortunately they didn’t win. Our friend Fraida (not deaf but still very cool) who also runs in our neighborhood won for the women—not at all a surprise. She is a badass runner who has run in competitions around the world. She went to train in Kenya a few months ago, but told me it wasn’t worth it because it was too easy for her. We took a lot of photos, and as the only nasara, I was invited to be in many photos. I was also asked to do an interview for a radio station in Arabic. I specified that my Arabic is a mishmash of multiple accents and grammatical patterns, but they were happy. I refused to answer a question giving my honest opinion about the current president (Mohamed Idriss) and his Sudan policies because I am a foreigner and I don’t want to get kicked out of the country. I was able to say how great the organizers did (I mean is it really important to have decided on a route before the race day?) and how I’m sure they will do other great things. I should note that there were some Chinese guys there as well. I chatted a bit with one of them, but they don’t usually speak French and so people don’t often try to speak with them so I doubt they got too many interview requests. When I told this story to my friend Naomi, she said it reminded her of the time I was interviewed for Chinese TV when I accidentally joined the communist party, which was funny because I was remembering it too. I always managed to look really gross and sweaty when I’m interviewed for the news and usually have nothing important to say either. I don’t think I wrote about that for the blog because it happened before I started blogging, but I have it in a journal somewhere. Maybe I’ll publish it one day.

All miked up and waving my hands around for a radio interview, as one does.

Anyway, we planned to leave after Tresor, Hissein and Steven left to go to work. But the nasara effect worked against me and I was stopped by a sweet young Sudanese girl who asked me please to stay for the presentation about the desire for unity for Sudan and Chad. I didn’t feel I could say no and Jesse graciously stayed with me. He was really fun to have around because we could joke around in English and he was very careful to take lots of photos of me in awkward moments. 

Post-run with Jesse

Our lovely Sudanese girl found a couple of t-shirts for us, which was nice. Jesse got one in French and I got one in Arabic. Then we were handed bottles of red soda (Planet brand!) and little boxes of food while speeches started. They were long and flowery and I enjoyed the heckling from some guys sitting behind us, one of whom I’ve also run with in my neighborhood.  He’s actually caught me at the end of a couple of my runs when I was planning to stop early and dragged me home. Finally speeches were over, and it was time for awards. They handed them out to the 3 fastest women and the 3 fastest men. The average time to complete the race for them was 5 minutes something. 

Then they announced two more winners: the veteran category. This was a nice way of saying the winners for the two oldest competitors in the race. Guess who won for the women? That’s right—I won best geriatric woman runner for the Marathon. A truly remarkable achievement. I’m sure you’re all very impressed. And if any of you are slightly older than me, pat yourself on the back because anyone could run 2km and if you ran and were old, you won. 

Surrounded by the press who were there to note my achievement

With the Veteran Man winner
whose face shows how honored he was to receive this award.

Finally we were able to leave after the awards. Jesse dragged me away saying I talk too much, but I mean, I was an award winner. People wanted to be near me to bask in the glow of my success. Jesse and I decided just to walk home, as my house is not far from Place de la Nation. I think in all, including our 2km race, we didn’t even go 8km by the time we got home. And also—while Jesse was taking photos of me getting my award, people took our food. Oh well—they can never take my Veteran Medal from me. I earned that. By being old.

So I can say I posted on the blog in 2023

It’s been a very long time since I have written on the blog. The only excuse is extreme laziness. People keep asking me about it. And some people have even said, “Oh this will end up on your blog for sure!” And I feel bad because nothing has ended up on my blog at all recently. This is concerning because I write the blog so that when people tell me to write my memoirs, I can just send them to the blog, but if there is no blog that means that someday I might actually have to write them. I guess I could just use the laziness excuse again.

Fun time in Kenya

Well, here are some short recaps on various things that have happened to me this year, which I’ve been told should show up on the blog:

My parents came to visit me! It was their first time in Africa, and they opted to fly via Addis Ababa, one of a few options on the way to N’djamena. This seemed like a good idea at the time, but it turns out we arrived right before Ethiopian Orthodox Christmas, which is just after not Ethiopian Christmas and not Ethiopian New Year. Ethiopian Airlines did not manage increased amounts of baggage well. One guy told me he brought 15 pieces of luggage with him. We each only had one suitcase, but none of them came for 3 days. My mom and I had decided to go for comfort over fashion for the trip. My dad drove me crazy in all the airports as he slowly and methodically took off his belt and shoes at each security check (fortunately this time he did not bring a pair of scissors in his carry on—he did forget his covid vaccination card again, but we had a photo so it was fine), but he looked decent in all the photos. Mom and I looked…comfortable but not fashionable. We were just about to go buy new clothes when all my contacts who I had roped in to help us find the bags managed to pester the right people into finding the suitcases. We got them the day before we went on to Chad, so that was lucky for us.

5am in the airport, looking as good as most people do at 5am in the airport 

Lost bags in Addis International

Other than the bag stuff, we had a great time in Addis, visiting my friends and trying the food. I forgot that injera is somewhat of an acquired taste and that my parents’ tolerance for spicy food has decreased with age and distance from Indonesia, but they liked most of the food anyway.

With Moussa and Alala in Chad

In Chad we crammed into my tiny house full of happy dogs and plenty of sand. I had so many friends to visit and we drove out to Dourbali to spend the night chez Moussa as well. My dad had promised to paint a mural on the wall of his church building. He’d spent weeks designing it and running it by Moussa who had opinions. The final design was chosen, my dad did an official picture, using all the good colors and framed it up nicely too for a present. When we got to Dourbali, he threw his back out trying to push the truck out of a sand pit even when I told him not to. Then he was in agony for several days until the medicine Claire prescribed fixed him up again. Fortunately, he was still able to get the outline of the mural up on the walls—with two of Moussa’s pastor friends holding him up.

Holding up my Dad as he draws

Not bad for a guy who can't stand up on his own

A local church member colored the mural. I have a full photo of it somewhere, but couldn't find it.

The other highlight of the trip for my parents (besides meeting a million people I talk about all the time, telling me how much nicer Claire’s house looks than mine, and eating pain au raisin at Amandines) was visiting the hippos in the river. Dad told me he really wanted to see some cool African animals and apparently Joe and Pika don’t count. We got to see a big group of hippos just a few meters away from us. Then we went to Kadessou’s house where his wife had prepared a huge feast and he gifted a giant Massa shield to my dad. It was an epic day for Dad who was actually walking around unassisted by that point, thanks to Claire Bedford, PhD (pharmacist Doctor). Mom was tough and feisty the whole trip and went on extra visits while Dad was convalescing in bed with Joe keeping him company and Pika guarding the door.

Taking photos of hippos, with Mom walking slowly in the background,
wearing my clothes.

Hippos!

Mom with Nadji and family, while Dad convalesced chez moi

With the Massa shield

I was a bit concerned about the Massa shield making it all the way to America. It would have been destroyed as toxic waste if my parents were Australian because it is made out of local grass and wood, but I was mostly concerned about they allowing it as checked baggage. Fortunately, due to my consistent presence in Hassan Djamous International Airport, people know me there and I talked my way inside (normally illegal without a boarding pass) so I could get it wrapped in plastic and checked with their other bags. 

My airport friends who like that I speak Arabic gave me their badge so I could go inside with my parents.

Supervising the wrapping of the shield.
It made it all the way to Nashville!

After that visit, I was traveling every few weeks: within Chad, Niger, Uganda, DRC, Jordan. and Madagascar. Madagascar was for fun…a friend who doesn’t want to be named and I needed a bit of beach time and relaxing fun. Fortunately, said unnamed friend is a wonderful organizer and all I had to do was buy my ticket and keep her going until she could get to the trip date because she was exhausted and overworked. 

I thought I would catch up the blog after my parents left, after the Niger trip, after the Uganda/DRC trip, after the Jordan trip, after the Madagascar trip, but it’s months later, I’ve been on the Kenya trip and the Cambodia trip and the Ethiopia trip, and I still haven’t managed to pull it off. 

Niger/Chad travels

Some of my favorite South Sudanese in Uganda

Rolex with Philip on the way to DRC

Sunrise on the Nile #nofilter

Went to Jordan for work, but got to see old friends and their 4 kids
(they didn't have the kids back when we lived in Lebanon together years ago)

Reunited with my Arabic teacher in Jordan
(2007 pics below and present day above)

Good times with my favs in Kenya

❤️

Zip-lining with the Chad and Niger guys in Kenya

Work hard/play hard at neverthirst

I did not get many photos in Cambodia.
Ok-I got a lot of photos, but most are close ups of food, not interesting for other people.

Ethiopia fun

I feel like I should call it a Year Off from Blogging because I am very unmotivated and also very lazy and always tired. I’ve accepted the fact that I am aging rapidly and my body is just not capable of all the activities that used to be so easy for me—typing things on the computer, eating 6 bags of gummy bears for dinner, not having back issues.

I did finally decorated my living room, thanks to birthday presents from friends,
 after all the pointed comments from my parents.

For my birthday we also went kayaking and ate lots of cake

I had all the best of intentions to write about each trip. I also meant to write about my kayaking birthday celebration, our new kitten, watching Biola and Bukola’s kitten for them for a few weeks, the river clean up project we started, all the fun adventures I’ve had with my new group of deaf friends who are patiently teaching me Chadian sign language. Fortunately Chadian sign language is closely related to American Sign Language since it was an American missionary who brought deaf education to Chad (among other African nations). I would tell you to go look up Andrew Foster on the internet because he was a very interesting man. Because I’m super nice, here is a link to his wikipedia page: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andrew_Foster_(educator).

They patiently help me learn new signs

Abiola and Bukola before they popped over to Nigeria for a few weeks. Kitten not pictured

We're paused for rainy season because the river is so high,
you can't get down to the shore anymore because the shore has come to us.

Road trip with Antani and kids and friends.
13 people in my truck!

Boat trip with Kadessou

Probably most of the funny stories would have been about our brain damaged cat, Ziguégué. We, using the internet in the way it was intended, have diagnosed her with cerebellar hypoplasia, which is literally brain damage. It means she walks like she is drunk, turns lots of accidental somersaults, and makes Manon and me laugh a lot. She also is deeply in love with both dogs, especially Pika, and loves to try to jump on her and attack her tail. Pika does not find this as amusing as Manon and I do.

We got her when her eyes were still closed and fed her
yoghurt and evaporate milk with a syringe.

Antani, Abiner, Joe, Pika, and Zig came with me to the airport for one of my trips.
I had Barka drive because he told me had a license. That is when I found out he doesn't
know how to drive a stick. So I yelled "embrayage" (clutch) when I needed him to push it with his foot
and shifted gears for him with my hand. Then I called Mariassou to pick them up.
I have high hopes that Barka will learn how to drive manual transmission soon.

I’ve also discovered that my Chadian friends do not respect the names I’ve chosen for my pets. For several years, Joe has been known around the neighborhood as “Gane Gueye”. Initially I thought they were calling him “Danaby” because of his beautiful tail (it's hard to hear on the street while walking the dogs), but they said they want to call him Gana Gueye because Joe is a cool dog and Idriss Gana Gueye is a cool Senegalese footballer. I’m fine with that because I am a fan of the Senegalese team. 

Moussa decided a long time ago to call Pika “Kakilé”, a Fulfulde word meaning something like “beware of the dog.” It does suit her until you get to know her and realize all she wants is to unconditionally love you and lick your feet or arm for about 20 minutes while you’re watching a movie (or Le Bureau des Légendes with Manon and me).

She did not appreciate being a fake wet nurse for Zig.
This may be partly why Pika runs away whenever Zig gets too close.

And Antani has been calling Ziguégué “Karambani,” which she says is Ngambaye for someone who is always getting into things (she thinks—she isn’t Ngambaye, but the Ngambayes are proud of their language and it has been incorporated into a lot of Ndjamena slang). It is apt. I’ve been told by others that it is actually Chadian Arabic. I think that is more likely as it is one of the 4-5 languages that Antani speaks. Ziguégué, for the record, is Chadian Arabic for a small gift or snack. People were concerned if we called her that then the dogs would think she was fair game to chew on, but they have never once come close even to biting her (though they’ve growled at her when she has bitten their tails/legs and tripped over them when they’re eating). This was unexpected because there is a cat that hangs out on our roof that they hate passionately. They’ve tried so hard to jump on to the roof, using the fire of their fury, and chomp its head off, but they’ve not managed that just yet.

She's a music lover

Zig and I like the stringed instruments

Happy playing together

And here I am, back from yet another trip since I started writing this but not having finished, and then Claire mentioned again that I’ve not written on my blog in a while (true) so I went back to read over when I wrote. And I’m thinking it’s good enough for now…There are things that happened that haven’t been mentioned, but if you want to imagine my life, bref—it’s crazy amounts of travel, visiting people and places I enjoy, eating all my favorite foods from those places (shekela tibs, rolex, klichi), having meetings that are sometimes productive, filming lots of videos for neverthirst donors… interspersed with a few weeks at home, working on the computer, taking Hausa lessons when the internet is working (as I write this it is not working, which is why I’m actually finishing this but how will I post it?), playing with my dogs and cat, watching French tv shows with Manon, helping Sabit and my deaf friends learn a bit of English, trying to speak better French so I can be nice to Manon who really appreciates when I bother to use the subjunctive tense, hanging with Claire chez moi when she needs to get away from the hospital, making Thai food with Antani during a rainstorm, running slowly around my neighborhood remembering when I used to be young and fast, plotting the downfall of the Cameroonian bar next to my house, which has started having weekend parties that go from 3pm to 5-6am (unacceptable), taking my friend’s kid to the French bakery near our houses and filling her up with chocolate ice cream, eclairs, and cake and then sending her home…anyway, it’s not a bad life.

I did not take this photo. It was in the news when a hippo decided to trot down the street,
and the military came out to make sure no one died.

I'm so lucky to have Manon as a neighbor because not only will she
pick me up from the airport, correct my French without laughing (sometimes),
get arrested with me when we go out looking for hippos on the river, but she also
accepts all the pathetic animals I bring home unquestioningly and even helps take care of them.

Pre-Eid visits with Pastor Moussa

My favs who I always visit on holidays.

I was Claire's plus 1 at the coronation party for Charles at the British Embassy

Post-spilling chocolate ice cream all over her dress, 
we played with Zig at my house.

Non-Massas at the Massa Festival

I should probably write a blog post about the cat next...