fire & ice

Happily, the wasps seem to have developed a better sense of direction.... but there's always something, isn't there? Now we are experiencing a minor rebellion from our kitchen cooling appliances.

Last week, our water cooler sprung a leak and nearly 18.9 litres (5 gallons) of water was on the floor one morning. The tap water here is treated, but still not clean enough to drink, so that was all of our drinking water. A few days - and one pathetic attempt to communicate in French - later, I learned that a worn-out seal inside the cooler was to blame. The seal was replaced and all was well... for a few days. This morning it was the same thing all over again. Dehydration, here I come.

As if being flooded out and thirsty wasn't enough, a mysterious and disconcerting smell began wafting out of the kitchen, a foul, bluish smoke reminiscent of burning plastic. Last night T discovered the cause. See for yourself: this is the plug to the refrigerator, and this is the voltage regulator box it was plugged into. Electrical fire, anyone?


What's next? The air conditioners? Please no!

this is africa. there are bugs

Every once in a while I am reminded of how much my perspective has, and hasn't, changed since moving to this continent. Not infrequently in the past few weeks have I found myself saying, "This is Africa. There are bugs," with shrugged shoulders. But still, there comes a point when enough is enough and you have to wonder if the domestic help you left behind (and possibly unemployed) in Benin isn't sending a voodoo plague after you.

Each day this week I've wasted at least 10 minutes herding giant wasps to open windows. They float about the house like hot air balloons thrown off course by phantom gusts of wind. Each night I brush a few ants off the sheets before I crawl into bed. What earthly business do ants have amongst fresh linens? I ask myself. Entering the kitchen after dark must be done with caution, and an open window might as well be an open invitation.

My only solace is that at least it isn't mould.

*Note: the photograph above was taken whilst walking through the corridor of a neighbouring building in Le Résidence, which, as you might infer, was not long ago painted green. Also for the record, I wear a size 37 (or US size 7) shoe, making this flip-flop a little too big for me. In true African-style, I wear it anyway. It was the smallest size the woman had in the basket on top of her head, and for the same reason, please excuse the putrid pink.

in mourning

I'm sure that all avid news readers, and I hesitate to include myself here as I mainly read headlines as a means of procrastination, are aware of the recent penguin calamity off the shores of Brazil. For interested parties not yet in-the-know, I suggest this article if you want the whole story, and this one for those with short attention spans. The basic gist is that hordes of baby penguins are washing up dead on the beaches of Brazil.

My first reaction was deep sadness. For some reason I've always had a soft spot for these silly birds - even before Morgan Freeman narrated their struggles for the silver screen (which, by the way, is worth the $5 Blockbuster rental). It think it's because of their extreme sense of perseverance. I mean, just look at them try to walk! Is that not the perfect manifestation of determination? I suppose that's why the idea of them succumbing to the perils of today's stronger, icier, more polluted ocean inflicts such heartache.

My second reaction was to remember that I haven't blogged about South Africa - at all. This is highly embarrassing. So I'm going to start right now, and with my favourite part of the trip which, coincidently, involves the little, tuxedo-clad creatures.

Very nearly our last stop on our two-week trek across the Western Cape, Boulder's Beach near Simons Town was well worth the visit. This beach is a breeding-ground for the African Penguin and you can walk along a wooden deck that leads you through their nesting area. If you're willing to pay a small admission fee, you can even swim with them (though they seem more interested in sunning themselves on the rocks than swimming). T and I were near the end of our funds, so we skipped the swimming and snuck down to some nearby rocks for a peek instead. It was amazing how close they let us get!

alone in the dark

Last weekend was my first weekend home alone in Guinea (T was in Sierra Leone on business) and I had been bracing myself for something unexpected. Maybe it was the ominous sky we'd had the night before.

Maybe it was the fact that the scary things always happen when T's away. Maybe I was just bored and hoping for something dramatic... But the doors and windows were locked tight each night.

In Le Résidence, our apartment is just one little anonymous cubicle in one of six, eight-story buildings. As I sat around, waiting for something unexpected to happen, I got to thinking about how many very strange people must live above, below and beside me in a curious mix of expatriates and rich Guineans.

And curious is the word, because once these people start talking about their lives past and present, I can't seem to pull myself away. Red Cross workers driving Czech Tatra 8-wheelers into the depths of the Congo to perform emergency surgery on rebels. Kidnap victims who shrug their shoulders and say it was only 36 hours. Lawyers working to free prisoners held for years after the papers were signed granting their release. People who've been spied on by third-world governments. Others who can't say why they're here because it's classified. In short, people living life on the edge.

There, alone in the dark, reflecting on all this, I got to realizing how very far from the edge I am in comparison, safely tucked away in the apartment, one little ant in the farm. I got to realizing how very in the dark I actually am, and probably always will be when this realization wins the prize for the most unexpected event of my weekend.

to make up for the rain

Guinea is absolutely, without a doubt, mango country. These delicious fruits are so abundant in the rainy season, villagers in the Kindia region (a little north of Conakry) can hardly collect them all, let alone eat them all. With mangoes rotting beneath trees, roadside stands like the one we stopped at below practically give the fruits away. A large basket containing around 15 perfectly ripe mangoes cost only 5000 Guinean Francs, or just over 1 U.S. dollar!

So if you live in this part of the world and you don't like mangoes, you better develop a taste for them pretty quick! Don't worry, it's not a tough thing to do. I used to think I didn't like mangos. Well, as it turns out, I don't like the genetically-engineered, imported, tasteless, sorry excuses for mangoes that get picked unripe and sit on a container for a month or longer before landing themselves in Hannafords (or Whole Foods, or Føtex, or whatever it is where you are). For the record, I no longer consider those mangoes. I don't know what they are, but they don't count.

Fresh, locally-acquired mangoes, real mangoes, have a richer, deeper colour to their flesh. They aren't pale and stringy like the mangoes of my memory. No, they're just firm enough to keep their shape, soft enough to dissolve into syrupy sweetness as you chew them, and leave only the faintest, velvety tingle on your tongue. Delicious.

I'd send you some, but you'd never get past the customs officers with an armful of mangoes (because fruits are evil, plotting, little terrorists seeking world-domination, of course). So, I'll just have to eat an extra for you instead. Better get on that :-)

Oh, the joys of shopping in West Africa

I just got back from the grocery store and am, once again, shocked by how expensive food is here. Locally produced food, like eggs, is cheap enough - it's just that there isn't a lot of locally produced food (or locally produced anything, for that matter). Everything is imported and the prices definitely reflect that. Still, you can only be thankful that it's even available... when it's available that is. Every now and then a shipment is delayed and you end up with a tonic water or pepperoni shortage in the city (these are the mini-crises of the moment, in fact). It doesn't seem like such a big deal, but the thing is it may be months before another shipment arrives and trust me, you really do start to miss these things. And when such a luxury item does appear, people flock to the grocery store purported to be carrying the item in droves and whatever it is you were looking for is likely to be gone before you get there. It's like trying to get your hands on a tickle-me Elmo on Black Friday. Good luck.

And then you have to pay for your purchases in some of the world's most worthless banknotes. The largest bill in the national currency is equivalent to somewhere around $2, and the smallest, about $0.15. There are actually coins too, but they're so worthless I once heard that the government was caught trying to smuggle some out of the country to sell as scrap metal. No doubt the cost to produce them far exceeded their present value. There are no ATMs in the city, or at least none that take an international Visa card, so T gets a cash advance from the office each month in the form of a giant stack of banknotes that is so giant, it's actually multiple stacks of banknotes. We've given up on counting it to keep track - we just approximate it's height in centimetres to get a rough idea of how much is left. Next month, when the stacks are sky high, I'll be sure to get a photograph.

And now I know where that expression "filthy, stinking rich" comes from. These bills are filthy and stinking. The drawer we stash the stack in reeks of that particular stench only money of third-world origin can produce. Imagine body sweat, dirt, rotting garbage, festering meat, sour milk and the blood of various animals mixed together. You could most certainly add human waste into the mix too. This is why counting out the equivalent of $80 in $2 bills is more than just time consuming... on that note, I think I've just convinced myself to go wash my hands again.

In the Jungle

After a year of living in the African bush, I seem to find myself finally in the African jungle. Welcome to Guinea-Conakry. After a mere two and a half weeks, I've already seen more trees and exotic wildlife than a entire year in Benin could provide. And I love it!

With mountains popping up here and there, waterfalls and a respectable forest, T and I expect to do a little hiking on our weekends. We're just waiting for the ankle-high, leather army boots the driver said he could find for us... our protection from snakes! And I'm really not kidding. Last weekend we went to a "ranch" out in the jungle by Kindia (your guess is as good as mine as we didn't get to see it) and ended up stuck at the entrance, albeit next to a beautiful waterfall, because a very large snake was laying across the path. Lucky for us, there were others already waiting who warned us in advance so we didn't actually see the snake, though, for a moment there, I almost lost my mind and thought I'd go have a look. Don't worry, better judgement kicked in just in time! I'm sure we'll see more than enough big, poisonous snakes in the days to come.

The city itself isn't so bad either. That's not to say it's lovely though. It's still a West African city and has all the charm, or lack thereof, that you would expect from an over-crowded, undeveloped metropolis. Still, my basis for comparison is not exactly typical. Compared to Cotonou, Conakry is surprisingly organized and relatively clean. For one thing, there are hardly any mopeds. What a difference in air quality! Add to that the fact that most of the roads are paved and you've got a much more pleasant place to be. There are even sidewalks scattered here and there! But Conakry's biggest advantage over Cotonou is probably its sunsets. The city itself is based on a thin peninsula, which means that you are never very far from the sea, and you can't avoid a view of the day's last rays reflecting off the water. Everywhere you turn, there's a photo taking opportunity... which is a good thing, because T's just got himself a fancy new camera to play with. I feel the need to mention that most of the photo credits (or at least all the good ones) on this blog from here on out belong to him.

Our little corner of the city is quite the place to be. We live in a complex called "Residence 2000", which is about five or six apartment buildings right on the water with a pool, a gym, some tennis courts and a big garden. It's an immensely exclusive place to live compared to typical Guinean living arrangements and sounds particularly snobbish when you must tell your driver to take you back to "le Residence". But this isn't a two week camping trip, it's a two year stay, and you have to maintain your sanity so any guilt you feel at living here wears off pretty fast. That said, gratefulness and appreciation do not. The view from your balcony alone reminds you everyday how very lucky you are. I'll post pictures of the inside of our apartment once our stuff arrives in a month's time (which, if it actually comes that quickly, would make us very lucky indeed). Until then, you'll have to make due with the sea view.