snapshots on the sly

T may have a fancy new camera and the knowledge to use it, but what do you get? Photos from my camera phone. Sorry, but taking photos in West Africa is all about sneakiness and there's nothing sneaky about lugging around a giant camera. In the countryside you can get away with it, but here, in the "big" city, it's a different story. There are people to offend and police officers to bribe everywhere you turn. Still, there are so few photographs of Conakry on the web that I figured even these bad photos are better than nothing.

As you can see, I went for the drive-by technique again, though this time from a car instead of the bike, as the bike's still floating around somewhere on the high seas along with all of our other stuff. With any luck it will be here on Saturday, but I have my doubts.

Instead of another Peugeot 406 (a car, which in my opinion, has no business on this continent - Africa is where such cars go to die) T's got a big ol' Landcruiser, which is, at times, a little too big. For example, notice the traffic jam developing in the photo to the left. Well, moments after snapping this shot, we had the pleasure of involuntarily extending our stay in that street much longer than originally anticipated thanks to a stubborn man's refusal to back up his parked car (which he was sitting in the whole time) - yet another version of the waiting game so popular in West Africa. C'est la vie.

We were Sunday-driving, so the traffic was far more tame than usual, which is why there aren't so many cars in these pictures. Actually, there seems to be far fewer people in the city on Sundays as well. We have no idea where they all go - maybe to the countryside - but the streets feel refreshingly empty. As soon as it gets dark, though, the hustle and bustle has returned and you can feel the peace of the weekend slipping away.

Guinea's Top Ten

Hmm, after looking at my last few posts I'm starting to think that maybe I'm not painting Guinea in the best light, which is a shame because it really has it's merits. I'd even say I'm enjoying life here more than in Benin, though it's probably not a fair comparison to make as Benin was burdened with introduction-to-Africa status. So, in an effort to be more positive, I've made a quick list of the top ten things I like about Guinea right now.

10. Dogs... everywhere. They're only sorry strays, but they still bring a smile to my face.
9. Delicious, fresh fruit.
8. Giant bags of cheap spices at the grocery store, especially ones for making Indian dishes. I'm determined to learn how to cook Indian food... poor T.
7. Our cleaning lady, Ellen. My French is terrible, but we seem to understand each other in a way that Elisabeth and I did not.
6. The ocean view and sea breeze from the balcony.
5. The chance to get over my nervousness about speaking a foreign language by being forced to speak French.
4. A swimming pool just steps from the door.
3. Amazing nature and wildlife.
2. Sunshine, even in the rainy season.
1. Meeting the craziest people.

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.

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 :-)

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.