Men in Flowers

Men in Flowers

The clothing on people that you come across really does vary. You’d think people living in villages would be wearing “village” clothes (whatever that may be) but not necessarily. You will see people in the latest footwear (at times covered in mud), ladies with very fashionable purses, wearing very nice perfume. Track pants, Nike hats, Puma shoes, you name it. However, I must say, these people are mostly from the city working in the village. I must admit it does seem a little odd, since all these people are better dressed than you are (and smell better than you do). What actually is more common are the random pants and shirts, marketing for L’Oreal or Lexmark, tattered and worn out usually. Then there is the traditional Congolese wear, which varies as well. The ladies often wear a “panne”, which is basically a piece of material wrapped around as a skirt (but wrapped like a bath towel), with a matching top. The style usually rests upon the top piece but at times, the bottom piece is a true skirt (rather than a piece of material). The colors of these outfits are often quite bright. As for the men in traditional wear, it comes in this combination shirts-pants thing. I must say very similar to pajama pieces. But what really stands out is the pattern on these pieces. Not only can they be very bright (or very pink), but also very flowery. Not too long ago, one lab tech came into work in one of these pieces: white with red roses all over – top to bottom. Not a problem at all. Nobody really noticed except me.


Parties

I’ve been here for one month and I’ve been to two parties already. Despite the fact that we host the parties, the national staff likes to organize it. So they like to set up the sitting arrangement in a large square. I think the idea is that there is a lot of space (and I mean a lot) in the middle so that people can dance. But the problem is, people don’t always dance. So here you have all these people, all sitting very far from each other (except for those to your immediate right or left) and not dancing or talking to each other. It seems they have no desire to displace themselves to socialize with others either. You have your same token people on the dance floor and a whole lot of people staring at them from their seats. Apparently this phenomenon is the same across villages. How very awkward.


Torrential Shower

It was a very nice night if I remember it correctly. Perhaps a little drizzle. We had this shower system thing going (since there was three of us at one point who were in the habit of showering at night) and I was to shower in the middle. As I headed towards the shower, I noticed that it had started to rain (versus light drizzle). I really didn’t think it would be a problem since I was going to shower anyways and get wet. How silly I was to think that…

The shower started off relatively pleasant. The water wasn’t too warm or too cold. It started raining harder and I thought I probably shouldn’t take my sweet time since the rain was coming down cold but still tolerable. I proceeded to wash as quickly as I could and it continued to rain, harder and harder. Now it was getting really cold and the rain was competing with the nice water from the tank, curving the stream and the temperature. The wind was picking up, the flap covering the shower was blowing wide open, the thunder started clapping and lightening proceeded to come shooting down. Not particularly pleasant, especially when undressed. By no choice of mine, the shower was over but it was impossible to get dressed without getting wet. In my towel, the rain is pouring down in buckets and lightening shooting everywhere. I contemplated to run out in my towel but decided against that but instead I ridiculously concluded to get dress – so that my dry clothes can get wet. Drenched wet and cold, I was struggled to bring all my stuff back to the house, hoping not to get hit by lightening on the way. Luckily in the midst of all this, my boss came hollering for me with an umbrella, fearful that I was going to get hit by lightening. Was I glad he came, even though I was already soaking wet.

Invasion of the C…

I can't even say the name, it's way too traumatizing. I thought it was bad enough having them in my latrines, and lately in my bedroom as well. I am already paranoid - every night when I get into my room, I am fearfully checking my bedroom floor, desperately hoping that I'll see nothing. I've kept a can of insecticide in my room since the first bedroom incident. But today, today was the worse. It felt like a scene right out of a horror movie.

You see, I had spent the whole day in the office working on the computer, really minding my own business, trying to stay on top of all my paper work. It was already very hot and I was getting pretty tired. Then out of the corner of my eyes I see one Cockroach crawling by, then another, then another - in all different sizes. I start squiggling in my chair because I was wondering where all these were coming from. The staff I was working was made known by me that these creepy crawlies were all around and she got up and started killing off some of them. At this point, I was getting very uncomfortable and very upset because more and more of them are appearing. I then take a look outside and I see them everywhere, walls, ground, doorframe - I was going to be ill. My boss then comes in and looks at me and says, "Pikka, I have bad news.", I'm thinking, oh no, what can be worse? (By this time I'm sitting with both my legs up on the chair because I couldn't bear the idea of them crawling near my feet) Apparently the terminators who have been spraying the hospital had decided to discard the remaining insecticide in our trash pit, which inevitably created mass pandemonium for the cockroach population, resulting in an instant evacuation into the outside world. But that wasn't the end, my boss proceeded to say, "Pikka, if you need to use the latrine, just let me know first." Due to the proximity of the latrine and shower to the pit, the cockroaches decided to congregate in those quarters. However, once they discovered, they were sprayed but it took some time for the poison to work its magic. Meanwhile I had to go but I couldn't face the idea of entering the latrine so I waited and I waited until it was difficult to wait anymore. I told my boss and he went and cleaned out the scene before I went. I must say, by the time I got there, there were only traces of dead bodies and a couple of convulsing ones, gasping their last breath. It was not a pretty sight. What an awful day - I hope I don't have nightmares.

Road Work

After a few weeks of being here, I've realized how often traveling occur, since I am the "mobile clinic" nurse. Now, there really isn't anything "mobile" about the clinic, rather, it is me and my lovely team that is mobile. We have five clinics that we travel to, and the time it takes to get to these clinics can really vary. Some are physically closer but that really doesn't mean anything in terms of the time it takes to travel there. So these trips can range from one and a half hours to four hours - one way. And then you have to come back before sunset. It can be really be ridiculous at times - travel four hours, stay an hour at a clinic, see a handful of patients, refuse the rest, then leave to travel another four hours to get back.

It is a given already that the roads are generally very poor and that we can expect to be stuck every time we travel, especially in the rainy season. So we are always equipped with not only ropes, jacks, planks, and metal traction, but also with machetes and axes. Now I would not have seen these tools come out if we did not run into a road block, literally. A tree had fallen over and we could not cross over. Naturally all the men jumped out, grabbed the tools and started hacking away at this tree. The goal was to cut it to pieces so that we can move it. Now this is no small tree. As I watched, I can see the head of the axe falling off the handle and the men had to stop every so often to reposition the head. I was so scared that it was going to come flying off and take someone's head with it! The work took slightly under an hour and we finally were able to move the cut-up tree off the road.

You'd think that fallen trees and muddy roads would be obstacle enough in a given trip. DREAM ON! Sandy roads are also a problem - a big problem. For some reason, the road sinks in so much that the vehicle slides and at some point we were slanted at a forty-five degree angle, right up against the wall of a hill. The vehicle could not move forward because there was not enough "road" to drive on. So we had to dig into the walls of the hill and the road itself to fill it and make it more flat. Again we spend another hour basically reconstructing the road. Once the road becomes flat enough, the vehicle moved forward (now perhaps at a twenty to thirty degree angle away from the wall).

Life In Kindamba

The Outside World

Leaving what has become “home” here can be quite the experience. As you leave the gate, you feel yourself becoming the object on display. Most adults will look at you, look at you and continue to look at you. You would think they would greet you or say hello, since they are pretty much staring at you and there’s no hiding it. Nor are they trying to hide it. I think. So then you have a choice, you can pretend that they are not staring at you, which is pretty much impossible. Or you can smile and be friendly, wave or say hello. Now you would think the latter option would be your best bet… sorry, not always. Sometimes all I get back is a continued stare. Maybe they just think I’m foolish, saying in their heads, who is this white person who’s not really white but obviously not African. Occasionally, you’ll hear them say to each other something something “chinois”. Well at least they got my ethnicity right.

Then again, that doesn’t happen all the time. There are those who you pass and return your greeting with an enthusiastic wave or a huge grin. Now, those are priceless – only if I could capture all those smiles on film. And also the children. The children are great. Every time you pass them, they’ll yell from their yard or run to the front of their yard and yell, “mune-de-lai, mune-de-lai”, meaning “white person, white person”. They get very excited, jumping up and down, waving eagerly at you, while continuously yelling in a chorus-like fashion. And this is done in hopes that you will acknowledge their efforts and return their greeting. Some will even run up to you and shake your hand. It’s really quite cute and endearing. This happens everyday and they never get tired of it. Makes you feel quite special. So there you have it, my minutes of fame.

But of course, you’ll have the exception where the child is afraid of the “mune-de-lais”, who take one look at you and hide, and sometimes even cry. I was told it has nothing to do with me because the other expats have experience the same thing. I mean, how can kids be afraid of me? I’m so kids friendly… right. Like for instance today, one of the local staff had her grand-daughter with her. She was kind of shy but didn’t hide or cry (at least not yet), which was a good sign. So we were getting picked up and as we were moving into the vehicle (I got into the back of the vehicle first), the little girl was lifted into the vehicle and ushered in. At that point she started to cry. I had no idea what happened! I looked over at the other local staff and they’re kind of laughing at the situation. I ask and they respond, “she’s scared of you…”. What? Another one? Again? Then they reassure me, “oh, the children are not use to seeing white people here”. Right, right. Was the child ever glad when her grand-mother finally got into the vehicle.

Our land is a big compost

Trash cans? What are those? No, I’m exaggerating but they are not that common. I think we’re still back-logged and waiting for our new trash cans at the hospital. Apparently we’ll get them when I leave. I hope that was a huge exaggeration but really I wouldn’t be surprised. Then you ask, where does the trash go? Well, it depends on what you consider as trash. Aside from the plastic-y things that get gathered in a can of sorts and burned somewhere, most other things go back to the ground, literally, right then and there. So you would be riding along in your vehicle and you’ll see people eating their mangoes or bananas, then the seed or peel will be tossed behind them into the forest, or sometimes simply on the road. I must admit, at first I was a little, let’s say, not use to such practice, but you can say I adapted quite fast.

The Roads

Again, what roads? Being stuck in the mud has become a thing to expect, whether you are traveling on foot or via a vehicle. So you must factor all those things in when you travel from A to B. The other day we spent almost an hour literally digging the vehicle out of the mud, with shovels, planks, metal traction and all. Honestly sometimes as you are bumping along the country side, as the driver is swiftly evading all the holes and bumps and potentially slippery spots, you think the vehicle might just flip over. You come to really appreciate the drivers…

As for traveling on foot, it’s always a good idea to wear footwear that allows your feet to lift off the ground. Let’s just say flip-flops are not a good idea. The mud tends to suck them into the ground, making the walking experience very slow to say the least. Really the trick is to walk around all the puddles and very muddy parts and to get out of the muddy parts before your foot gets too deeply sunken into the ground. So before you commit to a route, you have to carefully plan out how you will take your next ten steps, otherwise, you might just make five steps and sink into the ground. Or worse, slip and literally sink into the ground. Common sense you would think. I tell you, it’s an art.

The EATs

What can I say? I’m always hungry. And when it comes to food, I don’t think I’m all that picky. I think I eat almost everything. It’s just nice to know what you are eating, which I do know for the most part, except when it comes to the meat. I must say, aside from the chicken (which have become less rubbery), all other meat is mystery meat. I really have no idea what kind of meat I’m eating most of the time. I’m pretty sure it’s not beef. But I can’t say that bothers me all that much. It’s when you go to the market where our food is purchased (the meat), then you’re not so sure you really want to eat the meat. Let’s just say that the flies are quite friendly with the meat. I just hope that the meat is well cooked.

Fresh bread is always nice, which is daily luxury we have (except Sundays). It’s just not so pleasant when you find little creatures embedded in your freshly baked bread. Of course dead and baked. I guess you just learn to dig them out. But sometimes it’s so dark, you wouldn’t even know if you ate them. And sometimes there are little pebbles, or what feels like pebbles, as you bite into the bread. Who really knows what you have bitten into.

Now you should never leave anything out. Lids must always be well shut. If not you’ll find a camp of ants in things like the powder milk. I remember the first time I encountered that situation, an expat said to me, “oh yeah, there are some ants in there, they’ll float to the top when you pour in the water”. Right.

Chicken Run

You know I've never spent much time with live chicken back home, but here, they are everywhere! You see them on the roads, you see them in your yard, the male counterparts wakes you up in the morning (although they are not very liable, since they can crow anytime from 2am to 6am, or even 4pm), and you can see them in the sterilization rooms laying eggs! Also, most of them are not very good looking. But what really gets me is that is they are very, very dumb! I'd never thought I'd say this about a chicken... you see, when on the road, driving with our land cruisers, you encounter families and families of chicken. They would be happily skipping along on the side of the road, looking as though they would head inland but as they hear the vehicle approach, they would at the last moment, decide to cross the road! Or even better, sometimes, they decide to get in the middle of the road and run ahead of the vehicle, what, are they attempting to outrun it? I promise you, a very common phenomenon here. Bring up the subject of chicken here, you will hear almost unanimously, "oh, they're so stupid". On one hand we are trying to get around the craters in the roads, on the other, we are trying to dodge chickens. And sometimes you have no choice to roll over the chicken and hope for the best (everyone always holds their breath and looks out the back window to see if it comes out the other end). Most of the time they make it. So you think with all these ridiculous maneuvers they make, they'd get their exercise in, they'd been pretty good to eat. Not a chance. I know now the full meaning of rubber chicken.

The Inside World

We expats live in an enclosed area, with fences, doors, and gates (the fences and the gates in bamboo and the door in corrugated tin). The area is fairly spacious. We have a house, a storage area, a garage, a veranda type thing, a kitchen, a latrine, and a shower type thing, and oh yes, a small farm. Now as you read this, it may sound bigger than it really is.

So as you enter into our living quarters, you would pass by a shelter type thing made out of wood (kind of like any type of make-shift stands that we would encounter), this is where people take turn keeping watch. Then as you proceed down the half-laid pebble/rock path, you would pass the "garage". Often one of the vehicles are there being prepared. Then the other ones are parked next to the garage.

As you continue down this path, you would come to the house/office. Across the path is the storage area, where stuff is stored (exactly what you expect a storage area to do). During the week (Monday through Saturday), the office area is bustling. Well actually, the whole is bustling, with people moving in and out, busy with their work. But nevertheless, never too busy to stop to say hello and shake hands with you. Often they will address me by name and I will call them "monsieur" (because I cannot remember their names for the life of me). Of course, there are also "madams" but in those cases I usually just greet with a "bonjour" (don't know how sensitive they are to being called "madams" as oppose to "mama" or "mademoiselle" - it would be a lot easier if I could just learn all their names!).

So if you bypass the office area, which is one side of the house, you get the living quarters. Now most of the rooms to sleep are inside the house and there is one room outside. And guess where I sleep? Of course, the room outside the house. I mean, this is an actual room, it's just not accessible to the main part of the living quarters. It's got its own entry, outside. Really, really, it's not so bad - except I can't access the house when it is locked from the inside, which hasn't happen to me yet.

We eat outside on the porch, always ready to share our food with the insects around. I never thought I'd go for that, but you've got to eat. but really, it's not that bad.

The veranda-type thing is mostly used for meetings and film-showing. Yes we have a TV and some electronic players, although I have yet to see them work.

Behind the house is the kitchen in a separate building. There is where the meal is cooked (obviously) and dishes are washed. The water comes from the river (which one I'm not sure) and filled in these big jugs with taps. These bins are water are placed throughout for hand-washing. The same water is used for drinking but filtered. Food normally appears on the table around lunch time and dinner time. However, lunch usually comprises of an avocado salad (which this country seems to have an abundance of), so that means, avocado and onion, sometimes tomatoes are added, and maybe some form of pasta. Needless to say, often times we resort to cheese and bread or peanut butter and bread. At least we have fresh bread (but only Monday - Saturday).

Also behind the house is the latrine, which is next to the "shower". I must say we have the cleanest latrine I've experienced so far. Yes, it still smells like a latrine but at least there are not flies hovering over it as you try to go. I mean, you occasionally have some company, like the token fly or two. The worse is when Mr. Cockroach decides to visit. That was most unpleasant because they are HUGE here. Something like the size of a small mouse. I haven't established whether or not if they can fly here. Anyways, this one time, at night, Mr. Cockroach was resting by the door frame and it would not move. I didn't want to move pass him because I was afraid that it might jump and crawl and get really friendly with me. So you can imagine the dilemma. Me in the latrine, door open, Mr. Cockroach on the frame, the outside just steps away. I must have stood there for hours debating whether or not to move pass it or wait til it moves somewhere else. Finally I took the plunge and slipped right by it without disturbing it! Now that was most unpleasant! The "shower" is a huge jug of water with a tap placed above our head. Hot water is poured in two times a day, so the temperature of the "shower" depends on when you shower. I must say, the shower experience has been quite pleasant. Yeah, so there are holes in the wall for anyone to see - you learn to cover them. But otherwise, it's quite nice, especially at night with the lantern lit and the moon is out and nature is singing along. Good thing I haven't had any unfriendly/un-welcomed visits.

Trip to Kindamba

December 12th - December 13th

Where to start? Yes, I spent the weekend in Brazzaville (the capital of the Republic of Congo) for more briefings (security, logistics, and medical) so it was relatively relaxing. The plan was to leave Monday morning at 8am, which I didn't think would be a problem but since I've been having a hard time sleeping at night, getting up ended up being more difficult than I thought it would be... In any case, I made it to office on time, well, sort of (the driver had to wait on me as I inhaled my coffee and wolfed down my Nutella bagette). When I got to the office, people were still milling around, but then again, I didn't know anyone really (or didn't recognize anyone - I must have met a handful of them but cannot for the life of me figure out who's who). So I couldn't tell who was working there and who was leaving with me. In any case, I thought this would be a good time to go get my pictures taken, which had to be done before I left Brazzaville for security reasons. The head of mission (my boss) told me to go quick and return quick. I was whipped off by my driver and a national staff, ushered into the photo studio, butted through to the front of the line, had my three pictures taken (all of which I'm convinced I blinked) and brought right back to the office. Then it was quick, quick to leave, since it was already 830am. The land cruiser was packed with patients and staff, along with the unimog (a large truck) named the "Elephant" filled with supplies and luggage and some passengers as well and we were off. It wasn't even 9am, I was impressed.

I sat in the front, squished between the driver and Guinean doctor, initially it wasn't so bad since it hadn't gotten too warm yet and roads were still relatively "normal". However, not long into the trip, the roads we were traveling disappeared! Whatever we ended up driving on were not really roads, they were like craters separated by thin strips of land that we were trying to maneuver on or around, depending on the size of the holes in the ground. Sometimes the driver would stop so that he can back up and accelerate to pummel over the hole. Literally you are flying out of your seats from time to time (good thing for seat belts!). As you can imagine, we were not traveling very fast, and each time we radioed the base to report our position (done every half hour), we would have advanced at most 10km. It was ridiculous, we were traveling at most 20-25km an hour. Sometimes it felt like the people on the road were moving faster than us. At one point the driver stopped because he needed to physically get out of the car to assess the holes ahead. He ran 50meters ahead and came back and decided to give it a go. He backed up and guess what, pummeled right into the hole and stayed there. We were not getting out of that, nope, nor could we really get out since the vehicle was in a hole. Good thing the "Elephant" was there to pull us out (one of it's main function you come to realize). Once "out of the hole", we were on our way again, bumping along for hours. We didn't reach our first stop til 5pm (and we were suppose to make two stops on our way to Kindamba). Eight hours and we traveled something like 120 km. Apparently already we had taken the "good" road! No one had really eaten at that point and the decision was made to stay over at stop number one. I was mad hungry and being sociable was really stretching me at the time. Thankfully food was prepared (our arrival was anticipated) and you can well imagine where I headed. I know, I must be leaving such a horrible impression on these people.

That night we went out to the local "bar" and we had to hurry since it was already 9pm and electricity shuts off at 10pm. It was a really nice night and neat to see where the locals went. So on this fairly isolated road, you would see some fluorescent lights flickering in the distance with music blaring. We get there and people are sitting outside these two "bars" on plastic chairs around beat up wooden tables. This table of older locals started chatting me up in the local dialect, presumably saying hello, amongst other things since they keep laughing (probably at me.but in good jest. I think.). I try to learn what they are saying and then they laugh some more. I felt I was pretty good entertainment for all. Then we got our own table and someone comes by to take our order. None of us really wanted beer, so we asked for Coke, they didn't have that. We tried Fanta, they didn 't have that either. Ok, then water? Nope. All they had was beer. Beer it was.

The next day we set at 7am and the road conditions were slightly better. We made our stop number two as planned (just a day late) and were finally on our way to Kindamba. I wasn't sure if I was ever going to get there. With all the traveling I was already starting to lose tract of the dates and had convinced the expert doctor that it was Wednesday rather than Tuesday (I think it was Tuesday). I felt like I had been on the road for weeks (it had only been two days - not even). By 230pm, we arrived in Kindamba and again, I was starved. This time there wasn't really any food waiting for us but I still managed to find something to eat! So as I stuffed my face, the local staff kept approaching to introduce themselves. More names and more faces. While I can't tell who's who and what they do, they know exactly who I am and what I'm doing here. Apparently people in the village learn your name quite quick and before you know it, random people will be calling out your name as you pass them by. How's that for community?

So as things started to settle for the early evening, I was looking forward to day to sleep in and take it easy. Just to catch up. No such luck. We were leaving at 630am the next morning for yet another road trip (mobile clinic).

You can imagine my enthusiasm at this point.

Did I try to get out of it? Yes.

Did I succeed? No.

Arrived In Congo!!

Amsterdam (December 7th – December 9th)

The trip to the hotel

The flight over was uneventful, actually fairly smooth and quick. However, upon arrival, which was around 1030 local time (0430 back home), I was fairly tired. Baggage claim went well, so did my trip to the train station. The adventure started when I got off the train. Thank goodness people spoke English and that I’m use to getting lost! Finding the metro from the train station was not as easy as I thought it would be, nor getting on the right train (I always find myself wondering if I’m on the right train or going the right direction). In any case, I found my way to the station that I needed to be. Now came the biggest challenge of all, which I did not anticipate at all. I’ve come to realize that I don’t read Dutch street signs well, they all seem very long and difficult to remember. I exit the metro station and immediately headed the wrong direction (something I seem to be very good at). After what seem like half a kilometre, I decided to head back. I found the same couple I passed half a kilometre at the same corner still watching me – I decided to approach them for directions. I later realize that they gave me either the wrong directions or the long way around. But of course at the time, you unquestionably follow their guidance. So here I was, thinking I was on the right route, finally. Not really. Here I am, dragging my suitcase on cobblestone roads – which are everywhere, along with my backpack and handbag, everything felt ten times heavier. I was so tired, I’m surprised I didn’t fall over. It was raining and the streets split in funny manner, so I didn’t know which one to follow. I must have stopped every person on the road for directions, ridiculous I know. After what felt like forever, I found the hotel. But because, I am who I am, I go through the wrong entrance (what hotel has multiple entrances that lead to nothing?). I drag my suitcase up a set of stairs, only to drag it down. It was no longer funny. When I actually found the real entrance, I was ready to leave my baggage outside. I couldn’t even bare the thought of bringing it up I think it was three steps… (only to realize that was a ramp on the other side but of course, after I started going up the steps). However, once I got into the hotel, it was fine. I found my hotel room from the hotel lobby easily (who would have thought) and the bed, it was very good to see the bed. I must have slept like 15 hours. So much for visiting Amsterdam.


The day of briefing

It was an early start. But then again, it wasn’t as though I could sleep anymore. I walked over to the MSF office from the hotel and managed to get myself there by only stopping one person on the way.



Once at the office, I finally got a sense of the size of MSF operations. I finally appreciate what “headquarters” mean. The briefing included talking to/meeting most of the personnel involved with/overseeing my project, plus paperwork, plus more things to bring with me to the field. The highlight was definitely speaking to the health advisor, whom had just returned from a visit to Congo Brazzaville. It was good to hear some of the stories from the village, to get a better picture of the layout, the people that I will meet/work with. The whole thing was starting to become real. And finally I was getting excited! I couldn’t believe I was leaving the very next day!


Amsterdam by night

It would be a shame had I not seen any of the city. A friend and I decided to “see” the Red Light District. Can’t say I have much to say about it. Can’t say we stayed long. So we decided to have Dutch pancakes, as per recommendation. Now, there’s the adventure, perhaps because this friend was with me, we had to get lost. To start off, we got on the wrong tram, which essentially took us all the way back to where we started (the MSF office). So finally, once on the right tram (after waiting quite some time in the cold), we got off at the wrong stop! We ended up walking a stretch of roads to say the least, also of course, in the cold. When we finally got to the restaurant, it was quite late and we were starving. We ate and headed home. I was leaving for the airport in less than 7 hours and I still needed to pack, and perhaps sleep. Luckily I didn’t get lost on the way back. In the end, Amsterdam for me was the Red Light District and the Pancake Corner.



Congo Brazzaville (December 9th – December 12th)

The plane ride

I guess all the Congolese were going home for the holidays. The plane was packed! There was definitely much chatter and much passenger movements. At some point I think the flight attendants were losing their temper.



The woman next to me on the plane was quite special. Upon meeting her, she was in my seat. After making known that she was in my seat, she made no move to move out of my seat. She just sat there. I said, “you realize that you are in my seat”, she responds, “yes”, end of story. I proceed to say, “you are comfortable in my seat?”, not trying to be sarcastic or anything, she says, “yes”. I decide to check one last time, “you are ok in my seat?”, and of course she says, “yes”. In hindsight I really don’t know where I was going with this line of questioning. It sounded like I wanted to make sure she was ok rather than conveying the fact that she took my seat! In any case, I didn’t want that seat anyway! Ah, but the story doesn’t end there. Some time later in the flight, I was handed something by the flight attendant, which she left for me in the pouch in front of me cause I was dozing. Curious as this woman was, she reaches over to take it and examine it for herself. At this point, I was awake and watching her and of course, this does not stop her, no no. When she was done, she was kind enough to put it back. Imagine. What next, ah yes. Her friend. Her friend decides to drop by for a visit. So imagine this, standing in the aisle (I’m in the aisle seat) her friend, leaning over me, the two decide to converse, quite loudly, which didn’t really bother me at this point because I was no longer sleeping, but also quite animatedly. Hands were waving and at some point she was practically in the seat with me. I was just waiting to be spat on or smacked in the head! Thankfully, neither of that happened. And finally, this wins the prize. Her friend motions to my neighbour that she should go get some cola from the back. I think the friend had taken the entire bottle of cola with her (I thought we only take cups). So she looks over to me and says, “can you please get me some cola?” I couldn’t believe my ears. I didn’t know how to react, so I repeated what she said, “you want me to get you cola?”. Of course she says, “yes”. Not just that, she wanted me to get her the bottle. I don’t know what is the matter with me, I negotiated with her and told her that I’d only get her a glass. I’m ridiculous. So I get up, proceed to the back, fight for some space with the Congolese men who are crowded around the drinks, fill a glass with ice, poured out cola, and brought it back. Anything else you would like? That’s right, I am now the official stewardess, because the flight attendants are nowhere to be found.


The airport

It’s not like I’ve never been in a developing country’s airport before, but this was rather chaotic. We were let off on the tarmac, bussed off to a building, with some passengers getting off and some staying off. No one really says anything, or they did and I did not understand. I ask whether I stay on or get off and I get two different answers. Finally I got one answer to confirm the other, so I got off. You’re ushered into this room with flickering fluorescent lighting, crowded and I mean crowded with people, yelling back and forth. There were technically two lines for the “Police Control”, one for the nationals, one for the foreigners. There were these slips that had to be filled out but they were no where to be found. You ask for them from the officials, but they ignore you. Finally after several attempts, he acknowledges you and not only am I asking for myself, I am asking for this random monk as well. Apparently he had filled it out wrong the first time (just cross out the mistake – no? at least he had a slip!). Ok, the form was filled, now it was the line. People were filing through, but you’re really not sure where you ought to be. There were these men who were taking passports for other people and passing it along to the officials. I really start to wonder when it would be my turn. Luckily at this point, a MSF national came looking for me (actually I spotted him and made myself known). Still, I had to go through the line. When it was finally my turn, my new MSF friend stayed close by. The official asked what I was doing there, I responded, he didn’t understand, my MSF friend quickly jumped in and I was promptly let through.



Here I thought the tough part was over, was I ever wrong. Baggage claim. I have never seen baggage claim like this before. I thought the other room was packed, no – that was nothing compared to this. In the middle of this room was the conveyer belt with wooden railings to guide the bags, which worked on and off. Bags would be brought in and the belt would sometimes stop moving, sometimes the bags would be stuck on the railings, sometimes the railings would fall off, sometimes the bags would fall off. On top of all that, the whole world is crowded around the belt. You cannot get remotely close to the belt. However, my MSF friend somehow weaved his way through. How he will identify my bags, I don’t know. I tried to stay close behind and told him that I had MSF stickers on them, if they were still on. So you just stood there and waited, trying to help id the bags but really couldn’t see anything. It’s hot, humid and chaotic. There were these young men running around with the baggage slips from the airline. These guys are hired by the passengers to find their luggage, so you see these men jumping all over the place, passing the found bag from one man to the next, until the rightful owner is found. One of these guys said to me, “you need help”, I told him I was alright, he proceeded to say, “you’ll never find your bag like this”, I reassured him that I’d be fine. So after an hour or so, my two bags were found, I had actually started to think that they were lost. Finally, we got to leave the airport. We met up with my medical coordinator in the parking lot (yes, she was waiting there all this time) and off we went for dinner. I later discovered that we were going to eat at a Lebanese restaurant. Who would have thought.