We arrived in the Congolese port city of Pointe Noire early in the afternoon on a Friday and managed three adventures before bedtime at our beach hotel, The Twiga. We had lunch on the beach, visited the Mercy Africa ship, and dined on grilled lobster at The Sea Club without a reservation and ten minutes ahead of a house packed full of ex-pat dinner parties, en plein air.
Our first aim was the stretch of beach populated by a series of umbrella'ed restaurants, distinguishable by the brand of beer they advertised or the color of the umbrellas. A tasty start to the weekend involved a lunch of chicken brochettes, l'oiselle (fabulous cooked sorrel), and bananes frites with Ngoki ("elephant" in Lingala) beer. Food was handled by one vendor, beer by another. People watching was thrown in for free. My favorite sight was the guy selling hard-boiled brown eggs from a stack of 4-5 cartons atop his head. Not carton as in one dozen. Carton as in flats of 30, piled atop one another.
The surf here and all along the coast is pretty rough, the waves just big enough this day to attract several surfers as well as swimmers. The swimmers close to us simply removed their outer layer of clothing, e.g., top and pants, and went in the water in their underwear. They would come and go like this from their beachside tables under the umbrellas without benefit of towels. Walking along the beach seemed to be purposeful, not idle recreation. It was a route from one place to another. This is after all, a port city full of purpose, where anything that is shipped into Congo enters the country and where petroleum rules and ex-pats with money inspire relatively high end retail activity.
Some of you know that mostly for sentimental reasons I love a big port. So our next destination was the Port of Pointe Noire, where there are bulk, container, and pipeline shipping operations going. It is not Rotterdam or Long Beach or even Houston, but it is very active and the line of vehicles to get out of the port on a Friday afternoon was long. Our specific destination was Mercy Africa, a huge hospital ship that after ten months was about to embark for repairs in the Canary Islands and then move on to Benin by August. Our guide on the Mercy tour was Brenda, a Capetown native who has been with Mercy for 17 years and was about to go on a year's sabbatical home.
The ship itself was created from a former train ferry and on the lowest deck you can still see the ridges where tracks once held train cars. Eight decks in all, of which we saw the better parts of six, the ship boasts the only Starbucks in Congo. In fact the Starbucks is the centerpiece of a very comfortable lounge on a deck that also holds the gift shop and the bank. I can attest to the fact that the decaf latte was right up to SB standards. Our timing was such that we had an half hour of bling-shopping in the camp store-style gift shop, where the cashier was a woman from Wheelock, Vermont near Lyndonville in the Northeast Kingdom. This was not her first volunteer tour. She comes for three months at a time when she can afford it! U.S. dollars cash money, as they used to say in Georgia was required for our purchase of tee shirts and assorted miscellany.
Virtually everyone on board, like my new friend from the NEK, is a volunteer. The distinction among them seems to be how long their tours are. There are long-term volunteers (a year or more) and shorter-term volunteers. They do everything from mopping floors to performing complicated maxillo-facial or orthopedic surgeries. The security crew, led by an American, is otherwise Nepalese. We met a 60-something couple from Rochester, NY, who were just about to go home from their latest visit, she as a lab tech. Many nationalities and a wide age range are represented.
Mercy collaborates with national governments at the highest levels. In most ports they work directly through and with the national Ministry of Health. In Congo they worked with the Ministry of Social Welfare. The ship provides only surgical care (it is not a general hospital), and then only very specialized surgical care otherwise not available in the country and which is often life-saving. This goes far beyond but does include cleft palate repair. Referrals and any follow-up come from the local systems of care and assistance. There are 8 surgeries and places for 80 recovery beds, including an intensive care unit. The last surgery for this tour had been performed the day before we arrived and all evidence of patients and their families was gone. The suites had been scrubbed and emptied of everything, including beds.
My complete ignorance of large cruise ships meant that I was continually amazed by the resources aboard for crew and families as well as patients. There is a swimming pool, the bank, the coffee shop and store, a video and book library, a computer center, a school for the children of the crew (K-8), a cafeteria where everyone eats all their meals, and a very large multipurpose room used for meetings, movie nights, dance parties, exercise classes, piano lessons, performances, school assemblies, and honoring visiting dignitaries.We were invited to see a large family cabin. The common room was the size of a tiny studio with a small kitchen, a good sized monitor for family pizza and movie night and a desk, with a couch and chairs--crowded. We did not see the sleeping areas. Most volunteers, especially short-termers, share a double cabin. Dozens of bicycles in different sizes are available for crew and they have a fleet of 4 x 4s lined up on the dock.
The magic of the ten-month stint in port is that the period lines up with the school year. School had just ended. One of our tour guides, Patricia, is a chaplain from the UK and the mother of a musically talented son who graduated from the ship's school. She has been on the ship since he was six and he remembers no other life. But his parents are concerned that they may need to leave to get him into a schooling situation that can lead to university in England.
My principal interest in seeing the ship was to learn whether
and how social work expertise fits into the model. The short answer is
that it does not. As a former medical
social worker and an organizer, I was full of ideas about how much
social work could contribute and I suspect its absence is due at least
in part to a lack of knowledge about the many and varied potential
contributions. For example, I could imagine support and educational groups with parents,
counseling with patients about how significant surgery might affect a
person's self-image as well as reception in his community and offering
coping tools, and networking and organizing resources in the host country for special
ongoing support. I also believe social workers would be as willing to volunteer
for this work as nurses, lab techs, doctors, and others. But for now
the line is bright and the model seems reasonably fixed.
One
change they anticipate when they return to Congo (some years away) is
to enhance their capacity to train locals--a focus on sustainability.
Brenda noted they would have to recruit differently; for example they
will need nurses with training experience, not just clinical experience.
So changes in the model are possible. I am not giving up on this yet.
But for the afternoon I was willing to move on to dinner at The Sea Club. Our late night bonus was being able to join the Heineken-sponsored party at our hotel to watch (huge outdoor screen on the beach) Real Madrid beat Athletico Madrid for the Championship League finals 4-1.
Saturday, May 31, 2014
Friday, May 30, 2014
Remember the YouTube video?
The video that showed a chimpanzee named Wounda being released back into the forest in Congo? If you don't remember seeing it on Facebook or some news service site, treat yourself by clicking on YouTube.com and searching for Wounda's Journey.
On a recent visit to coastal Congo, we had the great privilege of visiting the Tchimpounga Chimpanzee Rehabilitation Center near Pointe Noire. A part of the Jane Goodall Institute, the overarching mission of the center is to end poaching of chimpanzees and to protect and rehabilitate chimps that have been severely traumatized by bushmeat hunters. Basically it is an orphanage for chimps but with a very structured program for assuring their health, rehabilitation and then reintroduction into the forest. The main compound sits at a slight elevation about the savannah and is approached by a road only big 4x4s can manage. We were greeted by key staff and one of their special helpers, Khaleef, a black and white Great Dane who never met a stranger.
The youngest chimp group--from 12 months to seven years, including a chimp crippled by polio--lives on the compound and shares a large open enclosure but goes by day to a forest where there are no wild chimps who might seem them as a threat. We saw "the kids" pile in the back seat of a pick up truck--maybe a dozen of them--and head out to their day in the forest soon after we arrived. Kind of like going to day camp.
Also on the compound are living quarters and a small veterinary care clinic (for the sick and injured chimps) staffed by an energetic Spanish veterinarian named Dr. Rebeca Atencia. Rebeca, the mother of three year old twin girls, has been at the center for upwards of a dozen years. She was working with chimps in captivity in Spain when she realized her calling was to save chimps and release them back to the forest.
Rebeca and the operations manager, Debbie (in Africa since 1992, first in Uganda working with chimps), were our guides for the tour, ably assisted by a host of other employees. Our great privilege was to be ferried by pirogue and small motorboat through the swamp, first to the Entombe River and then to the Kouilou River and on out to three island stations where chimps are being reintroduced to the forest. I confess the journey through the swamp was both a thrill and a terror. Birdsong accompanied us all the way through the black waters that I was sure were hiding reptiles of all kinds who did not wish me well. It was tempting to imagine kayaking through (and in fact being seated in the bottom of a wooden pirogue had the feel of being one with the water).
I was a bit relieved when we got to the wider rivers with open skies and all kinds of vegetation new to me, including water hyacinth (an invasive plant that can be used to make baskets) and papyrus. We carried a large crate of fruits with us and at our first stop watched a staff member wade through the water with the fruit and feed the waiting chimps, who are in the company of two staffers 24/7. They get about half of their food from the wild and half is provided for now. At this first stop we actually saw Wounda--the star of the YouTube video. She was both shy and a show-off. She grabbed her fruit (bananas, watermelon, apples, papayas, etc.) and took off for the heights. While we were there she mostly observed us from very high above us or jumped from treetop to treetop, making conversation as she went. The chimps were very individual in their behavior. We were close enough to enjoy facial expressions and see how they played with the staff, turned down the fruits they did not like, grabbed the ones they did, and generally socialize among themselves. This group was all female with one male.
At our second sgtop we were able to get out of the boat and walk to an elaborate enclosure, a two-story set of connected substantial cages with a run that opens into the forest. There we met some very large macho chimps who showed off by screeching and flying at us and splaying themselves against the cage wires where we could see them. They ran back and forth overhead across the bridges, showed off their leather woven hammocks and beat the air with big palm branches just to show us who was in charge. At the rate of not more than one new chimp per day, the staff is introducing chimps who are ready into this environment. They are free to leave the big cage but many come in at night of their own accord. They too are staffed full time and I was impressed by the progress reports on the newly arived chimps that the staff made to Rebeca the Vet while we were visiting.
There is a sizable staff of Congolese (all men--women don't seem interested in this field work) working and living out along the river and doing the shifts with the chimps. They use solar power to charge their cell phones! They are also involved in starting to work on the next phase of development, which is to create an ecotourism center where people can stay, learn about the Institute's work, and also enjoy the physical beauty of the delta region. At this point, people are engaged in making thbe cement blocks that will provide the foundations for the buildings. The more local the better.
Meantime, back at headquarters we learned that recent Chinese investments in oil exploration and phosphorous mining have been undertaken literally on the doorstep of the center and without any environmental impact studies. This is a matter of grave concern because not only will the mining destroy much of the natural habitat and the savannah that surrounds the center, but will also have the effect of all extractive industry where there is no local ownership and no plan for restoration. Despite what the coal industry says, all you have to do is visit parts of West Virginia to see what I am talking about.
On our way back to Pointe Noire we visited some higher elevations with big gasp-inducing views, as well as an important cemetery housing the graves of three Luangan kings and a special museum focused on the artifacts (baskets!) and history of the once-huge Luanga Kingdom, its culture and the impact of the western slave trade. Most of those individuals who were exported as slaves from this area were destined for the plantations of Guadaloupe and Martinique in the Caribbean. The community is building a huge house and compound next door to the museum for the next king, who will be named by a specially designated person in the community.No Baby Prince George waiting in the wings in this culture!
On a recent visit to coastal Congo, we had the great privilege of visiting the Tchimpounga Chimpanzee Rehabilitation Center near Pointe Noire. A part of the Jane Goodall Institute, the overarching mission of the center is to end poaching of chimpanzees and to protect and rehabilitate chimps that have been severely traumatized by bushmeat hunters. Basically it is an orphanage for chimps but with a very structured program for assuring their health, rehabilitation and then reintroduction into the forest. The main compound sits at a slight elevation about the savannah and is approached by a road only big 4x4s can manage. We were greeted by key staff and one of their special helpers, Khaleef, a black and white Great Dane who never met a stranger.
The youngest chimp group--from 12 months to seven years, including a chimp crippled by polio--lives on the compound and shares a large open enclosure but goes by day to a forest where there are no wild chimps who might seem them as a threat. We saw "the kids" pile in the back seat of a pick up truck--maybe a dozen of them--and head out to their day in the forest soon after we arrived. Kind of like going to day camp.
Also on the compound are living quarters and a small veterinary care clinic (for the sick and injured chimps) staffed by an energetic Spanish veterinarian named Dr. Rebeca Atencia. Rebeca, the mother of three year old twin girls, has been at the center for upwards of a dozen years. She was working with chimps in captivity in Spain when she realized her calling was to save chimps and release them back to the forest.
Rebeca and the operations manager, Debbie (in Africa since 1992, first in Uganda working with chimps), were our guides for the tour, ably assisted by a host of other employees. Our great privilege was to be ferried by pirogue and small motorboat through the swamp, first to the Entombe River and then to the Kouilou River and on out to three island stations where chimps are being reintroduced to the forest. I confess the journey through the swamp was both a thrill and a terror. Birdsong accompanied us all the way through the black waters that I was sure were hiding reptiles of all kinds who did not wish me well. It was tempting to imagine kayaking through (and in fact being seated in the bottom of a wooden pirogue had the feel of being one with the water).
I was a bit relieved when we got to the wider rivers with open skies and all kinds of vegetation new to me, including water hyacinth (an invasive plant that can be used to make baskets) and papyrus. We carried a large crate of fruits with us and at our first stop watched a staff member wade through the water with the fruit and feed the waiting chimps, who are in the company of two staffers 24/7. They get about half of their food from the wild and half is provided for now. At this first stop we actually saw Wounda--the star of the YouTube video. She was both shy and a show-off. She grabbed her fruit (bananas, watermelon, apples, papayas, etc.) and took off for the heights. While we were there she mostly observed us from very high above us or jumped from treetop to treetop, making conversation as she went. The chimps were very individual in their behavior. We were close enough to enjoy facial expressions and see how they played with the staff, turned down the fruits they did not like, grabbed the ones they did, and generally socialize among themselves. This group was all female with one male.
At our second sgtop we were able to get out of the boat and walk to an elaborate enclosure, a two-story set of connected substantial cages with a run that opens into the forest. There we met some very large macho chimps who showed off by screeching and flying at us and splaying themselves against the cage wires where we could see them. They ran back and forth overhead across the bridges, showed off their leather woven hammocks and beat the air with big palm branches just to show us who was in charge. At the rate of not more than one new chimp per day, the staff is introducing chimps who are ready into this environment. They are free to leave the big cage but many come in at night of their own accord. They too are staffed full time and I was impressed by the progress reports on the newly arived chimps that the staff made to Rebeca the Vet while we were visiting.
There is a sizable staff of Congolese (all men--women don't seem interested in this field work) working and living out along the river and doing the shifts with the chimps. They use solar power to charge their cell phones! They are also involved in starting to work on the next phase of development, which is to create an ecotourism center where people can stay, learn about the Institute's work, and also enjoy the physical beauty of the delta region. At this point, people are engaged in making thbe cement blocks that will provide the foundations for the buildings. The more local the better.
Meantime, back at headquarters we learned that recent Chinese investments in oil exploration and phosphorous mining have been undertaken literally on the doorstep of the center and without any environmental impact studies. This is a matter of grave concern because not only will the mining destroy much of the natural habitat and the savannah that surrounds the center, but will also have the effect of all extractive industry where there is no local ownership and no plan for restoration. Despite what the coal industry says, all you have to do is visit parts of West Virginia to see what I am talking about.
On our way back to Pointe Noire we visited some higher elevations with big gasp-inducing views, as well as an important cemetery housing the graves of three Luangan kings and a special museum focused on the artifacts (baskets!) and history of the once-huge Luanga Kingdom, its culture and the impact of the western slave trade. Most of those individuals who were exported as slaves from this area were destined for the plantations of Guadaloupe and Martinique in the Caribbean. The community is building a huge house and compound next door to the museum for the next king, who will be named by a specially designated person in the community.No Baby Prince George waiting in the wings in this culture!
Wednesday, May 21, 2014
Crafts Heaven!
I may never come home after finding Atelier Raphia (Brazzaville) today, thanks to an invitation from my new friend, Sahar. This is a group of (today) six women whose creative synergy produces amazing items from colorful African fabrics and raffia. Some of you know I went a little overboard on raffia in Madagascar. Well, I am about to dive in again.
Here in Brazzaville there is no official international women's association. There are one or two small groups, including this one, who collaborate on a holiday bazaar (Marche Noel) and then donate the funds to charities they choose. So already I am completely and utterly in my element. Women from different countries, each with talent, giving things away. Plus coffee and cake. Life is good.
In addition to Sahar, who is married to the Egyptian ambassador to Congo, the group included Anna, a Polish woman who met her French husband (an EU official) in Luxembourg; Irina, wife of the director of the Russian Cultural Center and a native of Uzbekistan; Marianne, from Gabon and soon to be married in Libreville (see below); Gilma, from Colombia and married to an EU official from Italy; and me, the new kid, a visiting mom. We meet (I already feel it is my group too) in the large three room guest-house-turned-studio at Sahar's house twice weekly Monday and Wednesday mornings. One room is devoted to Sahar's painting, two to the crafts; there is also a kitchen with running hot water and sink and separate laundry space. There is, of course, a sewing machine and an ironing board!
The group is currently focusing entirely on a huge order from Marianne for her August 16 wedding in Libreville. She wants dinner table decor that looks African and will take guests' breath away. She has officially invited 100-150 people, which means they may have 300. Raffia placemat bordered in a specially selected fabric and matching napkins rings are being turned out by the dozen. I learned how to start the napkin rings today and got over two dozen started. I figured that was where I could do the least damage as a beginner. Plus it meant I could work with the raffia and get my hands all gluey and messy.
This atelier space would be the envy of even Sonia Rousmaniere, who has a fabulous jewelry atelier in Hollywood. Sahar is a painter as well as the Queen of Crafts. She is trying to get the various women's groups in Brazzaville organized into a non-profit and to grow it into the kind of larger organizations she knew in Romania and Brazil and I knew in Amsterdam and Yerevan. Then they will be able to offer a wider variety of activities, such as trips and classes.
In the meantime, they have produced wonderful items--tissue box holders, diaries, beautiful handbags, other placemats and napkins rings, gift wrapping accessories, and more. I mentioned to them that I had used raffia in MAD to make pillow covers, valences for windows, small handbags, and even an earring holder. I am salivating at the prospect of getting to the Marche Totale here in Brazza to buy more raffia, even though Anna told me today the place to buy it really cheap is in Djambala, Congo. Unfortunately the cost of transport to Djambala would overcome the savings on raffia, so I will be happy with the local prices.
As I sat observing part of the action today, I felt so at home.This was partly thanks to Sahar's hospitality and the welcome of others, but also because I know this scene. How wonderful to find it again in Central Africa!
Here in Brazzaville there is no official international women's association. There are one or two small groups, including this one, who collaborate on a holiday bazaar (Marche Noel) and then donate the funds to charities they choose. So already I am completely and utterly in my element. Women from different countries, each with talent, giving things away. Plus coffee and cake. Life is good.
In addition to Sahar, who is married to the Egyptian ambassador to Congo, the group included Anna, a Polish woman who met her French husband (an EU official) in Luxembourg; Irina, wife of the director of the Russian Cultural Center and a native of Uzbekistan; Marianne, from Gabon and soon to be married in Libreville (see below); Gilma, from Colombia and married to an EU official from Italy; and me, the new kid, a visiting mom. We meet (I already feel it is my group too) in the large three room guest-house-turned-studio at Sahar's house twice weekly Monday and Wednesday mornings. One room is devoted to Sahar's painting, two to the crafts; there is also a kitchen with running hot water and sink and separate laundry space. There is, of course, a sewing machine and an ironing board!
The group is currently focusing entirely on a huge order from Marianne for her August 16 wedding in Libreville. She wants dinner table decor that looks African and will take guests' breath away. She has officially invited 100-150 people, which means they may have 300. Raffia placemat bordered in a specially selected fabric and matching napkins rings are being turned out by the dozen. I learned how to start the napkin rings today and got over two dozen started. I figured that was where I could do the least damage as a beginner. Plus it meant I could work with the raffia and get my hands all gluey and messy.
This atelier space would be the envy of even Sonia Rousmaniere, who has a fabulous jewelry atelier in Hollywood. Sahar is a painter as well as the Queen of Crafts. She is trying to get the various women's groups in Brazzaville organized into a non-profit and to grow it into the kind of larger organizations she knew in Romania and Brazil and I knew in Amsterdam and Yerevan. Then they will be able to offer a wider variety of activities, such as trips and classes.
In the meantime, they have produced wonderful items--tissue box holders, diaries, beautiful handbags, other placemats and napkins rings, gift wrapping accessories, and more. I mentioned to them that I had used raffia in MAD to make pillow covers, valences for windows, small handbags, and even an earring holder. I am salivating at the prospect of getting to the Marche Totale here in Brazza to buy more raffia, even though Anna told me today the place to buy it really cheap is in Djambala, Congo. Unfortunately the cost of transport to Djambala would overcome the savings on raffia, so I will be happy with the local prices.
As I sat observing part of the action today, I felt so at home.This was partly thanks to Sahar's hospitality and the welcome of others, but also because I know this scene. How wonderful to find it again in Central Africa!
Tuesday, May 20, 2014
Jumping onto the Carousel
Anyone who knows my daughter knows that life around her, especially in her own milieu, is like a continuous merry-go-round ride. I stepped onto the carousel on Friday afternoon after a massage (a wonderful welcome gift!). Not dizzy yet.
First impressions from this country mouse:
Traffic is a nightmare governed mainly by which driver is most aggressive or has largest vehicle. It is better if I close my eyes.
Dirt road shortcuts are spine-jarring.
Congolese take great care to present themselves well. My mom would approve. So far I have seen no one who looked like they bought my old college sweatshirt from a used clothing market. In fact, the colorful fabrics and highly coordinated outfits of both men and women are a continuous fashion show. They are definitely "all put together."
Houses and gardens are all behind walls, which means I can't enjoying the results of other people's gardens like I can at home.
Hot water, indeed running water, is not a given everywhere.
The Congo River is a big wow from the air and from the riverside cafes.
The people I have met (of course, Stro has told the world I was coming!) have been uniformly warm and welcoming, generous with my baby French, happy to practice their English.
An umbrella/parasol is essential when walking in the daytime.
The growing climate is so good here the bougainvillea is creeping up the garden wall as I type.
Ceiling fans and a breeze on the screen porch are a gift and much better than the chill of AC.
Download speed on the house wifi is very slow and often fails, which is at the moment why I can't seem to get photos into the blog.
Stro knows everyone and every restaurant worth going to. There is a surprise.
My first weekend was chock-a-block with a group dinner with the Public Affairs team
and a visiting journalist (native midwesterner from Macomb, IL living in Senegal), a marvelous and fancy welcome dinner at Stro's home, an orientation walk from home to embassy and neighborhood, church services at the chapel of the Little Sisters of the Poor (who run a home for the aged--stay tuned as I intend to visit), brunch on the river, and a swim in the pool at Villa Washington. By Monday afternoon, my schedule for the week was full--invitation to an international women's crafts group, invitation to conduct a discussion of the film "Good Night and Good Luck," African dance class (observer/videographer status), invitation to visit English language classes conducted by a friend in one of the local ministries, and several diplomatic social events, starting with Cameroonian National Day party this evening. Italy's is June 2 and our own 4th of July celebration here will be July 2.
I have made my debut at the Embassy, meeting and greeting (everyone not otherwise engaged) and having lunch yesterday. Photos are not allowed, but let me observe that Stro's corner office looking out on the gardens is lovely. Today is a day for preparing the film discussion and continuing to battle technology so I can show you pictures and do necessary searches for prepping my international social work course for Champlain College in the fall. Then on to the Cameroonian fête!
A happy whirl with my girl.
First impressions from this country mouse:
Traffic is a nightmare governed mainly by which driver is most aggressive or has largest vehicle. It is better if I close my eyes.
Dirt road shortcuts are spine-jarring.
Congolese take great care to present themselves well. My mom would approve. So far I have seen no one who looked like they bought my old college sweatshirt from a used clothing market. In fact, the colorful fabrics and highly coordinated outfits of both men and women are a continuous fashion show. They are definitely "all put together."
Houses and gardens are all behind walls, which means I can't enjoying the results of other people's gardens like I can at home.
Hot water, indeed running water, is not a given everywhere.
The Congo River is a big wow from the air and from the riverside cafes.
The people I have met (of course, Stro has told the world I was coming!) have been uniformly warm and welcoming, generous with my baby French, happy to practice their English.
An umbrella/parasol is essential when walking in the daytime.
The growing climate is so good here the bougainvillea is creeping up the garden wall as I type.
Ceiling fans and a breeze on the screen porch are a gift and much better than the chill of AC.
Download speed on the house wifi is very slow and often fails, which is at the moment why I can't seem to get photos into the blog.
Stro knows everyone and every restaurant worth going to. There is a surprise.
My first weekend was chock-a-block with a group dinner with the Public Affairs team
and a visiting journalist (native midwesterner from Macomb, IL living in Senegal), a marvelous and fancy welcome dinner at Stro's home, an orientation walk from home to embassy and neighborhood, church services at the chapel of the Little Sisters of the Poor (who run a home for the aged--stay tuned as I intend to visit), brunch on the river, and a swim in the pool at Villa Washington. By Monday afternoon, my schedule for the week was full--invitation to an international women's crafts group, invitation to conduct a discussion of the film "Good Night and Good Luck," African dance class (observer/videographer status), invitation to visit English language classes conducted by a friend in one of the local ministries, and several diplomatic social events, starting with Cameroonian National Day party this evening. Italy's is June 2 and our own 4th of July celebration here will be July 2.
I have made my debut at the Embassy, meeting and greeting (everyone not otherwise engaged) and having lunch yesterday. Photos are not allowed, but let me observe that Stro's corner office looking out on the gardens is lovely. Today is a day for preparing the film discussion and continuing to battle technology so I can show you pictures and do necessary searches for prepping my international social work course for Champlain College in the fall. Then on to the Cameroonian fête!
A happy whirl with my girl.
Getting There or Nothing is Ever as Simple as Planned
The original four-leg itinerary through London and Addis Ababa was already complicated when I got a text from United on my day of departure saying the first leg to Newark was cancelled. Overcame the panic, stayed zen, got substitute flights courtesy of Chad (or Sean or Chip) in Bangalore. I was heading to Chicago first and then directly to London, picking up the old itinerary. You know what happened next.
Thanks to Natasha B the new itinerary was business class all the way, two flights on Lufthansa and one on Ethiopian Airlines. This gave me access to the Lufthansa BC lounge in both Boston and Frankfurt. This is not to be confused with the Senators Club, which is the name of the first class lounge, apparently reserved for royalty and famous sports stars. Sort of a red carpet/blue carpet thing. Plenteous and fresh food and open bar (as in help yourself), and in Frankfurt, a shower. I wish I had known about the shower part.
This best part about BC though is the lie-down-to-sleep part. The seats adjust endlessly, including into a flat platform for sleeping. All kinds of coloring books are provided--personal screen for TV, movies, learning things, listening to music with actually comfortable head phones. It seemed they were serving three course meals (in courses, not all on one tray) every couple of hours. Choice of welcome water, OJ or champagne or a combo. I finally realized I could say "no, thank you."
As they say ion Georgia, I was totally "lyin' to fit in." The flight from Frankfurt to Addis involved a stop, unbeknownst to me ahead of time, in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia. It was an offloading only stop for refueling and onward passengers were required to stay aboard and in our seats. I think this counts as being in Saudi as much as my layover in Hawaii en route to New Zealand counted many years ago!
As we taxied out for take off to Addis, the pilot suddenly stomped on the brakes and announced a medical emergency. EMTs arrived with kits that included a two liter bottle of Coca Cola--the universally recognized antidote for everything imaginable. Soon they were helping a young man walk off the plane and into an ambulance waiting below on the tarmac. And we were underway for Addis, rewarded for our constancy by a bright orange and gold sunset over the Red Sea and then a blindingly bright full moon as we approached Addis.
Deplaning from the quiet of an almost empty business class cabin into the arrivals hall in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia is an assault on all senses. Crowds, noise, the smell of meat being grilled, colors, many languages in frenzied chaos. Thankfully, Ethiopian Airlines staff are to a person happy in their work such that each one is approachable and helpful and smiling. I did not hesitate to ask the first one I found where I needed to go for an overnight transit visa and a hotel.
One line and $70 later, and amazingly zen compared to Tuesday, I held my hotel voucher (included transportation, breakfast and dinner) and transit visa in hand and proceeded through immigration to baggage. On the way I had to wait while some young adult male travelers had a good time playing and throwing their bags down an escalator while taking videos of each other. If I thought the scene was chaotic before, the baggage and customs hall topped it all. Long lines of people with unimaginable amounts of luggage waiting to have it screened to enter the country. I had been told enough times (to be slightly anxious about it) that I needed to get my own two heavy bags and transfer them to an EA desk for the morning flight. But they did not show up on the carousel. Consulting a young man who appeared to be about12, I was assured the airlines had already transferred them. Another lesson learned about wasting energy on worrying.
And great relief that my bags, which contained an amount of liquid in excess of the allowance, did not have to go through the screening machines. I approached the security supervisor (also very young) and said I had nothing to declare and wondered where I was supposed to exit. He laughed and said, "You mean you don't want to stand in the queue?" and then opened the way for me to walk out. I found the hotel coordinator and eventually was grouped with others going to the Panorama Hotel.
Within a half hour we had been transferred by van to the hotel, taking a route that first involved a modern highway and then dirt roads in very bad condition through an area filled with construction (as much as we could see).
At this point, my only and obsessive thought was about a hot shower. And I was a happy camper when I discovered hot water, a big towel, and a bar of soap. Thanks to EA I got a good night's sleep before the final leg of my journey from Addis to Brazzaville, where the Embassy expediter and my dear daughter, all decked out in her very Congolese business suit,were on hand to welcome me. I had started in Vermont on Tuesday and arrived in Brazzaville on Friday afternoon. Whew and hallelujah!
Thanks to Natasha B the new itinerary was business class all the way, two flights on Lufthansa and one on Ethiopian Airlines. This gave me access to the Lufthansa BC lounge in both Boston and Frankfurt. This is not to be confused with the Senators Club, which is the name of the first class lounge, apparently reserved for royalty and famous sports stars. Sort of a red carpet/blue carpet thing. Plenteous and fresh food and open bar (as in help yourself), and in Frankfurt, a shower. I wish I had known about the shower part.
This best part about BC though is the lie-down-to-sleep part. The seats adjust endlessly, including into a flat platform for sleeping. All kinds of coloring books are provided--personal screen for TV, movies, learning things, listening to music with actually comfortable head phones. It seemed they were serving three course meals (in courses, not all on one tray) every couple of hours. Choice of welcome water, OJ or champagne or a combo. I finally realized I could say "no, thank you."
As they say ion Georgia, I was totally "lyin' to fit in." The flight from Frankfurt to Addis involved a stop, unbeknownst to me ahead of time, in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia. It was an offloading only stop for refueling and onward passengers were required to stay aboard and in our seats. I think this counts as being in Saudi as much as my layover in Hawaii en route to New Zealand counted many years ago!
As we taxied out for take off to Addis, the pilot suddenly stomped on the brakes and announced a medical emergency. EMTs arrived with kits that included a two liter bottle of Coca Cola--the universally recognized antidote for everything imaginable. Soon they were helping a young man walk off the plane and into an ambulance waiting below on the tarmac. And we were underway for Addis, rewarded for our constancy by a bright orange and gold sunset over the Red Sea and then a blindingly bright full moon as we approached Addis.
Deplaning from the quiet of an almost empty business class cabin into the arrivals hall in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia is an assault on all senses. Crowds, noise, the smell of meat being grilled, colors, many languages in frenzied chaos. Thankfully, Ethiopian Airlines staff are to a person happy in their work such that each one is approachable and helpful and smiling. I did not hesitate to ask the first one I found where I needed to go for an overnight transit visa and a hotel.
One line and $70 later, and amazingly zen compared to Tuesday, I held my hotel voucher (included transportation, breakfast and dinner) and transit visa in hand and proceeded through immigration to baggage. On the way I had to wait while some young adult male travelers had a good time playing and throwing their bags down an escalator while taking videos of each other. If I thought the scene was chaotic before, the baggage and customs hall topped it all. Long lines of people with unimaginable amounts of luggage waiting to have it screened to enter the country. I had been told enough times (to be slightly anxious about it) that I needed to get my own two heavy bags and transfer them to an EA desk for the morning flight. But they did not show up on the carousel. Consulting a young man who appeared to be about12, I was assured the airlines had already transferred them. Another lesson learned about wasting energy on worrying.
And great relief that my bags, which contained an amount of liquid in excess of the allowance, did not have to go through the screening machines. I approached the security supervisor (also very young) and said I had nothing to declare and wondered where I was supposed to exit. He laughed and said, "You mean you don't want to stand in the queue?" and then opened the way for me to walk out. I found the hotel coordinator and eventually was grouped with others going to the Panorama Hotel.
Within a half hour we had been transferred by van to the hotel, taking a route that first involved a modern highway and then dirt roads in very bad condition through an area filled with construction (as much as we could see).
At this point, my only and obsessive thought was about a hot shower. And I was a happy camper when I discovered hot water, a big towel, and a bar of soap. Thanks to EA I got a good night's sleep before the final leg of my journey from Addis to Brazzaville, where the Embassy expediter and my dear daughter, all decked out in her very Congolese business suit,were on hand to welcome me. I had started in Vermont on Tuesday and arrived in Brazzaville on Friday afternoon. Whew and hallelujah!
Monday, May 19, 2014
Day 1: Lessons in Regrouping
Departure day started out very promising. The sun was shining. I did the last trip to the dump with my recyclables and garbage and then went back home to enjoy a leisurely morning. While I was sorting my coloring books into what would go under the seat vs. overhead, I got a text message from United that told me the first leg of my four-leg itinerary was cancelled. Oops.
This was not a good day for flying, after all, it turns out. A fire in Chicago put a stop to air travel. After a few flight management missteps in Burlington, my new flight was cancelled. Back in line, breathing in and out, working hard on letting go. Easier said than done. Amazed at how hard it was to stop hawking how fast the line was moving and whether anyone was jumping the line...all vain efforts at control. When I did let go I was amazed. My sense of patience returned, I smiled. I decided to be the happiest traveler the beleaguered ticket agent had seen all day.
Then, Natasha B came into my life as I finally stepped up to the ticket counter saying, "Good news." I don't need to go to Chicago. I just need to get to London by tomorrow night." I thought I was giving her a gift. Not especially. Almost two hours later, Natasha handed me a completely new itinerary. I had found out she loves Marilyn Monroe and has everything Marilyn, including a big poster her mom bought for her. She had great acrylic nails painted in red and white. She had never known anyone going to Congo, and demanded photos in exchange for her work. Stro sent several to keep her morale high! Her feet were sore, her ankles were swollen. I told her I would tell the supervisor she needed a stool. But she told me she IS the supervisor. I asked if I could take her photo and post it on Facebook, to which she laughingly agreed. It was another day in the life of a United ticket agent. She was working until 11:00p.m.
In the meantime, my hero Peter came back to Burlington from Woodstock, took me to Hen of the Wood for dinner, and then drove me to the Dartmouth coach the next day to start over. And it was a good day for flying on Wednesday.
This was not a good day for flying, after all, it turns out. A fire in Chicago put a stop to air travel. After a few flight management missteps in Burlington, my new flight was cancelled. Back in line, breathing in and out, working hard on letting go. Easier said than done. Amazed at how hard it was to stop hawking how fast the line was moving and whether anyone was jumping the line...all vain efforts at control. When I did let go I was amazed. My sense of patience returned, I smiled. I decided to be the happiest traveler the beleaguered ticket agent had seen all day.
Then, Natasha B came into my life as I finally stepped up to the ticket counter saying, "Good news." I don't need to go to Chicago. I just need to get to London by tomorrow night." I thought I was giving her a gift. Not especially. Almost two hours later, Natasha handed me a completely new itinerary. I had found out she loves Marilyn Monroe and has everything Marilyn, including a big poster her mom bought for her. She had great acrylic nails painted in red and white. She had never known anyone going to Congo, and demanded photos in exchange for her work. Stro sent several to keep her morale high! Her feet were sore, her ankles were swollen. I told her I would tell the supervisor she needed a stool. But she told me she IS the supervisor. I asked if I could take her photo and post it on Facebook, to which she laughingly agreed. It was another day in the life of a United ticket agent. She was working until 11:00p.m.
In the meantime, my hero Peter came back to Burlington from Woodstock, took me to Hen of the Wood for dinner, and then drove me to the Dartmouth coach the next day to start over. And it was a good day for flying on Wednesday.
Tuesday, May 6, 2014
The Last Checklist
A measure of my excitement about going to Congo is that I have one week left and I am packed. Yes, packed. It wasn't easy, but I admit that going from a late cool spring here to the tropics means that the things I am packing are not at all the clothes I am wearing now. For example, I do not need to take my heavy William and Mary Rugby #5 sweatshirt, which has come to feel like home in the current weather.
Today I took the bold step of actually closing a suitcase and weighing it. Oops. It was 57 pounds, seven pounds over the per-suitcase limit. After some juggling (and amazement at finding out just how much that gallon of syrup weighs), I managed to get suitcase #1 under 50 and still have a few pounds in #2 for the meds and toiletries. It seems the older I get (or the more cautious), the more space has to be allocated to my personal drug store mix of OTC remedies and prescriptions.
This time I am adding two sport knee braces. This is good news. It means I have a plan for managing my unstable knees. The braces are hardly fashionable, but I am hoping to get through the summer with their help and a cortisone shot to the left knee today. After struggling with this particular body part for well over a year, today I saw the MRI results. As pretty as the x-rays were, they were not able to reveal the torn ligament discovered by the MRI. "Degenerative," the doctor said, to clarify it looked different than a tear a 17 year old hockey player might acquire in an on-ice collision. Not going to get better, but can be cleaned up, with the hope of forestalling further damage that might lead to other adventures in bionic body parts. Clean-up to be scheduled for the fall. Feeling grateful Stro and I gave up on that slog-through-muddy-water and hike a lot of miles trip to see the lowland gorillas up in the mountains. Instead, we will find them in a reserve closer to Brazzaville.
My next packing challenge is to keep the carry-on bag as light as possible. For someone who is continually anxious about having enough coloring books and other diversions as well as healthy snacks available at all times, this always approaches a crisis. Even a short trip to Woodstock brings this on. This time it is complicated by the fact that the outgoing trip lasts two days. So I need a change of clothes, a real book, a notebook, said snacks, and at least some of those meds have to go with me in that bag, along with the electronics--iPad, Kindle, iPhone at a minimum. At the moment I am trying to figure out ways to avoid taking my so-heavy-it-should-not-be-called-a-laptop. Looking for ways to create and store documents, using my iPad and its own little detachable keyboard. So I have been undertaking learning adventures involving Drop Box, Google Docs, and other cloud-like resources. It is important to solve since I have promised Stro there will be no competition for time on her keyboard.
If I succeed in keeping that carry-on pretty light, and I can find the Luggage Store at Heathrow, my reward will be a quick Tube trip into London for the day during my 12+ hour layover there between Newark and Addis Ababa. The price of failure will be the credit card bill after trying to keep myself occupied at Heathrow for 12 hours while roaming through the tax-free shops.
The Kindle is loaded and my folder of Important Documents is assembled. I have my leopard print compression socks (http://www.montpelierpharmacy.com/). All these first-world problems will abate as soon as the trip commences and the real adventure begins. In the meantime I have a whole week to enjoy farewell lunches, movies, and general idleness before take off. And it even looks like my daffodils may bloom before then!
 |
| That syrup looks deceptively small. |
 |
| After organizing. A walking Rite-Aid. |
This time I am adding two sport knee braces. This is good news. It means I have a plan for managing my unstable knees. The braces are hardly fashionable, but I am hoping to get through the summer with their help and a cortisone shot to the left knee today. After struggling with this particular body part for well over a year, today I saw the MRI results. As pretty as the x-rays were, they were not able to reveal the torn ligament discovered by the MRI. "Degenerative," the doctor said, to clarify it looked different than a tear a 17 year old hockey player might acquire in an on-ice collision. Not going to get better, but can be cleaned up, with the hope of forestalling further damage that might lead to other adventures in bionic body parts. Clean-up to be scheduled for the fall. Feeling grateful Stro and I gave up on that slog-through-muddy-water and hike a lot of miles trip to see the lowland gorillas up in the mountains. Instead, we will find them in a reserve closer to Brazzaville.
My next packing challenge is to keep the carry-on bag as light as possible. For someone who is continually anxious about having enough coloring books and other diversions as well as healthy snacks available at all times, this always approaches a crisis. Even a short trip to Woodstock brings this on. This time it is complicated by the fact that the outgoing trip lasts two days. So I need a change of clothes, a real book, a notebook, said snacks, and at least some of those meds have to go with me in that bag, along with the electronics--iPad, Kindle, iPhone at a minimum. At the moment I am trying to figure out ways to avoid taking my so-heavy-it-should-not-be-called-a-laptop. Looking for ways to create and store documents, using my iPad and its own little detachable keyboard. So I have been undertaking learning adventures involving Drop Box, Google Docs, and other cloud-like resources. It is important to solve since I have promised Stro there will be no competition for time on her keyboard.
If I succeed in keeping that carry-on pretty light, and I can find the Luggage Store at Heathrow, my reward will be a quick Tube trip into London for the day during my 12+ hour layover there between Newark and Addis Ababa. The price of failure will be the credit card bill after trying to keep myself occupied at Heathrow for 12 hours while roaming through the tax-free shops.
The Kindle is loaded and my folder of Important Documents is assembled. I have my leopard print compression socks (http://www.montpelierpharmacy.com/). All these first-world problems will abate as soon as the trip commences and the real adventure begins. In the meantime I have a whole week to enjoy farewell lunches, movies, and general idleness before take off. And it even looks like my daffodils may bloom before then!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)