WHY ARE YOU WALKING SO FAST?

Last night we planned a somewhat adventurous trip to Franceville (we're going away tomorrow!) and for today we scheduled Stage 1: Preparation. I was supposed to go to the city centre and get the train tickets. This implies:

1) getting a taxi to a place I'd never visited alone
2) finding the ticket office
3) speaking French to the ticket lady
4) getting back home.

Originally I thought of getting a taxi for myself and having it take me straight to my destination (1000 CFA) but in the end the explorer woke up in me and I took a shared taxi which left me in the right area (200 CFA). I managed to localise the boulangerie which kind of let me know where I was. And so I went up the street towards it. Things were going really well and I even planned to have some coffee after I got the tickets.

A young man approached me and wanted to give me a leaflet. I politely declined and went on. He followed me. "Why are you walking so fast, princess?", he asked in a low voice, nearly whispering. He followed me for a while but I managed to get rid of him when I got to a cafe full of people. He laughed (in a well-meaning manner, I must admit, he didn't really seem dangerous) and went away.

I sighed, relieved, only to realise that I had to go down that very street again - that was where the ticket office was. I hung by the cafe for a little while and, resigned to my fate, started walking straight to my destination. Another young man showed up, this one looking decidedly more shabby and missing a tooth. "Hello, princess", was his opening line and I made a fatal mistake of saying "I'm sorry, I don't speak French". He grabbed my arm and said he spoke English (suprisingly, this was true to a certain extent). He looked at me in a way no girl likes to be looked at and kept touching my arm, which I kept pulling back, walking really fast at the same time. "Give me...", he started and I very quickly said I wasn't going to give him anything. Suddenly the first guy appeared and, panic rising inside me, I realised there weren't many people around.

The first man, however, turned out to be quite decent, I suppose. He laughed and told the other one to leave me alone, but they both followed me right to the doorstep of the ticket office. They were laughing and saying things I didn't understand. I got scared. For some time they waited in front of the building.

Oh yes, I bought the tickets (picture) and everything ended well. I called Jandro to tell him what had happened (and above all because talking to him has a soothing effect) and he insisted on coming to get me. He drove me home.

When I was waiting for the lift, a handsome guy appeared. He was visiting someone in the building and told me I had a lovely shirt (I was wearing my African blouse). He got off on the second floor, held the door, told me I was beautiful and asked if he could see me again. I smiled, thanked, said I didn't think it was possible and he let go of the door. If it had happened any other day, I would've felt flattered and amused. Today, however, I just wanted to hide under the bed.

TAILORED TO YOUR NEEDS

A few weeks ago we went to a place called Petit Paris, the place to go if what you’re looking for is pagne, material. We are always very eager to have some African clothes made and so we went to the same shop we had visited back in April. The place is overwhelming - so many different designs to choose from – and it took us quite a long time to make the decision. In the end, Jandro went for a very masculine khaki/bottle green/dark orange, while I fell in love with pink and dark green. We paid 3500 CFA each (around 5 euros) and all we needed now was a tailor.

We asked around and consequently discovered the atelier of a man by the name of Dialo. A friend gave us precise directions: You know the restaurant Chez Gorge? Ok. You know the roast chicken stand nearby? Ok. Turn right after the chickens. We did, and stumbled upon a kind of a garage with sewing machines, materials and a man sitting in the middle.

- Hello. We are looking for Dialo.

- I am Dialo.

- Are you a tailor?

- Yes. How do you know my name?

- You were recommended by E., our Belgian friend.

- I don’t know her.

- Oh.

- But don’t leave. I will call my brother.

- But we are looking for Dialo… What’s his name?

- Dialo.

Right. E. had warned us this might happen. Another man came by and indeed his name was Dialo. Sadly, he also denied knowing E. and we were on our way out when he finally mentioned a Spanish girl that was a direct link to us. We turned back at the sound of her name and immediately demanded two shirts for Jandro and a blouse and a dress for me (I left him my European clothes to copy).

The man called a few days later and told us we could pick up our order. And – wow! – he really did a great job! I absolutely adore the shirt (check out the picture) but the dress needed a bit of trimming. We thus came back to his workshop – a tiny place with three Singer sewing machines, three men corresponding to the latter and a lot of mess. As I was very happy with his work and I still had some of my pink/dark green material left, I ordered another dress. This time I did not, however, bring anything to copy, and I – in French! – demanded to see African designs. They are there on the wall, in the form of posters with numerous pictures of the same big African lady happily wearing different dresses. I pointed to one that I liked (a very simple thing, not typically African) and Dialo took a yellow post-it. He occupied half of it with a minute drawing of the dress and discussed the details with me. Then he measured me, noted down all the numbers on the same post-it, and there it was, all ready. The time came to negotiate the price and I did, in French. It took us around ten minutes and, after he explained in detail why he couldn’t lower the price, he did, from 10000 CFA (15 euros) to 8000.

We are now awaiting the results. In the pictures you can see Jandro in his new shirt (he had two identical shirts made and only because I stopped him from ordering three), me in my gorgeous blouse and me in the dress I had made in April. What do you think? :)

GABONAISES

One of the most interesting things about living in Gabon is the possibility to get to know its people and their culture. Clearly, I am very far from saying that I know or understand the Gabonese ways, but I have noticed certain universal things which seem rather interesting and might serve as useful guidelines to a newcomer in Gabon.

Three is company
Whenever you offer round a treat (such as gum or sweets or cigarettes), be careful. Do not give a Gabonese person direct access to the items. They will not be happy with taking just one, they will gladly take two or three or all of them, consume one on the spot and put the rest in their pocket. Placing just one cigarette in their hand might seem stingy to you now, but after they take your last chewing gum or a whole bag of sweets you will probably change your mind.

Yes yes yes!
Avoid asking yes/no questions. The Gabonese tend to answer "yes" to every single one:
- Will you be here in five minutes?
- Yes.
- Will you be here in two hours?
- Yes.
- Are you a mechanic?
- Yes.
These answers may be absolutely true or they may have very little to do with reality. There's no way of knowing.

Liar Liar Pants on Fire
Actually, the above does not apply out here. People lie as a rule so no pants on fire, no sir. I notice that in the children I teach but it is also normal for adults. The curious thing is that lying is not as much of a sin in Africa. In Europe, when you lie and get caught, you feel ashamed and uncomfortable. In Gabon, when you are proved to have lied you... shrug your shoulders and carry on what you're doing.

Is she flirting?
Some time ago we went to a party where we spent most of the evening talking to a Gabonese girl. The coversation was nice and easy even for me (although it was in French!) and we enjoyed it a lot. When we were discussing the event afterwards, an interesting topic came up. Jandro admitted that most of the time he'd had a feeling that the girl was simply flirting with him. The smiles, the "accidental" touching of hands while sitting very close to each other... I thought for a second and answered: Baby, no worries. I think she was flirting with me as well. Yes, that is their way of being, we figured. The same thing happened with some of Jandro's Gabonese mates - many times I had a strong feeling they were hitting on me, and in my boyfriend's presence! In the end, we decided not to read too much into it. Just another cultural difference, I suppose.

My cousin's brother's nephew
Gabonese families are very big. Huge. Enormous. Of course, they tend to have a lot of children (I know a family who have a child in every class at my school) but it is not only about that. Here your village is your family, all the inhabitants are your sisters and brothers. Of course, it gives a lot of support and creates a wonderful atmosphere of love and devotion. However, family also means responsibility. Imagine what happens when suddenly five or six or seventeen of your siblings find themselves in financial trouble...

Supernaturally Superstitious
The Gabonese are incredibly superstitious. Back in April, I wrote a post on how we were warned about the ghosts that live on the waves. During our trip to Lopé we were told a tale of a magical spear stuck in one of the rocks (sort of a version of the Arthurian legend) and the guy who showed us the rock, an engineer working for a big company, would not touch the spear: what if he managed to get it out? He was not ready for this kind of power (for the whole story click here and follow the pictures). It is also interesting to notice what they do with their dead. I once asked where the Libreville cementary was. Apparently, it is very small and not much used, as people prefer to bury the dead elsewhere, in a less obvious place. Otherwise, somebody might dig them up and perform magical rituals on the corpses. All in all, the supernatural is not a joking matter in Gabon!

So there you go, just a few observations we've made so far. For now this is it but we continue our socio-anthropological studies and the list will probably expand. Obviously, I'll keep you posted. Keep popping in.

NOT TOO SHORT, PLEASE

Have you ever seen the 2002 film Barbershop? It shows a day in the life of a South Side Chicago barbershop, a loud but warm place where everybody knows everybody. It's full of spirited, likable characters and you can't resist the feeling that it is much more than just a hairdresser's, it's a lifestyle. Well, I watched this film seven years ago, when it was first released, liked it very much and forgot about it completely. Until yesterday.

It so happens that life in Libreville doesn't stop and we are struggling to keep up. We have established a more or less normal routine of work - cooking - gym - eating out - beach, with an occasional party or outing of a different type in the middle. But there are many other things to be taken care of. Thus we've been to the dentist's, we've visited a GP and we even started decorating our flat. Not long ago we were surprised to notice that it's been two months since we got back from our holidays and we were in serious need of a haircut. We thus set off in search of a hairdresser's whose price and quality of service would be somewhere between the very expensive European-style beauty salons ("American beauty products") and Chinese consulting-rooms, where you can get an amazing 3in1 deal (haircut + gynaecological revision + acupuncture) for no money.

In the end we opted for a central African-style beauty salon, frequented by African and Libanese ladies, where Jandro had already had his hair cut once before. And there we were, crammed with ten other people in a rather small room full of things and smells, looking out of place (as usual), me quite reluctant to throw my thin Polish hair on the mercy of a big Gabonese Mamma. This was the movie barbershop, where the music was loud and the hairdo was as important as the conversation. There were women sitting under big hairdryers chatting, women having their nails done and hair washed, while they spoke on the phone about successful sauce recipies... My hair stylist was awfully nice and proceeded with her task rather energetically, while still chatting to her colleague on the other side of the room, thus informing the whole party that she would become the Minister for Beauty in the new government. She was very into the coversation and I ended up with very very short hair (see picture).

All in all, the hair will grow back as it always does and I can add another African experience to my growing inventory. Of course, this was still not the kind of place where regular African women go. But I don't think I'm ready for the cabinet chinois just yet...

A BIT OFF BALANCE

In case you are wondering how our adventure with the police ended, I must tell you it hasn't. However, after two visits to the insurance company ("Don't change your drawing, you're tampering with evidence!" and "Even if he hit you from behind it could've been your fault... did you leave enough space for the taxi?") and one visit to the police station ("You must fill in this form. However, we do not have a copy. We do not have a copying machine either."), we decided to just abandon the matter. Nobody will notice anyway.

And so, we work, we go to the gym and we go to the beach. We attend parties, have lunches, go for walks, see films and concerts and the French Cultural Centre and also try to decorate the flat. Everything's back to normal, I suppose, and the life is good. Gabon is a beautiful place and we are really lucky to be here. In spite of all this, I do have my blue moments. They are mostly due to two reasons:

1) French. I have reached a point where I can communicate my basic needs, have a conversation at a party and make small-talk with the guardians of my building. It's still not enough, of course. Many times I'm simply mute in this country. The frustration related to this is beyond description and I'm pretty sure I'm driving the people surrounding me absolutely nuts. For which I venture to hereby apologise in public.

2) I miss Poland. And Galicia. And when I leave Gabon, I will miss Poland and Galicia and Gabon. I miss Polish, too. A lot. But most of all, I miss the people. Here yet again, for the third time in two years, I must struggle to meet new friends and, fascinating as it always is, I feel a bit tired by the constant changing of milieu.

I sometimes get overwhelmed and forget about all the positive aspects of being here. I stay in bed, sulking. It's easy, it requires no effort. There are many people here who want to leave, who are very unhappy and frustrated. But it's not my intention to become one of them, no sir! This is a valuable, amazing experience and I will not let it become anything else. So let this post be my anti-sulking device. I promise to myself and my five faithful readers that I will do my best to stay positive. I will learn French, enjoy the beach, eat cookies, go to parties, have all the brochettes my organism can absorb and always remember that I have no real reason not to be happy. The life here is not exactly simple but that was what I signed up for and, after all, I have always been consequent. The promise has thus been made. I'm sending you a big smile.