Camels and Christmas... (better late than never!)

From Taxis to another form of Chadian transport… camels! What better way to pass a warm Christmas eve than bouncing along on the back of a camel enjoying the sights of the Chari river from our little trek across N’Djamena’s golf course. Yep, you heard right, camel riding across a golf course! The green was, well not green, and though the welcome sign warned us that golfers took priority, there weren’t many of those either. And so I, along with the Hotchkin family, passed a pleasant hour or so bobbing along, occasionally breaking out into the compulsory “We 3 Kings ..”.

Decorating a twig with tinsel, giving and receiving presents, singing carols and cheesy Christmas songs (I’m dreaming of a white Christmas being a particular favourite), watching the Snow Man and eating roast chicken complete with all the trimmings- stuffing, gravy and even (tinned) Brussel sprouts (which were truly disgusting!) meant that Christmas was passed in a similar, if not warmer way, “just like the ones I used to know”!

However, one of my favourite parts of the day was handing out presents to the children who were inpatients at the hospital over Christmas- the delight and awe that shone from their faces when they realised they could keep the little toy was so humbling and a real pleasure to behold. Of course, there were also the little ones who were just down right terrified of the Nasaras (White People) coming  towards them that no amount of present giving could diminish their screams!

It was a great way to follow up the Oscar winning performance from the hospital staff who, as angels in white lab coats and shepherds in Arab dress, recreated The Nativity, Chadian style, for the inpatients, relatives and villagers of Guinebor. Meanwhile, just behind the action of the birth of Jesus was action of a similar kind; a baby was born!

Taxi STOP

Becoming acquainted with the public transport system of any new city is always a bit of an adventure, and I am pleased to say that it is one that I am very much enjoying here! Each day I leave my flat for my language lessons with a degree of uncertainty, but to a greater degree, curiosity, as to what this next taxi ride will hold. Unmistakeable in bright yellow, the taxis which are obviously a remnant of French colonisation, whizz, swerve, bump, or rattle along their set route linking various points around the city to the Grand Market at the centre of town. A taxi is obtained by standing along the route and casually pointing a finger out at nothing in particular. This discrete action, that requires minimal effort and thus conserving much needed energy to sweat in the heat, is rarely missed by the closest taxi man, who peers expectantly through his cracked window screen for his next customer. Having identified the inconspicuous finger, the taxi man darts across the road, nearby cyclists, motorbikes, pedestrians, dogs retreating hastily from his path, usually just in time. Now the fun begins… how many can you squeeze into one small taxi??!  Unlike England, a taxi is not for one person or group alone, oh no. A taxi is for as many people as you can possibly squeeze in, and then, when the door can’t shut behind you, a twist, shuffle and final shove later, the door clicks shut and off we go. Ten people has been my maximum: 3 adults and 1 child in the front, 4 adults and 2 children in the back. It was a cosy experience and to be fair, many of the taxi men make the effort to ensure their customers are as comfortable as possible by providing a pillow on the handbrake, on which the middle person in the front is expected to sit on, thus allowing 2 front seat passengers.

Conversation in the taxi can range from a muttered greeting alone, to full on debates, laughter and even singing! And this is one of the many reasons why I like the taxis- you never know who your fellow travellers are going to be and quite how they will respond to seeing a ‘Nasara’ (white person) in their taxi rather than the usual 4x4s. And if conversation is limited, there is always the internal décor to peruse- patchwork upholstery, a lack of working dials in the dash board, door handles replaced with twisted wire are common place, and even on occasions, the lack of a floor!! Yet somehow, these decrepit vehicles keep going, even the complete absence of an ignition didn’t stop one taxi, but meant that every time we stopped the driver rummaged around under the steering wheel, before we lurched forward and continued on our way. Come to think of it, that was also the same taxi that made an awful grinding noise every time the driver changed gears and as we rounded a roundabout the back door flew wide open, narrowly missing a nearby motorcyclist. Thankfully on this occasion there were only 3 of us in the back so the lady sitting next to the door did not go flying out with it!

Once you’ve reached your location, you simply give the order, “Taxi STOP”, pay your 20p, uncurl yourself from pile of bodies and go on your way. Easy, entertaining and never the same experience twice… I wonder what adventures my taxi rides tomorrow will bring?

Poor Monsieur Pastèque!

Monsieur Pastèque has to be the most tolerant patient I have ever come across! He laid quietly on his bed while 11 nervous nurses each gave him a intramuscular injection, without uttering a word of complaint! 

Excellent, if a little bruised, patient!

Monsieur Pasteque

This week, saw the 11 nurses who achieved the top marks in the pre interview test, be whittled down further to 5 who will be joining the team at Hopital de Guinebor II over the coming months.  In preparation for this day of interviews, I was charged with drawing 11 bottoms, which seemed to get increasingly round and peachy! Upon these works of art, the interviewees indicated their chosen site for the intended IM injection, because, as obliging as Monsieur Pastèque was, he really didn’t look all that realistic.

I worked with Dr Andrea in the practical assessment and was overall impressed with the nurses and their abilities to address the watermelon, err, I mean Monsieur Pastèque, with some kind of realism and compassion!!

Other than watching the tense nurses every move, my other responsibility was to pour the water for the nurses from a plastic kettle when they wanted to wash their hands, Chad’s ingenious answer to the scarce availability of running water. This was not the only cultural difference I noted today; They get Coke and doughnuts here half way through the interview day!! I don’t remember the NHS ever doing that!!!

So, several doughnuts, one drugged up watermelon and several hours later, five nurses were selected and I look forward to working with them soon(ish).

The Comedy and Confusion of Language Learning

Learning another language is confusing enough, but to do so in another culture, along with students who are learning from an Arabic speaking background, takes the confusion to a whole new level! With excited shouts of word- for- word repetition, or challenging and correcting fellow students (correctly or otherwise) at the tops of their voices, there is no doubt that my fellow class mates are eager to learn. This cacophony of noise was enough to bring a smile to my face within minutes of my first lesson, but having acclimatised I’ve found myself joining in!

Further bemusement and entertained is provided by the teacher, a gentleman with an impressive moustache who will regularly leave the classroom either to spit in the court yard or to greet people who happen to be walking by, who, judging by the enthusiastic welcome, it can only be presumed are long lost friends. 

Meanwhile, mobile phones are being answered and various phones are plugged into and unplugged from the much coveted single electrical output in the room in order that as many people as possible are able to take advantage of the rare source of power.

These classes seem to be as much a lesson in culture as it is in language. For example, when trying to describe to the class what the word ‘revelation’ means (easy from an English background, less so from an Arabic one), rather than use the example within the text we were reading about discovering a scandalous top secret job offer, our teacher began to describe that a revelation is what Mohammed received which led to the Qur’an. Cue a mass class debate on who God is and who has received true revelation! Where some of basic literacy skills are lacking, there is no doubting that my class mates are streets ahead in speaking French, and I am frequently left feeling slightly confused, but also very amused!

Things I have learnt in my first 2 weeks in Chad

1)  How to balance five 23kg suitcases onto one trolley which has such poor steering it could give a Tesco shopping trolley a run for its money, and then negotiate a busy, overcrowded and chaotic arrivals lounge in N’Djamena.

View outside the hospital

2) Chad has plants! Yes, I’ve arrived in the rainy season which means it’s not so dusty, bleak and barren as I’d feared. At least, not for now anyway. This does mean however that it is very humid, which leads me onto my next lesson…

My first Chadian Baby!

3) SWEAT!!! Oh my goodness I don’t think I’ve ever sweated this much. Not nice, but true! A constant sheen covers my body which either changes to rivers, or momentarily disappears for the first minute of getting out of the shower. This ever present reality has also been a fast lesson in the art of how to sit with 4 people in the back of a car in the sweltering heat and how to position yourself so as to avoid exchanging sweat and to aid air circulation- the answer? Get over it!

4) Hopital de Guinebor II is doing amazing work in such difficult conditions. I knew this before coming but being here and actually seeing it is so exciting. If a little daunting.

5) How to kill a chicken! Yes, I did it! One of my life’s aims completed. It was awful. Even resisting the temptation to name them didn’t help that much and the guilt took away the enjoyment of the final dish. Oh well, won’t be doing that again in a hurry.

On the way home from church

6) If the sticky stinky mud of the tracks surrounding the hospital and neighbouring areas is enough to stop a 4x4, my size 4 flip flop will be no problem- grip tight!

Picking legs and wings off Grasshoppers pre toasting

7)  Grasshoppers get everywhere, and I mean everywhere (one of the downfalls of wearing long skirts!!!). However, when they invade, there’s always an opportunity for retribution- a Chadian delicacy!

Part 3: Je ne comprends pas!!!

Of all the activities that the last two and half months held, it was no secret that my 3 week intensive French course at Les Cedres was the one that I was dreading the most. However, fired up from 5 days in Mali and having an opportunity to begin to drudge up some of my basic French phrases, I arrived in Paris surprisingly upbeat and positive. Oh, what a mistake!! This just meant that the inevitable fall and realisation just how bad my French actually was, was just that bit more crushing and painful!! For those of you that know me well, also know that I don’t mind a little exaggeration and drama every so often, but in all seriousness, the first few days at Les Cedres were awful! Because the only permissible language in Les Cedres is French, whether that be in the class, or over meal times, I was somewhat stuck for words- for once I was quiet. This couldn’t last long however, and after just 2 days and a little pep talk to myself, I took a deep breath and went for it: yes the conjugations were to pot, the phrases inelegant and when necessary the odd English word with a fake French accent was used (which I actually got away with on occasions!), but somehow I managed to communicate enough to make it bearable and enjoyed my time in Paris with some fun people.

Celebrating Bastille Day

Front seat at the Tour de France

Sight seeing with course mates

My 3 weeks finished with an exam which predictably was not the biggest barrel of laughs, but, oh how much more did I enjoy my holiday after that?!!? I’ve had a lovely couple of weeks with various friends who joined me in Paris and a week with my parents in the south of France; a preferable way to absorb a language I feel.

Four weeks today and my language learning is going to be at a whole new level, where once in Chad I’ll have no choice; its French or Arabic or any one of the other 120 tribal languages spoken there, but certainly no English! Hmm, maybe French isn’t so bad after all!!

Part 2: Change Makers

The day after I finished at Liverpool I flew to Bamako, Mali to help with a children’s programme during the BMS West Africa Retreat, for which ‘Change Makers’ was the theme. The mornings were spent with Ruth, Rebecca, Raphael, Beatrice and Rosemary and the time flew by with storytelling, crafts, dramas, singing, jewellery making and more. But I am pleased to announce to all those children’s workers reading this- not 1 paper plate was used!

One afternoon, the usual routine of swimming and chatting was supplemented by a boat trip along the River Niger. This was only a little delayed while the substantial puddle in the bottom of the boat was bailed out (!!!), but once we got going I enjoyed the glimpse into more of Malian life.    

Spending time with the Hotchkin family, who will be my future colleagues (and neighbours and family and friends), was invaluable to me for getting to know them better and hearing more of life in Chad. It was great to be back on African soil and I left Mali with an even greater peace, anticipation and eagerness to get to Chad- I was even excited about starting my French course 3 days later in Paris!