Every once in a while Camille decides she and Stefan should dress alike, so this morning she picked out their matiching ensembles. These two crack me up. They fight a lot, but right now they are doing a “rock star” show in Camille’s room with a hair brush mic and Stefan on the drums and keyboard.
The car is here, I’m on my way to show the ambassador the movie!
I’m on regional travel again. This time I flew and Dina stayed home with the kids.
The flight here was shorter than I thought. The previous times we drove all day. Air France stewardesses (say “flight attendants!” ed.) all look like models. Why is that? Maybe it’s the turtle neck and scarf. Dina could be one. Oui. (aw. ed.) They barely had enough time to offer us water or orange juice before we landed. A driver was waiting and took me to my hotel room, La Palmierie. The same place we stayed the last time. A resort of sorts with cabana-styled buildings, palm trees, and a swimming pool. They remembered me, Le Docteur, from last time and inquired about my wife, children, work, the dust, and my tiredness. I checked in and went out walking in the downtown district towards the wine shop and markets.
It still surprises me when I see a human being caring a load bigger than a laundry basket perfectly balanced on their head; like rock piles of mangos or a pot inside a calabash which is topped by another calabash with yet another smaller pot inside. And then there’s the family of 5, all riding on one motorcycle. No helmets. Just flip flops.
Back in my room, I feel pathetic sitting in my underwear, sipping wine from a paper cup, and watching CNN television. It’s hot here and the AC seems like my mother blowing my direction from across the room, trying to cool me down. And the ceiling fan rocks ominously over my head like a biplane propeller that’s about to become unhinged and come whirling down and decapitate me. "Man in hotel loses his head!"
Work is very busy. I saw 14 patients that first day and before I knew it, it was 6PM and I was headed back to the hotel. I dined in or rather out, staying at the hotel. The food is good there but again, I felt widowed and didn’t like it. But the mornings mean great coffee! There’s a cafe run by a Belgian woman right next door to the embassy. Helene, my secretary, already knows that life is better for both of us if she gets me my coffee first. I visited with the DCM. Helene and I go shopping for Italian water bottles and the going rate is high as soon as they see me in my scrubs; the blue matches my skin color; Patron! We decline the first offer much to the chagrin of the seller who gets angry at us for not excepting his scalper price. As we drive to look for another vendor, we see two young girls on one bike. Both have the Italian blue bottle slung over their shoulders. I suggest we ask them how much they payed for those and the driver laughs so hard, he has to pull over to stop from crashing. Another couple of stops and I succumb to a lower haggled rate than the first guy. "Success!" I think to myself. Which is exactly what the seller was thinking too as he laughed at his other envious vendor friends while he walked away.
Yesterday I got busy with a few cases I was working on. I visited a local french clinic and was charmed by the doctor there. The french can be terribly rude or quite the opposite and she had the right combination of warmth and animation to sell me. What cinched it was a courier came to pick up medications and supplies she donates to an orphanage. And I admit, I have a soft spot for orphans. The doctor then started showing me her bandaid supply and we both laughed at the silliness of it.
I was glad to be back at the hotel and again found myself drinking wine and eating cheese and baguette when the phone rang and I was summoned back to the embassy for an "emergency." It’s a long story and I won’t go into it but it turned out to be someone I knew from Niamey. It really wasn’t an emergency as most cases aren’t and all’s well that ends well. But I got back late and by the time I settled down to bed, it was midnight.
The embassy is now closed now and I’m waiting for my evening flight. The pool is full of peace corps-niks, missionaries, and TDY’ers. Ouaga is a fun place and I do like it here. Hopefully next time I can bring the family.
J’adore some of the fabric they have here. I had this skirt made by the tailor, I gave him a boden skirt to copy. I should have told him to match the pattern on the side seams, I will next time. He already rolls his eyes when he sees me coming, I’m sure. Yesterday I went to Wadata, the art market to pick up a carved calabash gift Peter wants to give a co-worker. Wadata is a store of sorts, kind of a collective, smelling of leather work and selling jewelry and batiks. I bought this belt. It’s the most bohemian Helen-esque (Peter’s sister) thing I’ve ever seen, and I have to go back and get another one for her, don’t you think?
Job interview, work travel, new terrorist kitten who works nights, kids off school for two days…lately when people see us, they say, “You look tired.” Don’t you hate that? At least we didn’t have to unload this:
The weekend was a loss, but yesterday we drew pictures of elf houses and made strawberry smoothies and read Rosie’s Walk, and Stefan discovered that he can read it himself, which is pretty good for a kindergardener I think.
Yes, our book shipment arrived on Tuesday’s Air France flight.
Camille has been waiting all her short life to be old enough for “Take Your Child to Work Day.” First, they were “sworn in” by the ambassador. Later they tried on the 40 pound jackets worn by the marines, made a call on the radio, cashed a check, learned how to read an xray and filled in at the consular desk, I guess.
Ambassador Allen and her new crew.
I haven’t made a dress for myself since the lavender dotted-swiss number in high school (can’t you just picture it?) Wrap around dresses were popular then, too. I got this pattern from this Japanese sewing book, I want to make everything in it.
Something unbelievable is happening! I went home to deliver a bunch of packages for lunch and while driving back, saw some unusual dark clouds forming over the horizon. Within 10 minutes of spotting them, they where upon me and behind them I could see a rolling tidal wave of dust, falling down like a moving wall. It really looked like you could surf down the pipeline as the dust cascaded down the pike. I parked the car and as soon as I got into the chancery building, it hit us like a hurricane. The blowing dust blocked the sun like a heavy fog. The courtyard I crossed to the health clinic blew fierce wind and micro grains, like sandpaper, lightly grazing my exposed arms and face. The palm trees were swaying like upright wet noodles and several unripe mangos fell out of the trees like granades waiting to explode. And now it rains; a down pour which brings with it a cool and pleasant temperature. The heavy storm continues. Now I know what they mean when they say "Harmattan."
twenty-something years of "what have you been up to?" 