Month: June 2007

I have no expectations for Father’s Days. In fact, the whole idea of creating a holiday so that one can be honored and recognized as a father goes against my inner voice. "My kids truely love me and they are proving it today by giving me a gift on a day that every other kid is doing the same thing. I’m so lucky!"  I don’t get it.

But some very fine things happened this weekend that I appreciated and my kids played a part in making it so. Friday afternoon, we had Dean over and even though Camille had her friend Auriron over and wanted us to watch them swim; she didn’t make too big a deal out of when we said, "no." Our neighbors took the kids to a party for Jennifer’s students and Dina and I were without kids, which is rare for us. So Saturday we spent most of the day just hanging out.

I stayed up late that night watching a motorcycle race at Hangtown. It reminded me of my cousin Mike, who is one of the best friends I have, and how we used watch the races there. I woke up in the morning to Stefan saying in a rather loud voice, "I won’t wake papa up!" to Camille. And for the most part, he was pretty quiet so I got to doze for another hour or so. Dina made crepes for breakfast. Stefan drew me a really cool painting of a Duccati and Camille made me a beautiful card. They presented me with the new Pink Martini CD which we listened to together. In the late afternoon, Dina made buscuits and we met with a group of the embassy crowd and drove out to the dunes to have a picnic dinner. Folks brought fried chicken and salads, there were lots of desserts, wine, and plenty of food. A beautiful evening and we all headed home in the dark that falls almost immediately after sunset here. Father’s Day or not, my kids are great!

Early last week, I awoke in the night with an itch on my left thigh. I was in dream state so I’m not really sure how long after that that I realized I was bitten by something. There were two other smaller bites around my knee cap and they itched so bad I was cursing myself in Russian whenever I would even think about scratching myself.

The mosquitos have been very infrequent lately and I couldn’t tell what bit me. Dina swore it wasn’t her. We don’t have bed bugs and I have not been bit like this before or since. The bite site on the inner left thigh was bigger than the rest and seemed to have a stinger in it although all attempts to remove it with a sterile needle and tweezers were futile. That site actually started to hurt and before I could say, "pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoiconiosis" (meaning "black lung" and the longest word in the dictionary, according to Serge), the entire inner thigh turned red and swollen from knee to mid groin; cellulitis by God!

Like a dog, I try to lick and heal my own wounds. I applied Hydrocortisone cream on it which helped the itch but the infection seemed to only be getting worse. I kept saying to myself that I would give my bullet proof Russian-Greek immune system one more day but by day #4, my left thigh doubled in size and turned as red as a sunburn.

Saturday, James and I went to run the Hash and I wasn’t feeling 100% (Gee, I wonder why?). The run was on a levy through some rice fields by the river and by about one mile into it, I completely ran out of gas, got cold, wanted a sweater, and had goose bumps; odd sensation when it’s 100 degrees out. Now I know what this means (I’m a nurse practitioner) but the fact that my immune system was losing the battle made me feel vulnerable. When I got home, I popped my first antibiotic. Within 30 minutes, the redness faded by 50%. The swelling is almost completely gone now and I’m feeling pretty close to normal. Watch out for African bugs.

About a month ago, I got into our Toyota Land Cruiser and had trouble getting it started. After several attempts, it started up. I had no explanation, but it started fine for about a week. When it happened again, I brought the car to the embassy mechanics. They believed it was the battery, although I had my doubts; the butt warmer never quit working, nor the lights, and the voltage indicator on the dash showed a strong charge. Still, I had no way of knowing how old the battery was before we bought the car. They put in a new battery ($130) and it ran beautifully for about 2 weeks. Then it happened again with more frequency.

After getting it started on the fifteenth try, Dina and James drove it out to the Toyota dealer. They told them they couldn’t work on such a new car (???) "But it’s a 1999!" For emphasis, the guy who runs the garage brought out the mechanic, pointed at him and said, "He doesn’t know how to work on this vehicle." The mechanic just kind of shrugged and raised his hands, plams up in the air. Friday night, the Land Cruiser died in our driveway, wouldn’t start no matter how many times you turned the key.

I went to my french class the other day and as part of the lesson, explained my car situation to my instructor (not easy by any stretch of the imagination). He whipped out his cell phone and spoke to someone in Hausa. "Let’s go," he said and we continued our lesson as he drove me to the mechanics. Cars were parked along the road. We explained the problem and they sent a mechanic to our house. Stefan watched while they hot-wired the car. They assured me they’d bring it back by 6:30PM.

I started to wonder if maybe I made a mistake letting someone drive the car away, when 6:30 came and went with no car. But at 9PM, the doorbell rang and sure enough, the car was delivered to me with some part that I can only assume came from our engine. $50 for parts and labor. This morning she started up and purred, just like a car with a brand new demarreur.

What the heck’s a damarreur?

It’s not what you think; not corned beef. Let me explain. There is a group of runners here who get together every Saturday evening for a run. One of the organizers sets up the course. There are about 12 different ones ranging from 3-7 miles within 5 miles of Niamey. Each course also has a shorter walking course and many people walk. They try to make it so that the slowest runners come back about the same time that the slowest walkers do (about 1 to 1.5 hours).

Yesterday, we drove across the river up onto the table top plateau overlooking the valley and Niamey. The road up was steep and narrow. A donkey cart carrying firewood was coming down and slowed the line of SUV’s going up. They tried to turn the donkey around and the cart tipped over, spilling all the wood onto the road. Fortunately, I saw ahead what was happening and parked at the bottom. Eventually, everyone else backed down and parked along side us. We walked up to the top. Camille and Stefan came with our neighbors since Jennifer offered to walk with the kids. James and I planned on running.

The route went close to the rim of the plateau with dramatic vistas. The weather had cooled and it was beautiful. The terrain had a lot of lava rocks and packed dirt after the last rain storm. The open landscape was covered with small brush and some tall Dr. Seuss-looking palm trees. Leading up to the surrounding plateaus are sand dunes and the contrast between yellow blond sand and burnt brown lava rock certainly reminded me of being on the moon. I think of Serge and the Grand Canyon. I wish he were here because I know there would be no stopping him from further exploration of this small range of bluffs. The river valley below looks fertile and a few tall buildings off in the distance landmark Niamey.

We start running and I find a slow pace which is comfortable for me. James runs next to me with his daughter, Athena. He is a fine runner and I know he is quite capable of a much faster speed. But he is gentle and his slow pace allows his daughter to run with us for a little bit. I’m surprised how long she lasts but fairly soon, she slows down and he does also. I continue my pace, certain that James will not only catch up to me but most certainly pass me in a very short while. I come up on two African boys. They started out running with the lead group but began to fall behind. They both have those Adidas sandals people wear by the pool. They have no water and I can see they are eager to run but ill-equipped. I offer them water which they gladly accept. The older boys name is Careem. I looked about 9 and 7, but Careem is 15 and his younger brother Amadou is 11.

Despite my limited French, I learn so much about them. Their father works at a hotel. They both go to a french school and have two other brothers and a sister. I give them the water and increase my speed, but they keep up with me. The coarse was about 4.5 miles and we finish the run together.

And NO! There are no rituals were the runners partake in the smoking of hash from a hooka pipe! Although there are rumors that such rituals exist in different parts of the world. Down beside the parked vehicles, there are ice chests full of coke. No! Not the narcotic but cold drinks (sodas, beer, mineral water). James arrives about 20 minutes later. He had to run back a little to deliver Athena to Jennifer and then took off. He didn’t catch me although I’m sure he could have. We both had a great run. He bought my two African companions a coke which they were ecstatic about. A grey cloud cover blew over us and the sun began to sink. The Hash is yet another event that one can partake in that adds to the enjoyment of ones stay here. I plan on becoming a regular.