place2place

When Mike and Emily were living in San Francisco they pointed out the frustrating lack of seasons in the land of fog. The seasons are subtle in San Franciso, but they exist: the light changes and there are pumpkins in the stores. In Portland, Oregon, like the east coast, autumn is in your face. Leaves FILLING the streets, the trees blazing with color, and it starts to get cold–our first year there Camille had to wear a sweater (a kid’s cashmere sweater! I had bought it used at the Town School for Boys store on Sactamento Street in San Francisco) under her Halloween costume.

Here there is nothing, season-wise. The land that time forgot. It’s still summer. I head out the door for my little trot around the stadium at 9:15 am and say to myself, wow, it’s 90 degrees. Stefan wants to be a tiger or an elephant for Halloween, and I’m afraid any costume like that will be too hot. The trees are same, the lizards are the same. In Portland, spider webs suddenly appear, like the spiders got the memo about Halloween.

They do have pumpkins here, they are big and green. Unlike the Leshers, Elisabeth’s parents who lived in Cameroon, we won’t get to make a calabash-jack-o-lantern that lasts 40 years.

Well, that is interesting that mac users can see the picture, but others cannot. I’ll leave the picture up and work out the bugs after I have my machine at home, someday. It was also great to see so many faces at once! Hi!

Walking home from the kids school I pass by the bakery, called Delice. It’s close to us and everyone says the best bakery in town. They have great croissants, madelines that are lemon flavored, slices of chocolate-swirled tea bread and baguettes. Usually we buy some of everything. The other day I bought just two baguettes and was surprised at the price: 300 cfa. That means a baguette is 33 cents. When we first got here they had a bread I liked better than the baguettes, it was denser and a little darker. I finally remembered that it was called pain parfume and I asked about it. They told me that they are waiting for the flour. "I’m waiting too, then," I said.

There is a small grocery store near the kids school too, they cater to the expat parents at the school. There is a good selection of wine and cheeses, a fridge full of butter and yogurt, cookies, cans and bottles of sauces, and the only place I’ve seen any version of brown and powdered sugar. Eggs are stacked on the counter, the laundry detergent is brands you’ve never seen before. They have one kind of bread. The kids love it. It’s sliced white, but not fluffy. 850 cfa so that’s like $1.70. CaSt have french toast every morning. Stefan gives me the highest compliment: it’s as good as the frozen french toast from Trader Joe’s.

Can you see me now?

Okay, the picture isn’t showing up on my end, but when I email it out, it seems fine. Judging by Jim’s comment, it is showing up. Still using the embassy computers…maybe this week we’ll get going with the wifi antennae. Can someone leave a comment and let me know if the picture is showing up?

The communication around our house is pretty iffy. The adorable housekeeper Zuri and I had a conversation yesterday, where it took me five minutes to figure out that she was asking me if I knew any other Americans who might want her to work for them. She has two little boys who live with her mother in Benin, and she says her mother is asking her all the time for money. Then a guy from GSO (General Services Office) came because the smoke alarm in Stefan’s room has been chirping. It took some convincing to get him to change the battery. Then he told me he wanted to see the "feu." The fire. Hmm. I took him to the electrical panel, pretty unsure of what he wanted, thinking we were talking about the smoke alarm. The electrical panel is in the kitchen, he saw the stove and said, "Le feu!" and proceded to fix its problem: the stove wasn’t attached to anything and the pots on the stove tipped over if you opened the oven, making bowling water for spaghetti and toasting garlic bread at the same time life-threatening.

Also we got a new mattress and box springs. I hope the War of the Fleas is now over. I said le guerre contra les puces and Zuri thought that was funny. Especially as she was on the front lines with the vacuum cleaner. Also, my dream has finally come true: when I light bulb goes out, I call GSO and they send someone over to change it.

The gardener, Pierre, was acting as translator about the smoke alarm battery, which is funny, because he and I have a lot of absurdist conversations where everything has to be repeated twice. Obviously, my french has problems. Let’s blame it on the west african accent, shall we? Pierre has five children, "a girl, age 12, then a boy 9, a boy 7 and then the little ones, les tout petits," he says. He asked for a week off to go to Burkina, to renew his visa. I asked him today if his children live here or in Burkina. He says the daughter is here. I told him that le patron and I want to pay for his daughter’s school, which I’ve heard is about $50 a year.We are happy to have the opportunity to help educate someone in a area where the average literacy rate is 13%. Lower for girls.

Ramadan has started, which I see as a sort of Muslim lent. They fast all day, from the first call to prayer at sunrise until the second to the last call to prayer at sunset. I feel so bad making grilled cheese sandwiches for kids at lunch and eating around Zuri, who I know must be feeling faint. She asked to work in the morning rather than the afternoons during Ramadan, because she has more energy. Even the little girls are wearing veils. Peter’s nurse is wearing her hair covered, not for fashion, but for God, she says.

Our daytime guard is the oldest guard we’ve had, and he seems more religious than some, washing his feet or praying every time I want to go in or out it seems. I told Peter I worry about him, he didn’t have a lot of energy before, now to go all day without food or water for an older guy seems almost dangerous. Then at 7 pm (they have 12 hour shifts) he eased himself onto his bike and rode away. I took the night guard a plate of food after the sunset call to prayer. I asked Peter if spaghetti with tomato sauce is wierd for them, Peter said it’s his nurse’s favorite.I figured he must be starving and may have brought food, but if I hadn’t eaten all day, I might eat two dinners.

And it is the Nigeriene National Soccer team that is practicing when I’m running at the stadium.

I have about a zillion pictures to post, but this is the only one that is formatted correctly that I brought with me today. So,  voila. He is really in love with his stuffed animals lately, they go everywhere we do. Plus, he has a hard time acting normal when he’s nervous. L’ecole La Fontaine, Niamey, Niger, September 2006

The last two days I’ve gone running at the nice stadium that was built for the 2005 Francophonie games. (The next will be in Lebonan in 2009) The first day I went no one was there except me and what looked like the national soccer team. (Jesse, can you please come up a story where I am discovered at the stadium and appear as the first white woman to play on the Nigerien soccer team?) I asked a couple people if it was okay for me to use the track. One man smiled and nodded at the track and said, "Allez." Yesterday I was doing one of my you know, strenuous, strenuous circuts around the track and an older guy in a robe called to me,

"Madame!"

"Oui?"

"Are you Chinese?"

"Uh, no."

"Where are you from?"

"I’m American."

"Do you have a card?"

He went on to explain that I need to pay $10 for a card to use the stadium. Which is fine, the first day I’d looked all over for someone to tell me. I assured him that I am happy to pay, but that I didn’t bring any money with me today. He said, no problem, pay next time.

Peter’s nurse Amina tells me that is totally bogus, the stadium is free, maybe 50 cfa (10 cents) at the door if there is anyone even there. The guy did look pretty official with a badge and everything, and I don’t mind making a donation, the stadium is pretty nice, and I have the track to myself. I wonder how much the card would be if I were Chinese.

Christmas card photo opportunity! We are going to see the herd of wild giraffes on Sunday.

The kids are at their afternoon class time: they went from 8:00 am to 12:30, then go back from 3:30 to 5:15. I’m at the embassy to use the computer. The weather has been lovely today, then I went outside to the CLO lounge computer from Peter’s office and I could see the sky was dark and the trees were whipping around. The electricity blinked off, then serged on with the generator I guess. Now it’s POURING, with thunder and lightening. Stefan isn’t going to like the thunder. I love the rain here, it’s so dramatic. The roads fill with water, the pot holes are three feet deep. If you go fast, you hope to hydroplane. The sand turns into clay mud, you should see my yellow frye boots! (someday I’ll have you-know-what at home and will post pictures.) The roads are really not passable, except in the lovely, lovely land cruisers. The Saab is hopefully enjoying it’s retirement in Oregon. Can’t wait until our car–and stuff–gets here, but it probably won’t be until Oct.

I got the NYT! Boy did I miss the newspaper. It may be Sept 12 to you, but to me it’s August 29th and Clinton is in Rwanda!

There are three grocery stores in town, like french supermarkets. On Saturdays I like to go to the one that has vegetables imported from France. We can’t eat the lettuce here, even soaking it in bleach water isn’t punishment enough for thinking of giving us giardia; I am happy to pay three dollars a head for gorgeous french butter leaf lettuce. They also have apples and red bell peppers, not locally available. We haggle at the vegetable stands on a contant basis, especially one called Chateau Un. There I buy bananas, if they aren’t too ripe, zucchini, not-so-good-carrots, perfect pinapples, funny little tomatoes and nice green  and red onion. They want to sell me overipe watermelon because here they poke a straw in it and drink it, it’s a  little soupier than I am looking for. So I have to have Peter along to choose the watermelon. I have gotten really good french melon too. Peter buys fish from a guy who sells it across the street from the embassy, from a cooler plugged into a tree. Otherwise you can buy fish at the supermarket, but when I say fish, I mean a whole fish, wrapped in saran wrap, and not marked. Peter went through them, "that’s trout, that’s a carp, that’s a perch." He threw them all back though.

Peter gets a car to drive home every day from the motor pool, usually a land cruiser. The ambassador is on her way to the Cure Salee, the biggest festival in Niger probably, held once year 1000 miles away in the desert. They have the Wodabe men dancing courtship dances, and a separate contest for the prettiest camel. Maybe next year we’ll go, when just a trip through the potholes to the freezer filled with whole fish at the supermarket isn’t such an adventure. Meanwhile, while the ambassador is gone, we get her other car; isn’t that gonna be a great bumpersticker?