i woke up real early today and went for a nice walk on the beach. a peaceful stroll in my barefeet, watching the women fish from the sand bar...and then comes this guy, trying to sell me a necklace. they're always trying to sell me something, either melted chocolate, seashells. so i'm all dude, how about YOU buy MY necklace?
ok
$150 dollars. this is real quartz.
uh, how about $5.
no, now shoo!
so i'm walking back to my hotel and here comes a dude with brown oranges.
no, i'm ok with brown oranges, seriously, thank you!!
then he says "gallina?"
and i'm thinking, gallina means rooster in spanish. and he whips out two live roosters.
nah, i'm good on roosters, thanks.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Thursday, May 22, 2008
professora aurelgrooves
i am definitely not cut out for this teaching thing. especially with africans.
so this training is in the universidad catolica de mozambique. a concrete breezy no windows open hallway affair on the beach. i spied a computer lab with 20 commodore 64s. we are shown to a classroom which they rent out like a conference room at a hotel. but there is no screen or dry erase board or anything, just one of those shiny chalkboards that's impossible to write on (with the chalk i find on the floor), a few windows with heavy wool curtains, some chairs that have the backs at a 90 degree angle to the seat, a spartan ceiling fan that might fall on my head, and one plug for our 22 computers, projector etc...we manage to get off to a start 2 hours late. we're doing introductions, why are you here sort of thing when custodial guys come in and starts setting up coffee, clanging pots, dropping coolers. i count 5 people on their cell phones, others are talking to each other, clamoring for the password to the wireless internet. so i make up some rules. no cell phones! it was like i had just announced the winner of the zimbabwe election. total chaos. no email! what?! crazy teacher!
my humor of punishment (punicao) and detention and cleaning the blackboard if you violate the rules is lost on them. i wish i had a ruler or something to smack their heads when i catch them sleeping. some guy from the ministry of environment comes in with his desktop computer. he's setting up his monitor, his keyboard, his whole home office when he raises his hand "may we start earlier tomorrow? like at 7? you know, so we can end at 3?" i remind the dude he appeared 15 minutes before lunch on his first day.
i managed to sweat through all my clothes all day and thankfully not have to use the bathroom, which was on par with the discoteque. this class is a nightmare. we're 3 lectures in when one guy admits he missed the part about the right click mouse button. they don't want to right click, they do whatever they can no to right click. they want to learn about satellite imagery, but they don't know the difference between a text file and a spreadsheet. "double click the file to open it." 20 hands go up. these are the same 20 people who cannot create a new folder, but can check 3 email accounts, write text messages, gmail chat and talk to their neighbor, all the while saying they are giving me their full attention.
they keep deleting stuff. one thing i do a lot is go into the recycle bin and pull the software program out. maybe they are telling me something?
then we had a long lecture about data organization. putting your data in one directory so you can find it. always save it there, end of story. so the most common question i get asked is "where did i save my file?" i don't know.
my favorite are the guys from the geography institute. they do not understand a single word of english. they raised their hand and i went over and they had the GIS program running in 54 different windows. they must have clicked 108 times on the icon. they deny everything. one guy said, i wasn't here this morning. yes you were, you asked me if i have a boyfriend. they do not know what coordinates are. they ask me what's wrong with our map? well, let's see, the coordinates of your point are 490 degrees South and 5068 degrees west. so what country is this in? that is no country, there are only 90 degrees of latitude my friends.
but this is just how it is, another world. tomorrow they want to start at 8. so everyone is all, ok, let's have breakfast at 7:30 at the hotel then! but it took us 30 minutes to drive there today....that's how it is.
but day 2 was actually way better...i tried to have a little more fun. once they started seeing cool elevation maps and hillshades, they were hooked. i had them make maps and send them in emails to their friends. we mapped data we called "rito's lady friend's house." it was almost 5 the course was over 30 minutes ago but they wouldn't leave. so where's my apple?
so this training is in the universidad catolica de mozambique. a concrete breezy no windows open hallway affair on the beach. i spied a computer lab with 20 commodore 64s. we are shown to a classroom which they rent out like a conference room at a hotel. but there is no screen or dry erase board or anything, just one of those shiny chalkboards that's impossible to write on (with the chalk i find on the floor), a few windows with heavy wool curtains, some chairs that have the backs at a 90 degree angle to the seat, a spartan ceiling fan that might fall on my head, and one plug for our 22 computers, projector etc...we manage to get off to a start 2 hours late. we're doing introductions, why are you here sort of thing when custodial guys come in and starts setting up coffee, clanging pots, dropping coolers. i count 5 people on their cell phones, others are talking to each other, clamoring for the password to the wireless internet. so i make up some rules. no cell phones! it was like i had just announced the winner of the zimbabwe election. total chaos. no email! what?! crazy teacher!
my humor of punishment (punicao) and detention and cleaning the blackboard if you violate the rules is lost on them. i wish i had a ruler or something to smack their heads when i catch them sleeping. some guy from the ministry of environment comes in with his desktop computer. he's setting up his monitor, his keyboard, his whole home office when he raises his hand "may we start earlier tomorrow? like at 7? you know, so we can end at 3?" i remind the dude he appeared 15 minutes before lunch on his first day.
i managed to sweat through all my clothes all day and thankfully not have to use the bathroom, which was on par with the discoteque. this class is a nightmare. we're 3 lectures in when one guy admits he missed the part about the right click mouse button. they don't want to right click, they do whatever they can no to right click. they want to learn about satellite imagery, but they don't know the difference between a text file and a spreadsheet. "double click the file to open it." 20 hands go up. these are the same 20 people who cannot create a new folder, but can check 3 email accounts, write text messages, gmail chat and talk to their neighbor, all the while saying they are giving me their full attention.
they keep deleting stuff. one thing i do a lot is go into the recycle bin and pull the software program out. maybe they are telling me something?
then we had a long lecture about data organization. putting your data in one directory so you can find it. always save it there, end of story. so the most common question i get asked is "where did i save my file?" i don't know.
my favorite are the guys from the geography institute. they do not understand a single word of english. they raised their hand and i went over and they had the GIS program running in 54 different windows. they must have clicked 108 times on the icon. they deny everything. one guy said, i wasn't here this morning. yes you were, you asked me if i have a boyfriend. they do not know what coordinates are. they ask me what's wrong with our map? well, let's see, the coordinates of your point are 490 degrees South and 5068 degrees west. so what country is this in? that is no country, there are only 90 degrees of latitude my friends.
but this is just how it is, another world. tomorrow they want to start at 8. so everyone is all, ok, let's have breakfast at 7:30 at the hotel then! but it took us 30 minutes to drive there today....that's how it is.
but day 2 was actually way better...i tried to have a little more fun. once they started seeing cool elevation maps and hillshades, they were hooked. i had them make maps and send them in emails to their friends. we mapped data we called "rito's lady friend's house." it was almost 5 the course was over 30 minutes ago but they wouldn't leave. so where's my apple?
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
frisbee fiesta
i brought my frisbee out to the beach today with a plan to teach these soccer obsessed kids another sport. i'm like "friiiiiiizzzzbeeeee" and they're like, duh, we know, throw the thing already. so i toss it to this 9 year old and he catches it between the legs and whips a side-arm throw to his buddy, who flicks it like a pro to his cousin who dive-backflip catches it in the water. i have nothing to teach these kids. they picked up the hammer throw in two seconds and can catch anything i toss. they can curve it, spin it on their fingers. then they bring out all their frisbees and it's a friggin' frisbee party. 20 kids, 8 frisbees. though theirs are all tupperware plates or those free discs you get free from the bank that suck. i gave them mine. ok, maybe i'll show them what a zone defense is or something. this is my olympic team in the making.
my name is...
so there's a construction site behind my room. i have no idea what they are building, but they carry metal rods and throw them a lot, and argue, and there's a skeleton of a huge satellite dish next to a broken more intact satellite dish. there are some skinny dogs who scratch themselves against anything sturdy and a lady who fills bins with water and yells at the kids running around. i think one of them is named aurelia, because almost every time i'm sleeping, i hear aurelia! aurelia! venga! with whistling, and i wake up to get up and go, and when i realize i don't have anywhere to go i feel like i've been had. when i'm getting ready to meet alice i hear my name coming from the walls and so i hurry up and don't have time to put bug spray on and run out the door, but it's just that ghostly voice again and i get eaten alive by the bugs.
they call me aurelia here because somehow, aurelie is impossible. my name is aurelie. what? huh? crinkle the brow and squint. so i say aurrrrrelia and they're all, oh! that's so easy! a nice portuguese name!
they call me aurelia here because somehow, aurelie is impossible. my name is aurelie. what? huh? crinkle the brow and squint. so i say aurrrrrelia and they're all, oh! that's so easy! a nice portuguese name!
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
italian food in moz
alice took me to a fancy italian restaurant on the beach....3 times. it has a 34 page menu. every combination of pasta and sauce and pizza or calzone. all homemade. i order the local pumpkin-like thing ravioli. don't have it. ok, meat then? all we have is fish ravioli. ummmmmmm. the gnochi? no gnochi today. i'll take the asparagus pizza then. no asparagus. we go through pretty much the whole menu when finally, i say, how about you just replace the asparagus on the pizza with mushrooms? or, you can add mushrooms to the regular pizza, it's the same thing (cheaper).
at this point the waiter's head explodes. he has no idea how to handle this. so i get a calzone. it's huge. it's awesome. there are loud italians drinking peroni behind us. the waves are crashing on the beach. yummy.
at this point the waiter's head explodes. he has no idea how to handle this. so i get a calzone. it's huge. it's awesome. there are loud italians drinking peroni behind us. the waves are crashing on the beach. yummy.
stinky room
so i never saw maputo, only at night, but i figure i was staying in some sort of foofy neighborhood that looked like rio. but pemba is cute. beach town, more mud-huttey than i expected, and a lot of american tourists. they drive on the left here, which makes me wonder, at what border do they decide to switch sides (in congo you drive on the right)? i'm on the beach in this little residence called 'wimbi sun' next to a brightly lit casino, and this tasty restaurant called the dolphin hut. at first, i was worried when i saw "dolphin steak" and "dolphin burger" on the menu, but they are just referring to their name, duh. kids roll in the sand while you eat lunch under a thatch hut. beer is cheaper than juice or fanta. my room is really big, has air conditioning, a whole bunch of harsh fluorescent lighting and hot, running water! there's a plastic patio chair and a matching table. my bed is actually two twin beds sideways. my bedside lamps plug into empty holes in the wall that pretend to be outlets. my phone is a decorative phone. it has buttons, a receiver, but no cords connecting anything. when you walk into the front door you think, oh, there's no one at the front desk, but no, the young muslim dude is usually on the floor praying while watching american tv. superbad was on yesterday. today, notting hill.the maid guy comes and wipes the floor with a rag under his barefeet and walks backwards to the door to make sure to leave no footprints. now that's service.
so i read in the lonely planet guide that you don't flush toilet paper down the toilet. you put it in the trashcan that's usually next to the toilet. so, that's why all these these bathrooms are so gosh darn stinky! same goes for my hotel room. only my hotel room doesn't have a trashcan, it's just a bucket. a lime green plastic bucket with a butterfly on it, fluttering happily next to a little smiley asian girl holding flowers. there's a chinese price tag on it and underneath the picture it says "best wishes! i feel dreams, i am hapiness, i am fairty [sic]" um, this bucket does not smell at all like what it describes. it takes very little to attract flies here. why did i ask the management to only come clean my room every 3 days? i go to the bathroom a lot. enough said.
so i read in the lonely planet guide that you don't flush toilet paper down the toilet. you put it in the trashcan that's usually next to the toilet. so, that's why all these these bathrooms are so gosh darn stinky! same goes for my hotel room. only my hotel room doesn't have a trashcan, it's just a bucket. a lime green plastic bucket with a butterfly on it, fluttering happily next to a little smiley asian girl holding flowers. there's a chinese price tag on it and underneath the picture it says "best wishes! i feel dreams, i am hapiness, i am fairty [sic]" um, this bucket does not smell at all like what it describes. it takes very little to attract flies here. why did i ask the management to only come clean my room every 3 days? i go to the bathroom a lot. enough said.
day 2 status
day 2 status.number of mosquito bites: 11intestinal function: at 90% but dropping quicklystate of my forehead: currently has a bump and bruise from walking into a street sign (i still haven't slept much. it went gooonnnnggggonggggongg like in a cartoon) finger wound from the bathroom door in the plane, just like when i was 9 on the way to japan: kinda puss-ey.
Monday, May 19, 2008
here we go...onto pemba
it's impossible to know what time it is. i've reset my watch every time i see a clock, or when they announce the local time when my plane lands and it seems i'm always drifting within a half hour of reality. and i know it's not my watch, cuz it's a swatch with a brand new battery, so there. on the BBC news, there's a big mozambique logo in the lower right corner where the time would be. i don't think anyone has the correct time, obviously because i'm early to EVERYTHING. so basically, i can stay 25 minutes late and make it feel like everyone is on my schedule, or try to keep up with the atomic clock and always be let down. i think i'm just not going to wear a watch anymore.
i awoke at the ungodly hour of 5 am to catch my flight to pemba from maputo. i had asked for a breakfast wake up call of juice, coffee and a danish, but all i got was juice because they didn't have anything else. and it made my stomach turn. i waited in line at the airport with all these germans and idiots from ohio with hunting rifles (safari jerks) who think they don't need to wait in lines and barge ahead. i finally got to the counter a good hour and a half later to have the lady say, "sorry, you have to wait until 7am to check in.
"but my flight is at 7:30. (and things aren't exactly "speedy" here)
you have to wait until 7.
but it's 6:58.
you have to wait until 7.
so we stared at each other, she looked at the ceiling, i tapped the counter, looked at my watch, wondered if it was in fact the right time, she looked at her cuticles and then finally asked to see my passport, precisely 1 minute later.
security is a breeze. the two guards are watching a movie on a cell phone, laughing. this young woman is going up to every white person and asking their name...the fourth one, a hippe french chick with dreds nods no...and finally she comes to me...hello? it's alice, my new colleague.
i get on the plane and look at my boarding pass..awesome, this flight is only 1h and 30 minutes. i guess i say this out loud because the stewardess laughs. she calls me "crazy lady!" we make THREEEEEE stops! and shows me a map of mozambique and connects 4 dots in a backwards z. i point to the line connecting maputo and pemba in one smooth arc and she goes "haha." awesome indeed. i think, 3 take offs, 3 landings, i'm now tripling my chances of being in a firey plane crash.
professor stinky breath sits next to me and for the second time on this trip i'm having my personal space invaded by my row mate. the armrest is a divider, people! on my 16 hour flight to johannesburg it was fatty mcfatso, a 380 pound UMD student who wore a size 3XL sweathsirt and a few of those x's simply absorbed the armrest and invaded my seat with his thigh and belly. so gross.
so people just loooooooooove obama here. he's like a personal hero from maputo or something. i try to tell the professor that i'm already quite sick of the whole hillary and obama debaucle but no, i get to hear how great obama is for the next hour, and "si se puede!" hillary is a fascist! (sounds like my mom) i'm hoping the next plane stop will buy me a moment of relief, but i only find out that professor drinks-a-lot plans to get hammered at each stop, guzzling as much beer as possible in the 20 minute southwest style layover. so whenever the plane makes a stop everyone gets off and goes into the transito lounge, which is usually a bar on the second floor of the airport overlooking the runway. the first time i didn't get my transito pass and i had to argue my way back onto the plane. so you stand there in the breeze and watch them refuel, unload cargo. at one stop an ikea bed came down the ramp, along with two coffins. i surmised they were empty by the way two guys swung them sideways onto a pile of luggage. i also saw my bags get unloaded and was feeling nervous until one guy came running, no no no no! and took them back onto the plane. whew!
so, by the last leg of the trip professor is stinking of beer, mumbling about mississippi, muhammad ali...and obama! did i tell you how much i think obama is great? oh, and he promises to introduce me to the governor of Ibo when we arrive. she's rrrreally small he says! (he does introduce me to her and she's exactly my height).araman picks me up at the airport, shooing away all the wannabe baggage handlers and beggars and brings me straight to the office. i haven't slept in two days.
the office is actually a makeshift loft built above another office. the ceilings are 5 1/2 feet, so that's fine with me. the stairs to go up there are steep and treacherous, especially when you have short legs like mine. it's like the 2 1/2 floor.
they love my maps. they don't exactly fight congo style for them, but close. the warden of quirimbas national park (i love that they call him a warden. as i day dream into shawshank redemption) says there are 6 more people are on the phone, begging to be a part of my training. they are from the ministry of geography, the people who make all the maps. and they don't know how to use GIS?nope. i don't ask any questions, and i decide i can't turn anyone away, especially geographers. but that makes a total of 22 people i have to teach next week. i'm sortof dreading it, but plan on taking full advantage of the slow weekend ahead of me to see the mozambiquan president visit town! there are flags everywhere and the streets are spotless. i want to eat lobster by the beach. and discoteque!!
i awoke at the ungodly hour of 5 am to catch my flight to pemba from maputo. i had asked for a breakfast wake up call of juice, coffee and a danish, but all i got was juice because they didn't have anything else. and it made my stomach turn. i waited in line at the airport with all these germans and idiots from ohio with hunting rifles (safari jerks) who think they don't need to wait in lines and barge ahead. i finally got to the counter a good hour and a half later to have the lady say, "sorry, you have to wait until 7am to check in.
"but my flight is at 7:30. (and things aren't exactly "speedy" here)
you have to wait until 7.
but it's 6:58.
you have to wait until 7.
so we stared at each other, she looked at the ceiling, i tapped the counter, looked at my watch, wondered if it was in fact the right time, she looked at her cuticles and then finally asked to see my passport, precisely 1 minute later.
security is a breeze. the two guards are watching a movie on a cell phone, laughing. this young woman is going up to every white person and asking their name...the fourth one, a hippe french chick with dreds nods no...and finally she comes to me...hello? it's alice, my new colleague.
i get on the plane and look at my boarding pass..awesome, this flight is only 1h and 30 minutes. i guess i say this out loud because the stewardess laughs. she calls me "crazy lady!" we make THREEEEEE stops! and shows me a map of mozambique and connects 4 dots in a backwards z. i point to the line connecting maputo and pemba in one smooth arc and she goes "haha." awesome indeed. i think, 3 take offs, 3 landings, i'm now tripling my chances of being in a firey plane crash.
professor stinky breath sits next to me and for the second time on this trip i'm having my personal space invaded by my row mate. the armrest is a divider, people! on my 16 hour flight to johannesburg it was fatty mcfatso, a 380 pound UMD student who wore a size 3XL sweathsirt and a few of those x's simply absorbed the armrest and invaded my seat with his thigh and belly. so gross.
so people just loooooooooove obama here. he's like a personal hero from maputo or something. i try to tell the professor that i'm already quite sick of the whole hillary and obama debaucle but no, i get to hear how great obama is for the next hour, and "si se puede!" hillary is a fascist! (sounds like my mom) i'm hoping the next plane stop will buy me a moment of relief, but i only find out that professor drinks-a-lot plans to get hammered at each stop, guzzling as much beer as possible in the 20 minute southwest style layover. so whenever the plane makes a stop everyone gets off and goes into the transito lounge, which is usually a bar on the second floor of the airport overlooking the runway. the first time i didn't get my transito pass and i had to argue my way back onto the plane. so you stand there in the breeze and watch them refuel, unload cargo. at one stop an ikea bed came down the ramp, along with two coffins. i surmised they were empty by the way two guys swung them sideways onto a pile of luggage. i also saw my bags get unloaded and was feeling nervous until one guy came running, no no no no! and took them back onto the plane. whew!
so, by the last leg of the trip professor is stinking of beer, mumbling about mississippi, muhammad ali...and obama! did i tell you how much i think obama is great? oh, and he promises to introduce me to the governor of Ibo when we arrive. she's rrrreally small he says! (he does introduce me to her and she's exactly my height).araman picks me up at the airport, shooing away all the wannabe baggage handlers and beggars and brings me straight to the office. i haven't slept in two days.
the office is actually a makeshift loft built above another office. the ceilings are 5 1/2 feet, so that's fine with me. the stairs to go up there are steep and treacherous, especially when you have short legs like mine. it's like the 2 1/2 floor.
they love my maps. they don't exactly fight congo style for them, but close. the warden of quirimbas national park (i love that they call him a warden. as i day dream into shawshank redemption) says there are 6 more people are on the phone, begging to be a part of my training. they are from the ministry of geography, the people who make all the maps. and they don't know how to use GIS?nope. i don't ask any questions, and i decide i can't turn anyone away, especially geographers. but that makes a total of 22 people i have to teach next week. i'm sortof dreading it, but plan on taking full advantage of the slow weekend ahead of me to see the mozambiquan president visit town! there are flags everywhere and the streets are spotless. i want to eat lobster by the beach. and discoteque!!
Friday, May 16, 2008
step 1. jo-burg.
so in the johannesburg airport they have lots of meat jerkey stands
and...a muslim toilet? it's got a picture of a mosque and the turkish hole in the ground style poop chute.
and...a muslim toilet? it's got a picture of a mosque and the turkish hole in the ground style poop chute.
Monday, April 14, 2008
buying a bike in DC? not for short people!
ok, so now i'm going to tell you about the tremendously annoying, demeaning experience of buying a bike in DC for people under 5'3" - which, i can safely say is about most of the non-amazonly tall women in this town, and some guys too??
so i want a new bike. a nice one. i've looked on craigslist, there's some stuff out there, but you have to sift through so much crap and you have to interact with someone who could potentially be weird, pay with cash for a bike that might have some flaws etc...wouldn't it be so much nicer to just go to one place, try some bikes out, and then buy one? shouldn't that place be a bike store?
well no. because there's a lot to consider. first, i'm short. yeah, 5'2" so a 52cm frame is just too damn big, what do you have in my size? nothing? why? i've gone to pretty much every store in DC. everywhere it's the same story. every bike they stock is either huge or huger, and if you want it in a small size, well then you have to special order it, and put down a deposit. you don't rrrrreally have to buy the bike perse, but you have to buy a bike from that store or you lose your deposit. essentially, you have to pick one bike without trying it and hope for the best. or you could start ordering bike after bike after bike and make your coolness meter go way down and eventually you'll end up putting down more deposits than a bike is worth.
and yeah, the coolness meter, there's the unwritten coolness code when you enter a bike shop these days, like, oh, you don't ride a custom fixie with no brakes and have a hip courier bag and hang out a asylum? rolling of eyes...well guess what, i do hang out at asylum and i just want a fucking bike to take me to work and back, maybe on some weekend rides, is that too much to ask?
choosing a bike is pretty intimate. i mean, i'm gonna be sitting on thing, it's gonna be...you know...touching my private areas...would you buy a car without driving it? rent a house without entering it? no.
what would happen if clothing stores only carried size XXS, or supermarkets were all "we're just going to sell meat!" or a bar was all "too fucking bad, we don't serve ugly-ass people like you!" (ok, so they sortof do that as asylum but still...) wouldn't people be outraged? i am!
so what does this come down to? TOTAL BULLSHIT DISCRIMINATION. every store i've been to has had at least one or two other women standing around in the same predicament "i like this bike...do you have it in my size?" nope, sorry!
so i've been being a little more vocal these days and demanding that i should not have to put down cash to test out a bike because tall people don't have to. and no, i'm not interested in the girlie beach cruiser with tassles, thanks for asking. bike stores should carry a range of sizes, not just big, not just small, end of story. aren't there other small people looking for bikes? it's not like i'm not a midget or anything, i'm just a lady, lookin' for a bike!!
anyway, so here are my reviews on local bike stores if yer interested:
citybikes - sometimes known as shittybikes. most of the time you go in there and feel like a total idiot because you don't know what a blah blah is, or, you're wasting their time by asking them to fix something you could totally do yourself if you had bike tools, and cable cutters and like a million other things that you don't know, or care to know about. oh, and you're not wearing hip jeans rolled up to your knees. but then again, you just might happen to land on someone super nice and friendly and knowledgeable who actually helps you pick out a good bike for you, and keeps the store open late for you, cuz they know you really want a bike and they really want you to buy one. i'm probably going to end up buying from them because they said they finally ordered a small frame for me (with no deposit, after extensive going into the store and complaining) and i live two blocks away.
the bike rack - this place has the nicest of all salespeople ever. they can talk on your level, help you find exactly what you want, very friendly and very helpful. alas, they are just starting out and have a really small stock, so...not much to choose from. wish i could buy from those guys! however, lots of other cool stuff.
capitol hill bikes - the biggest selection of independent bike stores in DC, with lots of small women's frames and a nice owner who answered my emails about some bikes, but when i went into the store, the sales guy made me feel like i was bothering him by wanting to purchase a bicycle. well sorrreeeee!
REI - meh. who wants to buy their bike from rei? i guess you get dividends. they only carry a few brands.
Hudson Trail Outfitters - another chain...haven't been yet, sorry.
so i want a new bike. a nice one. i've looked on craigslist, there's some stuff out there, but you have to sift through so much crap and you have to interact with someone who could potentially be weird, pay with cash for a bike that might have some flaws etc...wouldn't it be so much nicer to just go to one place, try some bikes out, and then buy one? shouldn't that place be a bike store?
well no. because there's a lot to consider. first, i'm short. yeah, 5'2" so a 52cm frame is just too damn big, what do you have in my size? nothing? why? i've gone to pretty much every store in DC. everywhere it's the same story. every bike they stock is either huge or huger, and if you want it in a small size, well then you have to special order it, and put down a deposit. you don't rrrrreally have to buy the bike perse, but you have to buy a bike from that store or you lose your deposit. essentially, you have to pick one bike without trying it and hope for the best. or you could start ordering bike after bike after bike and make your coolness meter go way down and eventually you'll end up putting down more deposits than a bike is worth.
and yeah, the coolness meter, there's the unwritten coolness code when you enter a bike shop these days, like, oh, you don't ride a custom fixie with no brakes and have a hip courier bag and hang out a asylum? rolling of eyes...well guess what, i do hang out at asylum and i just want a fucking bike to take me to work and back, maybe on some weekend rides, is that too much to ask?
choosing a bike is pretty intimate. i mean, i'm gonna be sitting on thing, it's gonna be...you know...touching my private areas...would you buy a car without driving it? rent a house without entering it? no.
what would happen if clothing stores only carried size XXS, or supermarkets were all "we're just going to sell meat!" or a bar was all "too fucking bad, we don't serve ugly-ass people like you!" (ok, so they sortof do that as asylum but still...) wouldn't people be outraged? i am!
so what does this come down to? TOTAL BULLSHIT DISCRIMINATION. every store i've been to has had at least one or two other women standing around in the same predicament "i like this bike...do you have it in my size?" nope, sorry!
so i've been being a little more vocal these days and demanding that i should not have to put down cash to test out a bike because tall people don't have to. and no, i'm not interested in the girlie beach cruiser with tassles, thanks for asking. bike stores should carry a range of sizes, not just big, not just small, end of story. aren't there other small people looking for bikes? it's not like i'm not a midget or anything, i'm just a lady, lookin' for a bike!!
anyway, so here are my reviews on local bike stores if yer interested:
citybikes - sometimes known as shittybikes. most of the time you go in there and feel like a total idiot because you don't know what a blah blah is, or, you're wasting their time by asking them to fix something you could totally do yourself if you had bike tools, and cable cutters and like a million other things that you don't know, or care to know about. oh, and you're not wearing hip jeans rolled up to your knees. but then again, you just might happen to land on someone super nice and friendly and knowledgeable who actually helps you pick out a good bike for you, and keeps the store open late for you, cuz they know you really want a bike and they really want you to buy one. i'm probably going to end up buying from them because they said they finally ordered a small frame for me (with no deposit, after extensive going into the store and complaining) and i live two blocks away.
the bike rack - this place has the nicest of all salespeople ever. they can talk on your level, help you find exactly what you want, very friendly and very helpful. alas, they are just starting out and have a really small stock, so...not much to choose from. wish i could buy from those guys! however, lots of other cool stuff.
capitol hill bikes - the biggest selection of independent bike stores in DC, with lots of small women's frames and a nice owner who answered my emails about some bikes, but when i went into the store, the sales guy made me feel like i was bothering him by wanting to purchase a bicycle. well sorrreeeee!
REI - meh. who wants to buy their bike from rei? i guess you get dividends. they only carry a few brands.
Hudson Trail Outfitters - another chain...haven't been yet, sorry.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
your cat ran away, probably because you're annoying
my neighborhood has been plastered with lost cat posters. and not just any old posters, but professionally laminated posters that have little cut outs to take away the people's phone numbers, and are updated every week...first it was "lost cat," then "we miss you Lester [name changed to protect cat's identity]!" now it's "Lester is STILL missing!"
so i come home one night and what do you know, Lester is hanging out in my front yard. i say out loud, oh my, is that Lester? as i have his likeness and life story impounded into my brain everytime i leave my house. Lester, having recognized his name looks at me, and then runs away. i try to track him down in my backyard but he's gone. i lean my bike against the side door of my house and walk to the closest posted sign, which is about 3 feet from my front gate.
in the nano-second that i leave my bike unattended some dirty sketchy dude walks into my yard and is checking out my bike. now, i don't have my phone on me, so i'm a little nervous i can't call the copy, so i'm just standing there in my front yard entrance with my bike helmet, waiting, watching this guy. he slowly inspects the bike and finally decides to take it with him.
wtf do you think you're doing man?
he freaks out, drops the bike and is all, oh sorry mami, i was just looking for a place to pipi!
oh really? was my bike in your way?
i sortof shoo him away, wonder where on earth he came from and go inside to call Lester's owners.
there are two numbers on the little tab, and the first one is out of service...i leave a friendly, lengthy message on the second, like, don't lose hope! Lester is out there! he looks healthy! i call my friend who lives in Lester's building and is obviously constantly reminded of Lester's status. no way, you saw Lester? thank goodness, i'm sick of seeing 8 different pictures of him in the laundry room...
a few hours later, the guy calls me back. and he's super wishy washy, rather unemotional, like he was telemarketing and finally tells me that some lady who lives a few doors down from me has a whole bunch of cats, including one similar to Lester. so, would i mind calling her, asking her to send pictures of her cats, and then review them, and let Lester's people know if it was indeed Lester?
whaaa?
yeah, sure, i'll get right on it. because i have nothing better to do than hang out on the phone with crazy cat lady who i'm sure won't regale me with cat lady stories and your cat, well, i hate to say it, but if cats can sense anything, it's INDIFFERENCE, which i would say is precisely what Lester escaped from!
so i come home one night and what do you know, Lester is hanging out in my front yard. i say out loud, oh my, is that Lester? as i have his likeness and life story impounded into my brain everytime i leave my house. Lester, having recognized his name looks at me, and then runs away. i try to track him down in my backyard but he's gone. i lean my bike against the side door of my house and walk to the closest posted sign, which is about 3 feet from my front gate.
in the nano-second that i leave my bike unattended some dirty sketchy dude walks into my yard and is checking out my bike. now, i don't have my phone on me, so i'm a little nervous i can't call the copy, so i'm just standing there in my front yard entrance with my bike helmet, waiting, watching this guy. he slowly inspects the bike and finally decides to take it with him.
wtf do you think you're doing man?
he freaks out, drops the bike and is all, oh sorry mami, i was just looking for a place to pipi!
oh really? was my bike in your way?
i sortof shoo him away, wonder where on earth he came from and go inside to call Lester's owners.
there are two numbers on the little tab, and the first one is out of service...i leave a friendly, lengthy message on the second, like, don't lose hope! Lester is out there! he looks healthy! i call my friend who lives in Lester's building and is obviously constantly reminded of Lester's status. no way, you saw Lester? thank goodness, i'm sick of seeing 8 different pictures of him in the laundry room...
a few hours later, the guy calls me back. and he's super wishy washy, rather unemotional, like he was telemarketing and finally tells me that some lady who lives a few doors down from me has a whole bunch of cats, including one similar to Lester. so, would i mind calling her, asking her to send pictures of her cats, and then review them, and let Lester's people know if it was indeed Lester?
whaaa?
yeah, sure, i'll get right on it. because i have nothing better to do than hang out on the phone with crazy cat lady who i'm sure won't regale me with cat lady stories and your cat, well, i hate to say it, but if cats can sense anything, it's INDIFFERENCE, which i would say is precisely what Lester escaped from!
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
sorry, can't fight your fire today
well, at least a sign is better than having fire fighters find out that the hydrant outside your burning building is broken...kinda like that place on adams mill a while back...Friday, April 4, 2008
kinda creepy
the number of messages in my gmail spam folder hasn't changed in days and it's freaking me out.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
the L bus: worth the wait!
so the other day i was walking to work with my cello, which gets pretty tiring, not to mention all the people who stop you every two seconds to ask "oh, is that a viola?" i had just missed a clump of 42s, after which you have to wait a 1/2 hour for the next bus that is supposed to come every 6 minutes. anyway, an L1 rolls my way and I hop on, figuring it goes in my general direction. i barely pay when the thing takes off like we're warping to planet zirkon. i grabbed on to my seat and thought, holy crap does this thing really move! i checked out the bus driver to see if he was drunk or something, but no, he was very calm, conscious, totally attentive and even very well dressed (clean shaven, vest, collared shirt, groovy glasses) to boot.
then that afternoon there are a bunch of postings on the adams morgan email listserv about how the bus is always early, and so you end up missing it and having to wait. some dude even made a graph with a whole analysis. bravo friend, you are my kind of nerd.
well you know what i think? it's probably worth the wait since you get to your destination like, before you even left the previous one. think about THAT.
then that afternoon there are a bunch of postings on the adams morgan email listserv about how the bus is always early, and so you end up missing it and having to wait. some dude even made a graph with a whole analysis. bravo friend, you are my kind of nerd.
well you know what i think? it's probably worth the wait since you get to your destination like, before you even left the previous one. think about THAT.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
mount pleasant fire makes pedestrian street
the fire in mount pleasant was terrible, and has left an awful charred building in the center of the neighborhood. however, if you block out the whirring of the generators, the police lights and the chain link fences, i have to say you're left with a pretty nice pedestrian street. there are people outside all times of the day, you still have your 7-11 sidewalk miller-arounders and a nice wide, calm area for a community to stroll and mingle in between its numerous supermarkets and shops.
i say, keep it that way.
dc needs more pedestrian streets. in france, every town has at least one non-automobile street in its commercial area and it's great for doing your shopping, seeing your neighbors, not having to worry about getting run over. just imagine what 18th street would feel like on a saturday night without the honking taxis, buses, keg buses, stretch limos and all the idiots from maryland and virginia thinking they can find a parking spot. sure, you'd still have your giant pizza slice fights, but at least there would be some space to spread out, somewhere to seek refuge from the flying hot cheese and tomato sauce.
i say, keep it that way.
dc needs more pedestrian streets. in france, every town has at least one non-automobile street in its commercial area and it's great for doing your shopping, seeing your neighbors, not having to worry about getting run over. just imagine what 18th street would feel like on a saturday night without the honking taxis, buses, keg buses, stretch limos and all the idiots from maryland and virginia thinking they can find a parking spot. sure, you'd still have your giant pizza slice fights, but at least there would be some space to spread out, somewhere to seek refuge from the flying hot cheese and tomato sauce.
Monday, March 17, 2008
eco-friendly taxis
there's an environmentally friendly taxi service in town.
http://www.eco-limo.com/
but seriously people $90 to Dulles in a prius?? and what's with the chevy suburban - are you telling me it's a hybrid? probably runs on ethanol, which destroys more rainforest than mcdonald's cows. why would we pay more than a regular cab (especially when the new DC meters come out)? we'll have to see how this pans out because for the regular drunk arlington douchebag crawling home from the bennigan's in reston, not sure he'd want to shell out extra cash for his conscience.
but then there are these guys:
http://www.envirotaxicab.com/
maybe i'll start driving for them...
http://www.eco-limo.com/
but seriously people $90 to Dulles in a prius?? and what's with the chevy suburban - are you telling me it's a hybrid? probably runs on ethanol, which destroys more rainforest than mcdonald's cows. why would we pay more than a regular cab (especially when the new DC meters come out)? we'll have to see how this pans out because for the regular drunk arlington douchebag crawling home from the bennigan's in reston, not sure he'd want to shell out extra cash for his conscience.
but then there are these guys:
http://www.envirotaxicab.com/
maybe i'll start driving for them...
Sunday, February 10, 2008
hi rummy!
so i'm walking around my neighborhood (kalorama) the other night with a friend when i stop to point out the french ambassador's house. i'm bothered by the loud hum of the gas guzzling engines of not one, not two, but three chevy suburbans idling on the street. and it's not like they are waiting to pick someone up, these guys have been there for hours, days maybe. the dashboards are littered with empty potato chip bags and big gulps and greasy hamburger wrappers. engines, running. it was cold so there was a nize carbon monoxide haze coming out of the mufflers. i say, a little too loud "good thing our boys are in iraq fighting for oil, eh?" a few feet away, a guy comes out of his house, taking his trash to his garage, gives me a pretty dirty look. oh crap, that's donald rumsfeld! i try to hide behind a bush, he continues his business. he leaves his front door open. rummy has some FUGLY carpet in his stairs. this nasty green wallpaper in the kitchen. you'd think he would have better taste. then i think back to his legacy, eh, obviously not.
Monday, February 4, 2008
Chad
a convoy of SUVs rolls into the capital of Chad over the weekend and tries to overthrow the government. there's fighting, dead bodies everywhere, a short cease fire to let civilians evactuate to cameroon or wherever they can run to. these rebels are threatening to attack the EU peacekeeping force who are there to protect the thousands of refugees from Darfur. essentially, this whole region is going to shit faster than an eli manning touchdown pass. oh, but you wouldn't know since there's no mention of it on front page of the New York Times, CNN or the Washington Post because last night the Giants happened to overthrow the Eagles in the super bowl. incredible.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
end of an error!
so bummed i'll be missing this, a really cool even organized by some friends of mine...
Thursday, January 10, 2008
super friendly landlord!
from craigslist:
Completly renovated, small building, washer/dryer in the apt, 3 blocks to Shaw Metro, wood floors, nice backyard, close to shopping and nightlife. No I don't provide pictures, if you can't get off your butt and come see the place, you are not interested enough for my time, suburbanites who need their own special parking place go live in Silver Spring please. One year lease and more for responsible, interesting, independent person.
Completly renovated, small building, washer/dryer in the apt, 3 blocks to Shaw Metro, wood floors, nice backyard, close to shopping and nightlife. No I don't provide pictures, if you can't get off your butt and come see the place, you are not interested enough for my time, suburbanites who need their own special parking place go live in Silver Spring please. One year lease and more for responsible, interesting, independent person.
Earth Hour (not in DC!)
Earth Hour is a great idea inspired by last year's organized lights out in sydney. how cool would a global dim-out be? alas, it's a very sad state of affairs when our own federal government in DC won't support this locally by turning down the lights at our monuments and buildings for even 60 minutes. just goes to show how a big change in government is VERY needed VERY soon!
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
well excuuuuse me for trying to help
so a friend went to DC central food kitchen a few weeks ago to see if he could help out. he's always talking up these enormous batches (he definitely likes cooking in bulk) of awesome soups he whipped up there a few years back and since he had a week or so to kill over the holidays...well boy did they send him packing. the lady was all "oh REALLY, you have worked here? well who do you know? huh? huh? tell me!" i guess you're supposed to fill out a form online or something (?!), and so him just walking in was like he was illiterate or not able to follow instructions or whatever, and so it was all rather tense and awkward. i would have thought they would have welcomed anyone with a decent heart and some time to offer but i guess not.
it's like the guy i handed my leftovers to on the street once - it was about 2 pounds of tasty pasta from bucca de beppo's. it's family style, so it's not like it was on MY plate and full of my saliva. the guy took it and then threw it onto the street and it got run over by a taxi. marinara sauce and giant meatballs everywhere. i would have maybe eaten that for lunch, ya know. then he berated me telling me he wasn't homeless, and didn't need any of my handouts. uh, ok buddy, you're sitting on a milk crate with a coffee cup full of change in front of a strip club - how am i supposed to know?
it's like the guy i handed my leftovers to on the street once - it was about 2 pounds of tasty pasta from bucca de beppo's. it's family style, so it's not like it was on MY plate and full of my saliva. the guy took it and then threw it onto the street and it got run over by a taxi. marinara sauce and giant meatballs everywhere. i would have maybe eaten that for lunch, ya know. then he berated me telling me he wasn't homeless, and didn't need any of my handouts. uh, ok buddy, you're sitting on a milk crate with a coffee cup full of change in front of a strip club - how am i supposed to know?
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
don't forget to sign the breakfast sheet!
as i sit here on my last day, waiting for my program to finish running, expecting to pull an all-nighter to have a presentation for the office and our USAID funders, i have to say i'm going to miss this place.
most of all, my weird walks to work...following the little holes in the mud from the stiletto heels of all the prostitutes who leave my hotel early morning, up the path and to the road where the holes congregate and then disappear, taken away by a polluting van...past the UNHCR, past the barefoot guy with the huge wheelbarrow full of sticks and palm fronds, past the private school where all the rich little lebanese boys get dropped off, across from the unicef signs advocating girls in schools.
i'll miss my low-quality hotel, the blatant disdain of the waitstaff who have perfected the eyebrow response to any request, my little voracious birds, the cat i've been fattening: minouche. i'll miss it when papa pierre comes running after me when i leave, catching up with me halfway to the office out of breath, sweaty, "maman aurelie! you didn't sign the breakfast sheet!" oh the breakfast sheet. it's the first thing i say to the other guests in the morning - DID YOU SIGN THE BREAKFAST SHEET????!
the breakfast sheet is over by the clock: one of those chinese calendar things with a lit up photo of an autumnal waterfall landscape that cycles through the neon color spectrum...from cyan to fuschia to orange to yellow and back to cyan. the clock resets itself after every power outage, so it's never any later than 2am on new year's day, 1900. the breakfast sheet is professionally printed for every day with the name and logo of the hotel, the date, an impressive task. there are three columns: name, room number and signature. everyone who eats breakfast must sign the breakfast sheet. apparently, this is more important that say, putting fuel in the generator, cleaning the pool, making sure there that people have towels and toilet paper, or re-stocking drinks (i have personally wiped out their whiskey, cointreau, tonic, sprite and soda in that order. all that is left is coke and beer which come from an endless supply). as for the breakfast sheet, they know my room number, they know by name, but they will not forge my signature.
sometimes, like the day i didn't sign the sheet, the sheet isn't there, and that's because papa pierre has taken it, running after everyone to sign it. i would also like to add that the day i didn't sign the sheet was the day there was no breakfast. a term to learn here is "y'a pas" - there's none. tuesday was just a day without breakfast. there was no bread, no cheese, no mystery sausage, no stinky papaya, no cold omelet, no instant coffee, no bright pink juice, no hot brown water, nothing. you just don't eat breakfast today. so i had figured i wouldn't need to sign the sheet right? i found a tea packet and some jam and went to work and was buying one of those long breads from the ladies with the bread on their head, and they cut it open and put some sort of oily peanut butter in it. they charged me double because of the color of my skin, but it was still less than $1. it was delicious. and that's when papa pierre caught up with me, looking hungrily at my breakfast. don't worry, papa pierre, i won't ever forget to to sign the breakfast sheet!
most of all, my weird walks to work...following the little holes in the mud from the stiletto heels of all the prostitutes who leave my hotel early morning, up the path and to the road where the holes congregate and then disappear, taken away by a polluting van...past the UNHCR, past the barefoot guy with the huge wheelbarrow full of sticks and palm fronds, past the private school where all the rich little lebanese boys get dropped off, across from the unicef signs advocating girls in schools.
i'll miss my low-quality hotel, the blatant disdain of the waitstaff who have perfected the eyebrow response to any request, my little voracious birds, the cat i've been fattening: minouche. i'll miss it when papa pierre comes running after me when i leave, catching up with me halfway to the office out of breath, sweaty, "maman aurelie! you didn't sign the breakfast sheet!" oh the breakfast sheet. it's the first thing i say to the other guests in the morning - DID YOU SIGN THE BREAKFAST SHEET????!the breakfast sheet is over by the clock: one of those chinese calendar things with a lit up photo of an autumnal waterfall landscape that cycles through the neon color spectrum...from cyan to fuschia to orange to yellow and back to cyan. the clock resets itself after every power outage, so it's never any later than 2am on new year's day, 1900. the breakfast sheet is professionally printed for every day with the name and logo of the hotel, the date, an impressive task. there are three columns: name, room number and signature. everyone who eats breakfast must sign the breakfast sheet. apparently, this is more important that say, putting fuel in the generator, cleaning the pool, making sure there that people have towels and toilet paper, or re-stocking drinks (i have personally wiped out their whiskey, cointreau, tonic, sprite and soda in that order. all that is left is coke and beer which come from an endless supply). as for the breakfast sheet, they know my room number, they know by name, but they will not forge my signature.
sometimes, like the day i didn't sign the sheet, the sheet isn't there, and that's because papa pierre has taken it, running after everyone to sign it. i would also like to add that the day i didn't sign the sheet was the day there was no breakfast. a term to learn here is "y'a pas" - there's none. tuesday was just a day without breakfast. there was no bread, no cheese, no mystery sausage, no stinky papaya, no cold omelet, no instant coffee, no bright pink juice, no hot brown water, nothing. you just don't eat breakfast today. so i had figured i wouldn't need to sign the sheet right? i found a tea packet and some jam and went to work and was buying one of those long breads from the ladies with the bread on their head, and they cut it open and put some sort of oily peanut butter in it. they charged me double because of the color of my skin, but it was still less than $1. it was delicious. and that's when papa pierre caught up with me, looking hungrily at my breakfast. don't worry, papa pierre, i won't ever forget to to sign the breakfast sheet!
anyone for tennis?
last night i was invited to play tennis with the woman i'm working with, lisa. i borrowed a racket and some shoes and headed to this fancy country club thing in the center of town. there's an olympic size pool, a nice restaurant, a fancy weight room and four clay tennis courts. well, they're more like dirt, but still, pretty nice. the court we played on was all the way in the back, we walked down little alleys and pet the stray cats to reach the court, which, oddly enough backs up to the 36-15. hey, there's christian! on the other side there's a shipping container thing with people living in it. one guy was dressed in a security guard outfit with a bright neon tie, he was totally rooting for me. my backhand was kicking ass.
so on these courts you have ball boys, which is tiring actually, because you never get a break to go pick up the balls! our ball boy, abudaka was tall, skinny, barefoot and would slowly amble around, picking up balls, sometimes dribbling them with his feet into a bicycle kick, catching it and putting them into his plastic shopping bag. instead of walking around the net he would lower the top and go over it. sometimes we would keep playing and i would hope he lowered the net at the right time to let me win a point. i pegged him in the ribs a few times by accident and felt really bad. in the beginning we had him going all over the place, he could barely keep up - a tired ball boy is an indication that you suck, btw.
we had some brand new balls that lisa brought from the states, as you can't really find any here. abudaka's mix of balls range from really dead, to extremely dead and brown, and then every once in a while you get one of the freshies so it's an interesting mix.
the people next to us were loud, cursing. it was a lebanese guy playing against some sort of minister guy in an interminable third set. minister guy had an entourage of guys with towels and water. their ball boy was shouting the score and everything in between which was really annoying. first serve! fault! second serve! out! 45-15! after a while the guy's entourage started watching us, they are men, afterall and we are ladies in shorts. the entourage got yelled at. minister guy was super grumpy. whenever our ball went into his court he would take it and hit it over the fence. not nice, minister guy! one time, i picked up a ball and he was all, hey! that one's ours! that one is ours! really impatient. i looked to make sure that it wasn't one of our penn 4s, but it was definitely theirs, the brand was written in arabic. i should have kept it.
abudaka kept score for us too, though we asked him to not shout every play. i also asked him to say the score quiet when i was losing, but loud when i was winning, though lisa did the same thing so it was useless. i also tried to bribe abudaka to let me win the set, but he was too honest. our hour was over right before the rains came. we tipped abudaka a few bucks and went off to grab some well-deserved beer. i asked abudaka if he was busy next labor day for the annual tennis tournament. he wasn't sure. maybe he can be my caddy, if you can have caddies in tennis?
so on these courts you have ball boys, which is tiring actually, because you never get a break to go pick up the balls! our ball boy, abudaka was tall, skinny, barefoot and would slowly amble around, picking up balls, sometimes dribbling them with his feet into a bicycle kick, catching it and putting them into his plastic shopping bag. instead of walking around the net he would lower the top and go over it. sometimes we would keep playing and i would hope he lowered the net at the right time to let me win a point. i pegged him in the ribs a few times by accident and felt really bad. in the beginning we had him going all over the place, he could barely keep up - a tired ball boy is an indication that you suck, btw.
we had some brand new balls that lisa brought from the states, as you can't really find any here. abudaka's mix of balls range from really dead, to extremely dead and brown, and then every once in a while you get one of the freshies so it's an interesting mix.
the people next to us were loud, cursing. it was a lebanese guy playing against some sort of minister guy in an interminable third set. minister guy had an entourage of guys with towels and water. their ball boy was shouting the score and everything in between which was really annoying. first serve! fault! second serve! out! 45-15! after a while the guy's entourage started watching us, they are men, afterall and we are ladies in shorts. the entourage got yelled at. minister guy was super grumpy. whenever our ball went into his court he would take it and hit it over the fence. not nice, minister guy! one time, i picked up a ball and he was all, hey! that one's ours! that one is ours! really impatient. i looked to make sure that it wasn't one of our penn 4s, but it was definitely theirs, the brand was written in arabic. i should have kept it.
abudaka kept score for us too, though we asked him to not shout every play. i also asked him to say the score quiet when i was losing, but loud when i was winning, though lisa did the same thing so it was useless. i also tried to bribe abudaka to let me win the set, but he was too honest. our hour was over right before the rains came. we tipped abudaka a few bucks and went off to grab some well-deserved beer. i asked abudaka if he was busy next labor day for the annual tennis tournament. he wasn't sure. maybe he can be my caddy, if you can have caddies in tennis?
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
who ordered the caterpillars?
i was very hungry at lunch yesterday and asked my assistants to bring me back to the hidden place with the rice and beans. we walk over there and this time, i got to go around the back of the house to order. it's like a national geographic scene: chickens, dogs, children and an old lady bent over, barefoot under a tarp held up by black burned sticks, cooking over an open fire with various pots everywhere. someone is washing dishes in a dirty washbasin while another woman is sweeping the cooking area with a home-made broom of tied sticks. on the table there are a bunch of dented aluminum pots. you lift up the lid and make your choice. i got the rice, beans and plantains - the first vegetarian meal i've had since i've been here, which got a roll of the eyes out of the server.
a guy showed up with a creepy homemade marionette - it had a doll head, a big booty in some baby sweat pants and flip flops for hands. he sang and made it do a really dirty dance, grabbing it's crotch and grinding on the floor, which i presume is what happens in the nightclubs.
inside a really dark tiny cement room with a sewing machine is my new tailor. he's making me some killer button up shirts! with snaps! and a dress. for only $3. here come the christmas presents!
we go sit down under another tarp, shoo away the flies and dig into our food. a few others from the office show up and have a seat and someone orders a steaming hot plate of.....CATERPILLARS!!! which are in season... everyone is all ooooooh yummy! and dig in. they're hard to pick up with a fork so a bunch fall on the ground and get eaten by a dog. they were various colors and shapes, you could see their heads and tails and feet, no hairs. i felt too tacky taking a picture and besides, they were eaten in about a minute. they saved one for me. but i just couldn't do it. everyone was sucking their fingers, yum! but for some reason i could only shudder. i thought of being on fear factor, and someone offering me a million bucks...still couldn't do it. i tried closing my eyes, imagining eating a piece of bread, couldn't do it. finally, i downed a glass of beer took a deep breath and when do one was looking grabbed it quickly with my fingers and put it in my mouth closed my eyes really hard and tried to think happy thoughts happy thoughts and finally swallowed it half chewed. it was crunchy with goo on the inside. it had an unexpected taste. like, lemony bitter eggplant. totally gross.
a guy showed up with a creepy homemade marionette - it had a doll head, a big booty in some baby sweat pants and flip flops for hands. he sang and made it do a really dirty dance, grabbing it's crotch and grinding on the floor, which i presume is what happens in the nightclubs.
inside a really dark tiny cement room with a sewing machine is my new tailor. he's making me some killer button up shirts! with snaps! and a dress. for only $3. here come the christmas presents!
we go sit down under another tarp, shoo away the flies and dig into our food. a few others from the office show up and have a seat and someone orders a steaming hot plate of.....CATERPILLARS!!! which are in season... everyone is all ooooooh yummy! and dig in. they're hard to pick up with a fork so a bunch fall on the ground and get eaten by a dog. they were various colors and shapes, you could see their heads and tails and feet, no hairs. i felt too tacky taking a picture and besides, they were eaten in about a minute. they saved one for me. but i just couldn't do it. everyone was sucking their fingers, yum! but for some reason i could only shudder. i thought of being on fear factor, and someone offering me a million bucks...still couldn't do it. i tried closing my eyes, imagining eating a piece of bread, couldn't do it. finally, i downed a glass of beer took a deep breath and when do one was looking grabbed it quickly with my fingers and put it in my mouth closed my eyes really hard and tried to think happy thoughts happy thoughts and finally swallowed it half chewed. it was crunchy with goo on the inside. it had an unexpected taste. like, lemony bitter eggplant. totally gross.
typical african sign:
attention! it is well posted (and it is, trust me) on the door that this is the WOMEN'S bathroom. if you are a man, what are you doing in here then? to respect others is not so complicated...Monday, December 10, 2007
weekend part I
what a weekend. there was rain and power outages, as usual. but there was so much more than last week! on friday night i was invited to the french cultural center for chicken night. i had imagined a stuffy crowd inside some lame annex to the embassy or something, but not at all. it was a full thriving beer garden with $1 bottles and chicken and fries for $3. what a bargain. i was invited out to the nightclubs with some trendy french chicks, but would have had to fly solo to get home...so i had to pass. i was a little bummed, but woke up early, had a nice egg sandwich and went to the office. my internet wasn't working so i was very productive. around noon, double-guy offered to take me to the market to buy fabric to get some clothing made.
we walked down the major avenue du 30 juin, something i could have never done alone. i got my picture taken in front of a giant Kabila statue, the ultimate proof i was in kinshasa.
then we hailed a sortof cab: a beat-up toyota with loud gospel blaring and a furry dashboard and in the back, leather seats with red and black yin yangs. the 'express' taxis as they are called are one step above the minivans with 35 people crammed in. you share only with as many as there are seats. where you go is majority rules. so the guy who wants to make a big detour to pick up his girlfriend, well he gets yelled at by everyone in the car until he finally gets out. at one point there was a big traffic jam and everyone was yelling at the driver to go around, kinshasa style, on the sidewalk to get ahead 2, maybe 3 car lengths. these people got out and walked, and some more hopped in and then you have to argue your route all over again. thankfully double-guy was doing the arguing, i was sweating a river, my thigh stuck to some old lady.
we got out near the port, where the boats come in from brazzaville. what a mess. for some reason, double-guy REALLY wanted me to see the port, "you cannot leave kinshasa until you see the port!" it's full of aggressive police, military, and people in wheelchairs (i found out they travel free from kinshasa to brazzaville because of their condition and thus play the role of exclusive smugglers). there were people screaming 'mondele!' and total utter madness. i am THE only white person here. every police officer starts asking me for my passport and i'm getting nervous. this is insane. we are essentially going into some intra-border zone and i really don't want to end up in jail or have to pay a huge bribe. double-guy is very persistent and finally we end up paying a few bucks to some border guy and we're inside this compound of chaos. there are buses nearly running me over, carts, trucks, dogs, maimed people, garbage. i saw the oldest, dirtiest, most digusting diesel train i have seen. people were all running around it, cheering, almost like they were pushing it. i'm actually sortof happy i'm getting to see this. people are yelling at me everywhere and all i hear is blah blah blah mondele blah blah. sometimes double-guy gets mad and yells back, sometimes he smirks and waves them off. when that happens i ask him to translate. he won't. he sortof giggles and says you don't want to know. i find out later it's something along the lines of "tonight, you better do her CONGO-style" or something terribly classy like that.
we go through some more border stuff where they're interrogating people, opening bags. there are a lot of guns. finally we see the river. the "hi-speed" boats that cross the river, i find out are these old patched up 12 foot whalers with 50 hp engines. the waves in the river are HUGE with crazy fast rapids and less than a mile away, another country. we talk to a border guy that double-guy knows and he tells me that when it's real windy, they have to stop traffic, but he's proud to say they haven't had an accident in several years! no kidding.
i'm sortof relieved to exit the port area and then we're buying fabric. we stop at one stand that double-guy knows and this immediately puts all the competing stands into this huge argument over who gets to sell me fabric. congolese people certainly can YELL. so they're all screaming and double-guy is all "take your time..." but taking my time hurts my eardrums. the fabric is set up in rolls and stacked like a log cabin. the fabric i want is always at the bottom of the stack, and so the woman has to unstack everything and then she unrolls each one and says, are you sure you don't want this one? showing me this 80s neon colored batik vomit. no...i want the peacock print at the bottom.
then it starts to rain. major rain. i'm up to my ankles in mud. why did i wear these flip flops? every flip sends mud up my nose. every flop, a streak of dirt up my back. we take refuge at the artisan market. here's where i want to do some xmas shopping...i'm soaking wet, thirsty, would love just a few minutes of silence.. madame! madame! over here! here! look at me! the insanity begins again. why is that the guys who sell huge statues of dudes with weirdly proportioned genitalia are always the most persistent and annoying? like i'm going to bring this 8 foot tall phallus home in my suitcase? or the 2 very pointy antlers on this large rack? or this 25 pound malakite egg? i see a leopard skin...and a baby leopard skin. $400 for the adult, half for the baby. the fur is really soft. there are still claws and eyelids. sigh.
i find the rug things i want to bring back and this takes over an hour of haggling. bargaining with congolians is just like driving with them. they are extremely strong headed - when they're on the road, it's "i want to go here and i'm going to go and you're not going to stop me." left turns are not for the weak - you just go, cutting off oncoming traffic (there are no traffic lights) and you must be strong and confident so that others will stop and let you through (they have to, they don't want to ruin their mercedes) otherwise you get stuck in the middle of all these different lanes and people have no respect for you. it's not uncommon to be going full speed, head-on towards someone else who is driving in the wrong lane to get around something. it's a game of chicken and eventually, someone HAS to give in. only one person needs to compromise, really. and so it's just like bargaining. and at the market, well, i was the one who was more often chicken. bargaining just isn't in my blood. double-guy had it down, pretending to walk away, calling them liars, trading one thing for another. but in the end, i really didn't care if i had to pay $12 instead of $11, i figure the seller could use that extra money more than me, but i guess it's a pride thing. they're also REALLY good at ripping you off. i wanted this one rug thing, but it was 15 feet long. do you have one shorter? so they cut it. they told me they were going to sew it, but they didn't, they just cut it all crooked with frayed edges and charged me the same price, saying i was paying to rent the scissors. or they would be all, oh, you're missing 500 francs, when you're not.
we found an old renault 4 to bring us back to the office, reminding me of traveling with my grandma. the seats had a broken recliner thing so if you leaned back you would fly backwards and be lying down and hit the knees of the person behind you and get yelled at. so you had to lean forward. it was very uncomfortable. there was more yelling because someone gave a really old smelly bill to the driver and he didn't want it, nor did he want to make change for american money so he just sat there and yelled until i paid the guy's fare to be on with it already.
when i got back i was just about the grossest, stinkiest and dirtiest i had ever been and when i got back to the hotel there was, of course, no power and no hot or clean water. whenever you ask when the power will come back on they say "they are putting fuel in the generator" which actually means the guy who's going to go get the fuel is now slowly walking to his truck and will be making the 3 hour round trip drive to wherever they get the gas from. no one has ever, ever even imagined the thought of having extra fuel on hand at any time of the day. that would be preposterous! some people built a trench in the road to the hotel for some reason and never bothered to fill it in, so there's a 5 foot wide and 8 foot deep chasm in the road, which i have had to jump over to go to work. they finally figure out that the truck needs to find a way to go over this thing...so they have to put together a makeshift bridge, which of course breaks immediately. you see how it is.
so i bathed in a trickle of brown in the dark. that night for dinner, christian and i went to an indian place "the taj" that i had seen at the top of a building when i was downtown. i figured it would have a cool view. christian was very nervous at first because no one had heard of this place. we couldn't find the entrance until finally we saw a congolese guy asleep in a chair, he was wearing a torn-up old british empire doorman-like uniform. he took us to a really scary elevator. it was a relief (foodwide) to see an indian family join us, tho it was a little crammed. their little boy counted everyone inside, practicing his english: one...two...three...four...five...six...seven...eight...nine...ten...eleven! then he points to the 9th floor button next to which is written "maximum load 6 persons." hehe. we get to the top and we appear to be in someone's apartment - it's like when you go to see a psychic and there are kids and cats, running around. here, there were indians everywhere, cheesy decor, faceted mirrors on the wall. there was a teletubby video game in one room and finally we got to the terrace i had seen from below. it was shaped like a boat, with a mast, and had an awesome view of the city.
we have a seat near the edge and i go, hey, look, our hotel is over there, pointing to a neighborhood with trees and sparkling lights. christian says, are you sure? then the neighborhood goes completely black. oh, i'm sure.
we order from the incomprehensibly written menu. they call nan "canvas" and main dishes are "very major important entrees" and most of the descriptions are "try and tell!" they're out of everything but chicken (menus are pretty much useless anywhere here. you're better off just asking what they have). the congolese waiter corrects my indian pronunciation when i order, which is really weird. we get a bottle of cheap (quality, not price, it was more expensive than our meal) french wine and it tasted like it had been sitting in a windowsill for 12 years. the food was excellent, however.
the wine gave me a bit of a headache. one of the indian kids at the table next door started running all around the terrace and he had these shoes, where every time he made a step it made a squeaky toy noise, like something you'd give a dog. squeak! squeak! double-squeak! SQUEAK! we wanted to kill this child, and then the parents who put these shoes on his feet. i will apologize to everyone for the inappropriateness of the insults that were strewn in their general direction.
my assistant guys were supposed to call to take us clubbing but they didn't, proving they are just as flaky socially as professionally. but i wasn't too disappointed. then i wondered if i was too old for the nightclub scene....i didn't get to see any booty shaking on this trip, but you know what, everyone keeps telling me, i'll be back....
we walked down the major avenue du 30 juin, something i could have never done alone. i got my picture taken in front of a giant Kabila statue, the ultimate proof i was in kinshasa.
then we hailed a sortof cab: a beat-up toyota with loud gospel blaring and a furry dashboard and in the back, leather seats with red and black yin yangs. the 'express' taxis as they are called are one step above the minivans with 35 people crammed in. you share only with as many as there are seats. where you go is majority rules. so the guy who wants to make a big detour to pick up his girlfriend, well he gets yelled at by everyone in the car until he finally gets out. at one point there was a big traffic jam and everyone was yelling at the driver to go around, kinshasa style, on the sidewalk to get ahead 2, maybe 3 car lengths. these people got out and walked, and some more hopped in and then you have to argue your route all over again. thankfully double-guy was doing the arguing, i was sweating a river, my thigh stuck to some old lady. we got out near the port, where the boats come in from brazzaville. what a mess. for some reason, double-guy REALLY wanted me to see the port, "you cannot leave kinshasa until you see the port!" it's full of aggressive police, military, and people in wheelchairs (i found out they travel free from kinshasa to brazzaville because of their condition and thus play the role of exclusive smugglers). there were people screaming 'mondele!' and total utter madness. i am THE only white person here. every police officer starts asking me for my passport and i'm getting nervous. this is insane. we are essentially going into some intra-border zone and i really don't want to end up in jail or have to pay a huge bribe. double-guy is very persistent and finally we end up paying a few bucks to some border guy and we're inside this compound of chaos. there are buses nearly running me over, carts, trucks, dogs, maimed people, garbage. i saw the oldest, dirtiest, most digusting diesel train i have seen. people were all running around it, cheering, almost like they were pushing it. i'm actually sortof happy i'm getting to see this. people are yelling at me everywhere and all i hear is blah blah blah mondele blah blah. sometimes double-guy gets mad and yells back, sometimes he smirks and waves them off. when that happens i ask him to translate. he won't. he sortof giggles and says you don't want to know. i find out later it's something along the lines of "tonight, you better do her CONGO-style" or something terribly classy like that.
we go through some more border stuff where they're interrogating people, opening bags. there are a lot of guns. finally we see the river. the "hi-speed" boats that cross the river, i find out are these old patched up 12 foot whalers with 50 hp engines. the waves in the river are HUGE with crazy fast rapids and less than a mile away, another country. we talk to a border guy that double-guy knows and he tells me that when it's real windy, they have to stop traffic, but he's proud to say they haven't had an accident in several years! no kidding.
i'm sortof relieved to exit the port area and then we're buying fabric. we stop at one stand that double-guy knows and this immediately puts all the competing stands into this huge argument over who gets to sell me fabric. congolese people certainly can YELL. so they're all screaming and double-guy is all "take your time..." but taking my time hurts my eardrums. the fabric is set up in rolls and stacked like a log cabin. the fabric i want is always at the bottom of the stack, and so the woman has to unstack everything and then she unrolls each one and says, are you sure you don't want this one? showing me this 80s neon colored batik vomit. no...i want the peacock print at the bottom.
then it starts to rain. major rain. i'm up to my ankles in mud. why did i wear these flip flops? every flip sends mud up my nose. every flop, a streak of dirt up my back. we take refuge at the artisan market. here's where i want to do some xmas shopping...i'm soaking wet, thirsty, would love just a few minutes of silence.. madame! madame! over here! here! look at me! the insanity begins again. why is that the guys who sell huge statues of dudes with weirdly proportioned genitalia are always the most persistent and annoying? like i'm going to bring this 8 foot tall phallus home in my suitcase? or the 2 very pointy antlers on this large rack? or this 25 pound malakite egg? i see a leopard skin...and a baby leopard skin. $400 for the adult, half for the baby. the fur is really soft. there are still claws and eyelids. sigh.
i find the rug things i want to bring back and this takes over an hour of haggling. bargaining with congolians is just like driving with them. they are extremely strong headed - when they're on the road, it's "i want to go here and i'm going to go and you're not going to stop me." left turns are not for the weak - you just go, cutting off oncoming traffic (there are no traffic lights) and you must be strong and confident so that others will stop and let you through (they have to, they don't want to ruin their mercedes) otherwise you get stuck in the middle of all these different lanes and people have no respect for you. it's not uncommon to be going full speed, head-on towards someone else who is driving in the wrong lane to get around something. it's a game of chicken and eventually, someone HAS to give in. only one person needs to compromise, really. and so it's just like bargaining. and at the market, well, i was the one who was more often chicken. bargaining just isn't in my blood. double-guy had it down, pretending to walk away, calling them liars, trading one thing for another. but in the end, i really didn't care if i had to pay $12 instead of $11, i figure the seller could use that extra money more than me, but i guess it's a pride thing. they're also REALLY good at ripping you off. i wanted this one rug thing, but it was 15 feet long. do you have one shorter? so they cut it. they told me they were going to sew it, but they didn't, they just cut it all crooked with frayed edges and charged me the same price, saying i was paying to rent the scissors. or they would be all, oh, you're missing 500 francs, when you're not.
we found an old renault 4 to bring us back to the office, reminding me of traveling with my grandma. the seats had a broken recliner thing so if you leaned back you would fly backwards and be lying down and hit the knees of the person behind you and get yelled at. so you had to lean forward. it was very uncomfortable. there was more yelling because someone gave a really old smelly bill to the driver and he didn't want it, nor did he want to make change for american money so he just sat there and yelled until i paid the guy's fare to be on with it already.
when i got back i was just about the grossest, stinkiest and dirtiest i had ever been and when i got back to the hotel there was, of course, no power and no hot or clean water. whenever you ask when the power will come back on they say "they are putting fuel in the generator" which actually means the guy who's going to go get the fuel is now slowly walking to his truck and will be making the 3 hour round trip drive to wherever they get the gas from. no one has ever, ever even imagined the thought of having extra fuel on hand at any time of the day. that would be preposterous! some people built a trench in the road to the hotel for some reason and never bothered to fill it in, so there's a 5 foot wide and 8 foot deep chasm in the road, which i have had to jump over to go to work. they finally figure out that the truck needs to find a way to go over this thing...so they have to put together a makeshift bridge, which of course breaks immediately. you see how it is.
so i bathed in a trickle of brown in the dark. that night for dinner, christian and i went to an indian place "the taj" that i had seen at the top of a building when i was downtown. i figured it would have a cool view. christian was very nervous at first because no one had heard of this place. we couldn't find the entrance until finally we saw a congolese guy asleep in a chair, he was wearing a torn-up old british empire doorman-like uniform. he took us to a really scary elevator. it was a relief (foodwide) to see an indian family join us, tho it was a little crammed. their little boy counted everyone inside, practicing his english: one...two...three...four...five...six...seven...eight...nine...ten...eleven! then he points to the 9th floor button next to which is written "maximum load 6 persons." hehe. we get to the top and we appear to be in someone's apartment - it's like when you go to see a psychic and there are kids and cats, running around. here, there were indians everywhere, cheesy decor, faceted mirrors on the wall. there was a teletubby video game in one room and finally we got to the terrace i had seen from below. it was shaped like a boat, with a mast, and had an awesome view of the city.
we have a seat near the edge and i go, hey, look, our hotel is over there, pointing to a neighborhood with trees and sparkling lights. christian says, are you sure? then the neighborhood goes completely black. oh, i'm sure.
we order from the incomprehensibly written menu. they call nan "canvas" and main dishes are "very major important entrees" and most of the descriptions are "try and tell!" they're out of everything but chicken (menus are pretty much useless anywhere here. you're better off just asking what they have). the congolese waiter corrects my indian pronunciation when i order, which is really weird. we get a bottle of cheap (quality, not price, it was more expensive than our meal) french wine and it tasted like it had been sitting in a windowsill for 12 years. the food was excellent, however.
the wine gave me a bit of a headache. one of the indian kids at the table next door started running all around the terrace and he had these shoes, where every time he made a step it made a squeaky toy noise, like something you'd give a dog. squeak! squeak! double-squeak! SQUEAK! we wanted to kill this child, and then the parents who put these shoes on his feet. i will apologize to everyone for the inappropriateness of the insults that were strewn in their general direction.
my assistant guys were supposed to call to take us clubbing but they didn't, proving they are just as flaky socially as professionally. but i wasn't too disappointed. then i wondered if i was too old for the nightclub scene....i didn't get to see any booty shaking on this trip, but you know what, everyone keeps telling me, i'll be back....
sssssunday: ssssssnakes and bonobos! (warning, really really cute monkeys)
so i got a great night's sleep on saturday night, only to be awoken by alain at 7am, wanting to charge his phone. i had already told him the day before that i left my laptop at the office. he was sad. i was still very sleepy, and now pissed that i was awake so early. for some reason i thought an appropriate revenge was to tell alain to go knock on room 57, christian can help you. i fell back asleep for a few hours and then went to breakfast. christian was on the patio, chainsmoking, on his 5th cup of coffee. he was PISSED. "some asshole knocked on my door at 7am this morning!" i couldn't hold my laughter but he didn't find it funny, AT ALL. i hoped the bonobos would cheer him up.patrick and jackie from the office, christian and i set out in a land cruiser from the office for our sunday expedition. we picked double-guy up in a shady neighborhood. we passed a market that had a few butcher stands: 4 pig's heads on a wooden table, with a guy shooing flies away with a newspaper. we decide to see the snake place, since we're nearby. someone had the street number, but none of the houses were labeled and people on the street didn't even know there was such a thing as a house number. so we all counted together from the previous intersection, hoping there weren't any gaps. finally we get to an unmarked door, this can't be it...but a guy opens up and says "want to see some snakes??" it's frank, our friendly snake-guy.
we park in the driveway of a private home of someone who is obviosly a snake fanatic and runs a snake zoo in his front yard. we ask patrick to keep the doors to the truck open in case we need to run away from snakes. i'm making snakes on a plane jokes and we see our first cobra in the bottom of a pit. wow snakepits actually exist! frank lowers a hook on a long handle and these things go nuts. attacking the hook, spitting, biting, hissing. he tells us how to recognize them in wild, what to do if they bite, and shows up some cool scars. we're more interested in frank than the snakes.
he talks about feeding them and we're all wide-eyed so he says well, the snakes aren't supposed to eat until monday, but for you...and so he brings a small lab rat and throws it in. the poor rat is terrified. christian walks away, can't handle it. the rat gets bit a few times, make a squeaky noise and one of the other cobras nabs it, takes it to the water and drowns it. he then holds it up, the rat twitches a few times and then he puts the entire thing down his throat. SO COOL.
then we see 8 more species of cobra and we start to get bored of cobras so we check out the pythons. frank grabs 2 pythons with his hand and jackie runs away. he puts the head of the python in his mouth. this is more like a circus. then he puts the python around my neck. i freak out at first but then, it feels so neat and i don't want to let him go. this is greatest necklace i have ever had. i am loving this python.
we see about 50 more snakes, including one that curls up in a ball and you can throw it around ad play with it like a hacky sack. there are some crocodiles and frank angers them with a broom and they attack the broom. they are broomivores! then there are vipers, including the famous gabon viper that looks like a pile of leaves. then we see the lab which has a whole bunch of frozen and preserved snakes, and we check out the cages of all the rats and guinea pigs and chickens who will be eaten some day. this place is rad. best $10 i have ever spent. 
then, it's off to see bonobos, finally! we go through some amazing neighborhoods with people everywhere. there are hills and mountains and in the distance you can see kinshasa. they tell me THIS is still kinshasa. kinshasa is HUGE. we go through a little village with a really muddy road and little kids with shovels everywhere, digging in the mud. i'm all, aw, they're fixing up the road, how nice. no, patrick says. they actually make it worse, hope you get stuck and then make you pay to have them push you out. we switch into 4x4 and rev up and swerve and slime through it. there's mud everywhere. the kids ask for money saying anyway, to help them "maintain the roads." we see lots of mango trees and decide to buy some on the way home.
we get to the bonobo place and i'm saying i BETTER see some bonobos. we walk in the hot sun for a good long while and don't see any. i'm starting to lose hope when we hear these insane screams. there they are! patrick knows them all by name, he shouts, mankoto! takoto! and they all come out of the woods.
this is a sanctuary where they find live bonobos in markets and rehabilitate them and try to bring them back in the wild. most can't go though, because they're way too used to humans as we quickly see. so they all come to the fence and look super cute and so i go close to take a picture and that's when they lunge for me and try to steal my camera or grab my hair. then they go nuts. patrick is trying to hi-five them...at first they're all cute and go for it, but then they try to smack his face. i dropped my hair clip and almost lost it when one swiped for it. then this old female shows up and starts picking up dirt and throwing it at me. it's really annoying, we're yelling at them, hey! that's not cool! cut it out! but it only makes them do it more. the dirt sticks to my skin, is inside my shirt and it's very itchy. it sort of smells like poo.
we go a little further and see some more. these guys are way cooler - there are young ones fighting over a mango and being adorable. there are others lying on their backs touching their weewees the way little boys do. one of the males starts posing for me and making kissy faces.
so cute! patrick comes over to see and kissyface goes nuts, screaming, aggressive - he's totally jealous! the two that were fighting over the mango start humping and i try to get a video. the one who was into me was sad at first, but is now licking another one's butt. bonobos are awesome.now we're hungry and so we go to a little restaurant on the river bank. we dip our feet in the rapids, order grilled goat. this is a wonderful sunday. on the way home we stop at a market to get jackie some mangoes. this market is a bustling affair of crazy vegetables and fruit stands. i get out to stretch my legs and double-guy points to a lady with some furry things on her table. BATS!
only $1. i thought about buying one for christian to make amends...weinstead buy some crazy spiny green fruit i have never seen and drive on. fally is on the radio, we have the windows open. all the ladies are checking out patrick as he is driving this sweet truck with this sweet music and he's wearing his sweet usher-style glasses. ladies on the street are luvin it, blowing kisses, and we all make fun of patrick. there are endless bonobo conflict-solving and one-eyed snake jokes. my hands are sticky from this tasty weird fruit, and little kids are waving at me. as i said, greatest sunday ever.
ok, here's one more incredibly adorable bonobo picture:
we park in the driveway of a private home of someone who is obviosly a snake fanatic and runs a snake zoo in his front yard. we ask patrick to keep the doors to the truck open in case we need to run away from snakes. i'm making snakes on a plane jokes and we see our first cobra in the bottom of a pit. wow snakepits actually exist! frank lowers a hook on a long handle and these things go nuts. attacking the hook, spitting, biting, hissing. he tells us how to recognize them in wild, what to do if they bite, and shows up some cool scars. we're more interested in frank than the snakes.
he talks about feeding them and we're all wide-eyed so he says well, the snakes aren't supposed to eat until monday, but for you...and so he brings a small lab rat and throws it in. the poor rat is terrified. christian walks away, can't handle it. the rat gets bit a few times, make a squeaky noise and one of the other cobras nabs it, takes it to the water and drowns it. he then holds it up, the rat twitches a few times and then he puts the entire thing down his throat. SO COOL.
then we see 8 more species of cobra and we start to get bored of cobras so we check out the pythons. frank grabs 2 pythons with his hand and jackie runs away. he puts the head of the python in his mouth. this is more like a circus. then he puts the python around my neck. i freak out at first but then, it feels so neat and i don't want to let him go. this is greatest necklace i have ever had. i am loving this python.
we see about 50 more snakes, including one that curls up in a ball and you can throw it around ad play with it like a hacky sack. there are some crocodiles and frank angers them with a broom and they attack the broom. they are broomivores! then there are vipers, including the famous gabon viper that looks like a pile of leaves. then we see the lab which has a whole bunch of frozen and preserved snakes, and we check out the cages of all the rats and guinea pigs and chickens who will be eaten some day. this place is rad. best $10 i have ever spent. 
then, it's off to see bonobos, finally! we go through some amazing neighborhoods with people everywhere. there are hills and mountains and in the distance you can see kinshasa. they tell me THIS is still kinshasa. kinshasa is HUGE. we go through a little village with a really muddy road and little kids with shovels everywhere, digging in the mud. i'm all, aw, they're fixing up the road, how nice. no, patrick says. they actually make it worse, hope you get stuck and then make you pay to have them push you out. we switch into 4x4 and rev up and swerve and slime through it. there's mud everywhere. the kids ask for money saying anyway, to help them "maintain the roads." we see lots of mango trees and decide to buy some on the way home. we get to the bonobo place and i'm saying i BETTER see some bonobos. we walk in the hot sun for a good long while and don't see any. i'm starting to lose hope when we hear these insane screams. there they are! patrick knows them all by name, he shouts, mankoto! takoto! and they all come out of the woods.
this is a sanctuary where they find live bonobos in markets and rehabilitate them and try to bring them back in the wild. most can't go though, because they're way too used to humans as we quickly see. so they all come to the fence and look super cute and so i go close to take a picture and that's when they lunge for me and try to steal my camera or grab my hair. then they go nuts. patrick is trying to hi-five them...at first they're all cute and go for it, but then they try to smack his face. i dropped my hair clip and almost lost it when one swiped for it. then this old female shows up and starts picking up dirt and throwing it at me. it's really annoying, we're yelling at them, hey! that's not cool! cut it out! but it only makes them do it more. the dirt sticks to my skin, is inside my shirt and it's very itchy. it sort of smells like poo.we go a little further and see some more. these guys are way cooler - there are young ones fighting over a mango and being adorable. there are others lying on their backs touching their weewees the way little boys do. one of the males starts posing for me and making kissy faces.
so cute! patrick comes over to see and kissyface goes nuts, screaming, aggressive - he's totally jealous! the two that were fighting over the mango start humping and i try to get a video. the one who was into me was sad at first, but is now licking another one's butt. bonobos are awesome.now we're hungry and so we go to a little restaurant on the river bank. we dip our feet in the rapids, order grilled goat. this is a wonderful sunday. on the way home we stop at a market to get jackie some mangoes. this market is a bustling affair of crazy vegetables and fruit stands. i get out to stretch my legs and double-guy points to a lady with some furry things on her table. BATS!
only $1. i thought about buying one for christian to make amends...weinstead buy some crazy spiny green fruit i have never seen and drive on. fally is on the radio, we have the windows open. all the ladies are checking out patrick as he is driving this sweet truck with this sweet music and he's wearing his sweet usher-style glasses. ladies on the street are luvin it, blowing kisses, and we all make fun of patrick. there are endless bonobo conflict-solving and one-eyed snake jokes. my hands are sticky from this tasty weird fruit, and little kids are waving at me. as i said, greatest sunday ever.ok, here's one more incredibly adorable bonobo picture:
Saturday, December 8, 2007
why i'm here
so everyone has been asking what i'm doing here, workwise and i should probably tell you before you think this is just a big weird funny vacation. the government of DRC asked for my organization's help in determining biologically important areas for conservation, to help increase the amount of park area from 10 to 15% of the entire country, which is like adding the state of virginia. now, we all know DRC parks to begin with aren't that great, but the real issue here is that the congo basin is the largest remaining forest in africa, and only second to the amazon in the world. but this is the 'green heart' of the continent, if not the hemisphere, and also a carbon sink which is a potential money-maker, not to mention tourism opportunities etc....and this is all under tremendous threat. there are a whole slew of legal and illegal industrial logging concessions - countries like china are knocking on the door with a suitcase of a few billion dollars waiting for a piece of the pie (i guess indonesia wasn't enough for them). it's pretty rare for a war-torn, under-developed country like DRC to want to suddenly invest in conservation, but everyone is doing it. Republic of Congo has added some parks, CAF says they want to go to 12% and now DRC wants in on the game. The DRC recently re-did their forest code, which had previously been written by the Belgians, and Kabila has taken this opportunity to freeze all new concessions and re-evaluate existing ones while this prioritization is completed. The prioritization though, covers the whole country, which gives a chance to set aside some unique savanna, mangrove and freshwater areas for protection too. there is a lot of interest in this process from the french, belgians and international NGO's, which is another good thing.
i pretty much did the whole spatial analysis - determining the most suitable areas for conservation (remote areas away from towns, mines, dams) that are in unique terrestrial and freshwater habitats. this involved a program called MARXAN which helps evaluate many spatial layers to find what is most unique in terms of habitat, while optimizing the conservation value. (everyone kept asking me who MARXAN is. is he your boyfriend?)
So with the ICCN (Institut Congolais pour la Conservation de la Nature) we hosted a workshop in kinshasa that gathered biological experts as well as indigenous and community groups to determine where the priorities lie and how to include local people in this process. my maps served as a base for the experts to add their knowledge to delineate important places in and around the existing parks, and to provide spatial data where little is known (most of the country). after sessions of drawing and re-drawing on maps, the results were digitized by me and my team and a set of final maps were created showing areas defined as highest, high and medium priority areas connected by corridors, and each place was assessed according to their unique species, persistence, threat etc... i'm now polishing up these results and overlaying the existing concessions so we can now get the review and consultation process rolling, and ultimately determine which concessions need to be re-negotiated or moved. Bruce Babbit, on our board was very interested in this project and asked to join us, and he'll now be our ambassador to help the DRC government and others to pressure, negotiate with the concession owners (mostly french and belgian and african). this issue will also be presented to Nicholas Sarkozy when he visits, to work the french angle. so there's some political power on our side as well.
so that was the first part of the trip. i was asked to stay on for 2 additional weeks to assist one of the congo basin forest partnership (CBFP) landscapes do some conservation planning. these landscapes are 14 defined areas that get funding from USAID and work in collaboration with other organizations various conservation and community projects throughout the entire basin, including DRC, Gabon, Camerounm CAF and Congo - the bonobo village we visited was in one of the landscapes in western DRC. the folks in the landscape around the Salonga National Park (largest rainforest park in africa) want a similar planning analysis as i did for the whole country, but at a much smaller scale and more specific to the threats there. and the threat in Salonga, sadly, is bushmeat hunting.
just seeing that word is eerie. there are lots of people living in and around this park who depend on the forest for meat. there are no supermarkets, people! a lot of these are communities who don't farm or raise animals, it's just not their mojo, baby. so there's a lot of pressure on these forests and animals are disappearing and it eventually disrupts the forest (whose poop will spread seeds once all the ungulates are gone?). on the other side, there are mining and forest conecessions and when these areas are exploited, companies bring hundreds of more people (workers and their families) who ultimately rely on the forest. and then there are the military guys who get dropped off in the woods with kalishnakovs, never get paid, and just kill whatever they want. in the end, most see bushmeat as god's gift to the people, but it's quickly running out.
so i'm working on a different sort of analysis that tries to determine how much forest we need to support first and foremost the local people - this is making a big optimistic hope that we can address the military politically, and the mining and forest concessions by making the companies provide food, or hunting alternatives (livestock, agriculture) to their employees and their families. so we need a chunk of forest that will be strictly protected, to provide a source of animals, and designated hunting zones. but how much forest? the general rule i found from local studies is that 1 square kilometer will suppport 1 adult human's protein needs for a year.
next, we need the population of the people in the area...which is harder than getting data on bonobos. the last census was in 1984, but since then there was a population boom, a war...we're looking at election data - they had about 100% turnout in the first democratic election...but what about the children? what are the demographics?
i'm also trying to map hunting threat - people often use logging roads to go deep into the forest, or paddle or wade along rivers. how far can you paddle up a river in a day? or sludge through a swamp forest? i'm trying to map all of this. if we know where and how many people there are, we can figure out how they likely move in the landscape. and they likely go to where the animals are...
so we need some species data. i modeled elephant habitat based on where we found dung, and bonobos based on their nesting sites. so there's a general idea of where somethings are. finally, once we determine how much forest we need based on local population, we'll run MARXAN to determine the best place to protect forest - (this will be low threat, intact forest with high biodiversity). adjacent areas can then be hunting areas, like a buffer zone.
if there is not enough forest to support all these people, then there needs to be an alternative. and that will involve animal husbandry programs, perhaps some sort of agriculture, or hey, microfinance! so the last part will involve mapping areas suitable for these based on soil, access, away from intact forests etc...we can also determine how much agriculture is needed to support this many people, and identify accessible, non-essential forest or savanna lands suitable for planting manioc or something.
now, the past few days have been slow, we just got the base data and are still working on the population...this is a lot of work to finish in 4 days, with a bunch of slacker assistants! which is why i'm be putting in a full day on saturday. enjoy your weekends!
i pretty much did the whole spatial analysis - determining the most suitable areas for conservation (remote areas away from towns, mines, dams) that are in unique terrestrial and freshwater habitats. this involved a program called MARXAN which helps evaluate many spatial layers to find what is most unique in terms of habitat, while optimizing the conservation value. (everyone kept asking me who MARXAN is. is he your boyfriend?)
So with the ICCN (Institut Congolais pour la Conservation de la Nature) we hosted a workshop in kinshasa that gathered biological experts as well as indigenous and community groups to determine where the priorities lie and how to include local people in this process. my maps served as a base for the experts to add their knowledge to delineate important places in and around the existing parks, and to provide spatial data where little is known (most of the country). after sessions of drawing and re-drawing on maps, the results were digitized by me and my team and a set of final maps were created showing areas defined as highest, high and medium priority areas connected by corridors, and each place was assessed according to their unique species, persistence, threat etc... i'm now polishing up these results and overlaying the existing concessions so we can now get the review and consultation process rolling, and ultimately determine which concessions need to be re-negotiated or moved. Bruce Babbit, on our board was very interested in this project and asked to join us, and he'll now be our ambassador to help the DRC government and others to pressure, negotiate with the concession owners (mostly french and belgian and african). this issue will also be presented to Nicholas Sarkozy when he visits, to work the french angle. so there's some political power on our side as well.
so that was the first part of the trip. i was asked to stay on for 2 additional weeks to assist one of the congo basin forest partnership (CBFP) landscapes do some conservation planning. these landscapes are 14 defined areas that get funding from USAID and work in collaboration with other organizations various conservation and community projects throughout the entire basin, including DRC, Gabon, Camerounm CAF and Congo - the bonobo village we visited was in one of the landscapes in western DRC. the folks in the landscape around the Salonga National Park (largest rainforest park in africa) want a similar planning analysis as i did for the whole country, but at a much smaller scale and more specific to the threats there. and the threat in Salonga, sadly, is bushmeat hunting.
just seeing that word is eerie. there are lots of people living in and around this park who depend on the forest for meat. there are no supermarkets, people! a lot of these are communities who don't farm or raise animals, it's just not their mojo, baby. so there's a lot of pressure on these forests and animals are disappearing and it eventually disrupts the forest (whose poop will spread seeds once all the ungulates are gone?). on the other side, there are mining and forest conecessions and when these areas are exploited, companies bring hundreds of more people (workers and their families) who ultimately rely on the forest. and then there are the military guys who get dropped off in the woods with kalishnakovs, never get paid, and just kill whatever they want. in the end, most see bushmeat as god's gift to the people, but it's quickly running out.
so i'm working on a different sort of analysis that tries to determine how much forest we need to support first and foremost the local people - this is making a big optimistic hope that we can address the military politically, and the mining and forest concessions by making the companies provide food, or hunting alternatives (livestock, agriculture) to their employees and their families. so we need a chunk of forest that will be strictly protected, to provide a source of animals, and designated hunting zones. but how much forest? the general rule i found from local studies is that 1 square kilometer will suppport 1 adult human's protein needs for a year.
next, we need the population of the people in the area...which is harder than getting data on bonobos. the last census was in 1984, but since then there was a population boom, a war...we're looking at election data - they had about 100% turnout in the first democratic election...but what about the children? what are the demographics?
i'm also trying to map hunting threat - people often use logging roads to go deep into the forest, or paddle or wade along rivers. how far can you paddle up a river in a day? or sludge through a swamp forest? i'm trying to map all of this. if we know where and how many people there are, we can figure out how they likely move in the landscape. and they likely go to where the animals are...
so we need some species data. i modeled elephant habitat based on where we found dung, and bonobos based on their nesting sites. so there's a general idea of where somethings are. finally, once we determine how much forest we need based on local population, we'll run MARXAN to determine the best place to protect forest - (this will be low threat, intact forest with high biodiversity). adjacent areas can then be hunting areas, like a buffer zone.
if there is not enough forest to support all these people, then there needs to be an alternative. and that will involve animal husbandry programs, perhaps some sort of agriculture, or hey, microfinance! so the last part will involve mapping areas suitable for these based on soil, access, away from intact forests etc...we can also determine how much agriculture is needed to support this many people, and identify accessible, non-essential forest or savanna lands suitable for planting manioc or something.
now, the past few days have been slow, we just got the base data and are still working on the population...this is a lot of work to finish in 4 days, with a bunch of slacker assistants! which is why i'm be putting in a full day on saturday. enjoy your weekends!
Friday, December 7, 2007
when it rains, it's brown
it's been raining for the past two days. it's a total mud pit. my little hawk friends (i found out they are kites!) are all pathetic and wet with clumpy feathers. i don't know why they don't go under a table or something. when it rains there are people everywhere, all over the streets, sidewalks. you'd think that they'd all be taking shelter somewhere but it's quite the opposite. and that's because when it rains, public transportation, or what little there is of it totally shuts down. they have no windshield wipers, well, no windshields really, no mud-capable tires etc...so everyone is in the street, a whole mob trying to hitch a ride. one car will slow down and pick up some people but 35 of them will try to get in. i saw these guys punch each other in the face to get in an old subaru, and i was told that that still, it was relatively tame. often it's a ginormous angry mob.
this morning my shower was cold, but also brown. the water in the sink was brown as well. sediment i guess. at breakfast, i poured hot water into my cup of tea and wondered....how do i know that water isn't the same as shower water? i filled an empty cup with hot, brown, water. then i recalled the electric kettle in my room, and savvy UN guy who steals instant coffee, sugar and cups to brew his own in his room. i have bottled water in my fridge. i conceal a teacup under my shirt and head back to my room. my kettle is brand new, never been used! i fill it and go to plug it in. the plug does not fit into any of the sockets in my room. this is a very strange three socketed plug that i have to this day, never seen. i get out my trusty 9 continent adapter but it doesn't fit into any of those holes either. this kettle must be from mars. no wonder it's never been used.
so i head to work without any tea, a warm brown shower and sticky hair. i get a text message that a driver is coming to get me. my ride shows up and splashes my toes with mud. UN guy says, oh, i thought you guys were supposed to SAVE the environment as he is inhaling diesel fumes. this is going to be a good day...
at work, my assistants are missing as usual. they disappear for hours at a time and i never know where they hide. when they're here, they're always on the phone, or writing text messages. worse is when they answer the phone right in the middle of my sentence with a boisterous "Ami!! comment ca va!" they take long lunches and come back all sweaty.
double-guy comes by and says "hey, maman sharpie (my new nickname) jack wants to see you....in his office." jack doesn't have an office. i look awkwardly at the woman leading the project, with whom i share both an office and these cat-herding responsibilities. she's on top of things, and constantly asking for progress and i feel pressured to speed things up. double-guy leads me outside and i'm all where are we going? have you seen jean-paul? where is everyone? and we go across the road and down this dirty muddy alley full of trash - one of those side streets i see all the time but should never go down - we jump over a calvert and he slides open a rusty metal door and we're in a courtyard. there's jean-paul and more than half the office, including all the drivers whom we have been looking for, sitting in plastic chairs under a ratty old tarp, picking fish bones from their teeth with toothpicks amid a bunch of liter-sized beers. there are dogs and kids and chickens and this young girl spooning beans into a bowl. (oh my god, vegetables?!!!).
then, it starts to pour. jack isn't even here, not sure what i am doing here, but it's raining hard, we can't leave without getting soaked and then everyone will know we were outside the compound. 20 minutes go by. i'm almost finished with my second beer. we're making plans to see the bonobos "settle their conflicts" this weekend, arguing about which nightclub to take me to on friday. it's been almost an hour. i have a meeting in 5 minutes. i'm kind of drunk. it's still raining really hard.
jean-paul starts flirting with a girl next to us who just showed up with her driver. he's totally working it, it's amazing. he calls her "maman jolie..." finally he goes, "bottoms up guys! i got us a ride!" we all down a full glass as the woman's driver, who was just about to dig into his foufou takes out his keys. we run to his car, an oxfam-quebec land rover. a minibus crammed with about 80 people in it nearly hits me, guy-guy grabs me out of the way in a knick of time. i had been standing still, staring at it because it was a beat-up french minibus with "tourisme aveyron" and a french phone number written on it. i was shaking my fist and saying maudits aveyronnais!! i didn't pay for my beer and had nothing to tip our friendly driver as i didn't even have my wallet. then again, we were only across the street. but now i know why my assistants all bear the sarcastic nickname which you say when rolling your eyes "les merveilles."
36-15 code BABY!
tonight is ladies' night - a bunch of gals from the office going out for pizza. i know where we WON'T be going...
christian had his first day at work at the UN on monday. he came back and found me and gilles at our usual rendez vous spot near the pool. he wasn't as happy and smiley as usual. he collapses into his chair "this place is impossible." he had a 2 hour UN security briefing where they tell you all the bad stuff that happens to ex-pats here - the bricks through your car window, armed robbery, police impersonation and passport theft, basically all the stuff you need to know about to never want to leave your house. there's a curfew, i found out, for whiteys. oops. gilles meanwhile turns real pale. so glad to be leaving this place, he says. he hasn't been getting much sleep as the waitresses are still finding reasons to knock on his door late at night...christian ups his spirit by telling us about a nepalese guy he'll be working with. the guy had never left katmandu until he had been assigned to DRC. "just imagine a nepalese guy, here in kinshasa! imagine what a punch in the face it was for him to land here!"
it had sortof taken the wind out of our sails for going out on gilles' last night but i said come on guys, people DO go out here. we'll get a nice reliable taxi from the hotel, it'll be fun! i saw this place the other day downtown with a patio and lots of ex-pats and locals, music, police presence, we'll be fine. so we go the receptionist to call a taxi - the hotel cell phone is out of minutes (maybe she should stop chatting with her boyfriend all the time?), so we use my phone. as soon as i hang up this beat-up carolla wagon comes barreling down the driveway. with a sunroof, yea! we negotiate an almost non-whitey price with the driver and as soon as we get in he cranks up the music, starts chatting and drives about a million miles an hour, soaring through potholes. gilles head is being pounded into the roof. we pass a car with no windows, no doors, no bumpers and completely rusted out. unbelievably, the blinker still works - one little lonely lightbulb that lights sporadically to let us know of its intentions.
the taxi driver's name is "bah-bee" (baby?). his car REEKS of gasoline. i pray that christian, sitting up front does not light up another cigarette. gilles is securing his money belt for the third time. we get let out in front of the "36-15" the place i had recommended. we make jokes about the old mini-tel, france's first internet. tapez le 36-15 code BABY! baby is real cool, he lets us pay later. a hummer drives up to the patio, all pimping out and checking out the scene. then some hip guys dressed like wannabe LA rappers roll up in a convertible peugot, music blaring. they pretend not to notice as the hard top goes down and folds into the trunk. what's up with this place?
we walk up to a table, gilles is already feeling better. this place is real nice. pizza looks good. you see? nothing to worry about. look at everyone, all the locals and foreigners, getting along. and then we scan the place and something is odd...there's only old white guys, and all the locals are these sexed up skinny congolese ladies with fake flowing wigs. the women are sitting on the men's laps and massaging their necks, and there's a group of wealthy lebanese sheik-like guys, and one has three ladies in his lap - hey wait a minute! prostitutes?!
christian finds this hilarious, gilles is back to being terrified. don't worry gilles, christian says, they won't come bother us, not with this cougar over here, pointing to me, making the requisite rrrreow (only instead of cougar, it's 'panther' in french). now that i'm 30 i guess that makes me a cougar, nice. but he's right. our waitress is friendly, the brick oven pizza is tasty (it has to be good, because if any lebanese mafioso guys got sick this place would be erased) and we have our own little conversation, and never get drawn into what is happening around us. except when the 3 guys from doctors without borders staying at our hotel leave with a little harem.
we treat ourselves to grand marnier for a digestif. i have been forbidden to drink vitell-o anymore - it's this super sweet fruit punch soda that likely has crack cocaine in it, makes me very hyper. i'm told crazy weird stuff comes babbling out of my mouth, christian and gilles like me better on water, beer or hard alcohol if possible. christian and i start placing bets on when gilles camerounian airlines flight will actually leave for libreville. i'll pay for lunch tomorrow if his flight is put off until evening. christian says it could be days. gilles is silent, angry because all day people have been predicting the worst and all he wants is to be back home with his family. so we make him promise to buy dinner if we find him back at the hotel the next night. ask anyone here, they have a horror story about CamAir. christian says he once had a four DAY delay in yaounde. basically, they fly when they feel like it, africa-style. we laugh at how the last time gilles called to confirm his flight was 2 days ago. 2 days? you need to call now (i'm sure there's a 24 hour receptionist!) i ask our waitress, ever flown camair? "i once got stuck in Kigali for christmas AND new years because of those imbeciles! I am relieved to hear they finally went bankrupt last year." poor gilles. he didn't join us for breakfast or dinner the next day, but i bet that's because the chauffeur left him off at the airport instead of waiting until the plane took off. and moses was off-duty. well, good thing there are dudes who sell peanuts in the parking lot.
christian had his first day at work at the UN on monday. he came back and found me and gilles at our usual rendez vous spot near the pool. he wasn't as happy and smiley as usual. he collapses into his chair "this place is impossible." he had a 2 hour UN security briefing where they tell you all the bad stuff that happens to ex-pats here - the bricks through your car window, armed robbery, police impersonation and passport theft, basically all the stuff you need to know about to never want to leave your house. there's a curfew, i found out, for whiteys. oops. gilles meanwhile turns real pale. so glad to be leaving this place, he says. he hasn't been getting much sleep as the waitresses are still finding reasons to knock on his door late at night...christian ups his spirit by telling us about a nepalese guy he'll be working with. the guy had never left katmandu until he had been assigned to DRC. "just imagine a nepalese guy, here in kinshasa! imagine what a punch in the face it was for him to land here!"
it had sortof taken the wind out of our sails for going out on gilles' last night but i said come on guys, people DO go out here. we'll get a nice reliable taxi from the hotel, it'll be fun! i saw this place the other day downtown with a patio and lots of ex-pats and locals, music, police presence, we'll be fine. so we go the receptionist to call a taxi - the hotel cell phone is out of minutes (maybe she should stop chatting with her boyfriend all the time?), so we use my phone. as soon as i hang up this beat-up carolla wagon comes barreling down the driveway. with a sunroof, yea! we negotiate an almost non-whitey price with the driver and as soon as we get in he cranks up the music, starts chatting and drives about a million miles an hour, soaring through potholes. gilles head is being pounded into the roof. we pass a car with no windows, no doors, no bumpers and completely rusted out. unbelievably, the blinker still works - one little lonely lightbulb that lights sporadically to let us know of its intentions.
the taxi driver's name is "bah-bee" (baby?). his car REEKS of gasoline. i pray that christian, sitting up front does not light up another cigarette. gilles is securing his money belt for the third time. we get let out in front of the "36-15" the place i had recommended. we make jokes about the old mini-tel, france's first internet. tapez le 36-15 code BABY! baby is real cool, he lets us pay later. a hummer drives up to the patio, all pimping out and checking out the scene. then some hip guys dressed like wannabe LA rappers roll up in a convertible peugot, music blaring. they pretend not to notice as the hard top goes down and folds into the trunk. what's up with this place?
we walk up to a table, gilles is already feeling better. this place is real nice. pizza looks good. you see? nothing to worry about. look at everyone, all the locals and foreigners, getting along. and then we scan the place and something is odd...there's only old white guys, and all the locals are these sexed up skinny congolese ladies with fake flowing wigs. the women are sitting on the men's laps and massaging their necks, and there's a group of wealthy lebanese sheik-like guys, and one has three ladies in his lap - hey wait a minute! prostitutes?!
christian finds this hilarious, gilles is back to being terrified. don't worry gilles, christian says, they won't come bother us, not with this cougar over here, pointing to me, making the requisite rrrreow (only instead of cougar, it's 'panther' in french). now that i'm 30 i guess that makes me a cougar, nice. but he's right. our waitress is friendly, the brick oven pizza is tasty (it has to be good, because if any lebanese mafioso guys got sick this place would be erased) and we have our own little conversation, and never get drawn into what is happening around us. except when the 3 guys from doctors without borders staying at our hotel leave with a little harem.
we treat ourselves to grand marnier for a digestif. i have been forbidden to drink vitell-o anymore - it's this super sweet fruit punch soda that likely has crack cocaine in it, makes me very hyper. i'm told crazy weird stuff comes babbling out of my mouth, christian and gilles like me better on water, beer or hard alcohol if possible. christian and i start placing bets on when gilles camerounian airlines flight will actually leave for libreville. i'll pay for lunch tomorrow if his flight is put off until evening. christian says it could be days. gilles is silent, angry because all day people have been predicting the worst and all he wants is to be back home with his family. so we make him promise to buy dinner if we find him back at the hotel the next night. ask anyone here, they have a horror story about CamAir. christian says he once had a four DAY delay in yaounde. basically, they fly when they feel like it, africa-style. we laugh at how the last time gilles called to confirm his flight was 2 days ago. 2 days? you need to call now (i'm sure there's a 24 hour receptionist!) i ask our waitress, ever flown camair? "i once got stuck in Kigali for christmas AND new years because of those imbeciles! I am relieved to hear they finally went bankrupt last year." poor gilles. he didn't join us for breakfast or dinner the next day, but i bet that's because the chauffeur left him off at the airport instead of waiting until the plane took off. and moses was off-duty. well, good thing there are dudes who sell peanuts in the parking lot.
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
quiz time! test your DRC money knowledge!
do you have what it takes to pay the bills in kinshasa?
think you can outsmart savvy street vendor?
find out now!
below is a picture of some money. the bills on the left are congolian francs (3 50 franc bills) and on the right, a new edition US $20. try to guess which one is more valuable. don't bother looking it up, $1 is 500 CF.
well you are wrong, it's the currency on the left, the 20 is useless. why? because dollar bills here must be PERFECT. sure, they'll give you a used 5er in change, but to accept a bill it has to be clean and new enough to wipe your ass with. AND have a series number newer than 2002, you old dollar bill carryers.
i took out money from the bank before i left and have some crispy 50s, but one of them has a microscopic tear in the upper left. i tried to buy a CD: no good. one of my $100 has a deep wrinkle and fold on the edge, and they wouldn't take it for my fancy dinner. seriously!
on the other hand, congolian francs as you can clearly see look like they've spent 50 years at the bottom of the river. they stink like dirty socks! they're covered in nassty. you can't tell what the number is in the top left. they've been taped, retaped, sometimes two different bills taped together, half upside down. or maybe missing almost a third. gilles the extremely germ-wary - more than an american soccer mom with her disenfectant wipes - says "don't touch it! wash your hands! you could get tetanus from that!"
i had thought i had read somewhere that in DRC, dollars are actually preferred to local currency, but still they only want bills in denominations of 20 or more. everything pretty much costs less than $5 so i feel like a total tool paying with a Ben Franklin for a $1 dollar sprite -but they love it. and then they give me back the small change that they don't like, so at the end of the day you end up with huge wads of useless singles. when you're lucky you'll get congolian francs and since there are no denominations larger than 500 ($1) everything requires a huge wad. no wonder why all the guys selling stuff in the streets have knuckles of cash!
people who live here talk about paying rent with a pillow case stuffed with money. the cashier at my hotel gave me a black paper rag that resembled 200 francs that was just about to rip in half. i said, are you sure this is still good? flapping the little hanging chad. she says "when it rips, bring it back and i will staple it."
think you can outsmart savvy street vendor?
find out now!
below is a picture of some money. the bills on the left are congolian francs (3 50 franc bills) and on the right, a new edition US $20. try to guess which one is more valuable. don't bother looking it up, $1 is 500 CF.
well you are wrong, it's the currency on the left, the 20 is useless. why? because dollar bills here must be PERFECT. sure, they'll give you a used 5er in change, but to accept a bill it has to be clean and new enough to wipe your ass with. AND have a series number newer than 2002, you old dollar bill carryers.i took out money from the bank before i left and have some crispy 50s, but one of them has a microscopic tear in the upper left. i tried to buy a CD: no good. one of my $100 has a deep wrinkle and fold on the edge, and they wouldn't take it for my fancy dinner. seriously!
on the other hand, congolian francs as you can clearly see look like they've spent 50 years at the bottom of the river. they stink like dirty socks! they're covered in nassty. you can't tell what the number is in the top left. they've been taped, retaped, sometimes two different bills taped together, half upside down. or maybe missing almost a third. gilles the extremely germ-wary - more than an american soccer mom with her disenfectant wipes - says "don't touch it! wash your hands! you could get tetanus from that!"
i had thought i had read somewhere that in DRC, dollars are actually preferred to local currency, but still they only want bills in denominations of 20 or more. everything pretty much costs less than $5 so i feel like a total tool paying with a Ben Franklin for a $1 dollar sprite -but they love it. and then they give me back the small change that they don't like, so at the end of the day you end up with huge wads of useless singles. when you're lucky you'll get congolian francs and since there are no denominations larger than 500 ($1) everything requires a huge wad. no wonder why all the guys selling stuff in the streets have knuckles of cash!
people who live here talk about paying rent with a pillow case stuffed with money. the cashier at my hotel gave me a black paper rag that resembled 200 francs that was just about to rip in half. i said, are you sure this is still good? flapping the little hanging chad. she says "when it rips, bring it back and i will staple it."
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