Leaving

     September 2011 is now here and we are back in school mode working at our little school with the big heart: American International School of Conakry(AISC), here in Guinea. Am I glad to be back? I do not have the same enthusiasm as I did last year. I do not vibrate at the newness of everything like I used to last year. I do not get frustrated with everything that does not work. I know my reality now. There is a sense of acceptance of my life as it is, here in Guinea, Africa. Am I glad to be back? I am glad to be working at the school and want to complete the projects that I had started last year. I and we did commit to a 2 year contract and we will honour that, but I am finding living in Conakry more challenging than last year and I do look forward to a more comfortable lifestyle and a new place to live in the world.

     On September 14, Raymond and I announced to the school staff that we would not renew our contract and that we will leave in June 2012. We explained that we love the school, staff and parent community but living in Conakry is very challenging. All the teachers were sitting around the table in the staff room and not a word was spoken. Even if I was at peace with our decision, I could feel the sadness and tension in the room. I wanted to jump out of my skin! Some teachers were crying and most were staring at the table, eyes downcast. I had feared that there would be a big reaction from the staff but not this big. This was a solemn moment. Africans, I have come to observe tend to be more contemplative than we North Americans. We process information, crises and difficult situations by talking and talking more. Africans are more quiet. They let news of any kind sink inside of them; they honour silence and are comfortable in a room full of people that are silent. So at our announcement, they were processing the news they had just heard, in silence. One teacher looked straight at me and said “you” pointing at me. I shrugged my shoulders, bit my lip and tried a half-smile as I squirmed in my chair. She was telling me that she did not like our decision. Since last year, she had been telling me that we needed to stay at least another two years, that the school was doing so well with the two of us here, that the school needed the continuity, that the staff admired the positive atmosphere and noted the upward momentum since our arrival. I had not given her any sign whether we were leaving or staying.

     After the initial shock, Raymond got up and we both walked outside. Three teachers came to chat with us, still in disbelief. “Is it something we did?” one asked bravely. We immediately answered no! What followed was an open, frank discussion of the many factors that we took into consideration as we were deliberating to add on another year or to leave. The school is a wonderful community. Living in Conakry is the challenge. Too bad the school is not located somewhere else in the world or even in another country in Africa. That discussion on the steps of the school opened the communication doors wide. I’ve noticed that since then my colleagues are more transparent; they are sharing their thoughts more and that is good. Last year, I often wondered what they were thinking and feeling and perhaps now our relationship will change. We were real, frank and transparent as we announced our difficult decision of leaving and they sensed our openness and truth. No one begged us to stay. They knew.

     Nevertheless, this was indeed one life moment I will never forget. If we would have been wavering in our decision, we could have easily been swayed to stay because the group reaction was so strong. We are appreciated and we both feel fulfilled at our school. June 15 2012 will be a very sad time when we say our final good-bye. But, I also know that I will carry in my heart our little school forever and the people that I have grown to love also. That I know for sure.

Awa

I can’t help but be in a reflective mood this week. We have made it through our first year, our first year in Africa. “Rejoice for this accomplishment”, a little voice says inside of me. It really is an accomplishment! To have been uprooted from our abundant Canadian lifestyle and parachuted in Conakry, one of the top 10 failed nation states and have survived it is a major achievement.

School’s out and with it comes an immense sense of relief. As I look back at my year in Conakry I am grateful for all the life lessons learned:

1) The first of these lessons was to experience life in its simplicity. I can live with very few material possessions. I don’t need a bunch of stuff to be happy. I can do without many things. I can live very well with my beautiful, white bare walls in my simple apartment on the sixth floor in Conakry.

2) The second life lesson was to evaluate the way I live my every day life: is a life of high-speed- internet style really that fulfilling? I’ve learned that Africa-slow-down-and-smell-the-roses style has many benefits. The first benefit is a richer, more interesting life and a life with less stress. I am learning from my Guinean brothers that relationships are foremost important. Everything stems from the relationships you have with people. In order to establish relationships, you need to take TIME to connect with people. This means talking to the tailor for 30 minutes before asking him to sew up a new outfit. It also means asking Myriam, the girl at the fruit stand how her life is going, how school is going for her before purchasing the fresh produce she is selling and it means checking in with the clerk at the store on her family and her kids. It all takes time, but it is very important time.

3) Being vs Doing. I have struggled with these two concepts most of my life. My father used to say Avoir et Etre, the two most common verbs in the French language, but they determine how you choose to live your life. He is SO right. I threw myself in a whirlwind activism as I arrived at a new school, new job of teaching Middle School and new place to live in the world. I worked and worked and worked. On the weekends, everything stopped. There was NOTHING TO DO, really nothing to do. This is when the Being started to make its way in my consciousness. It is ok to just Be I would tell myself. So used to moving about and DOING stuff, I struggled with this for most of the year, but I have learned to tame the notion of being comfortable with Being.

It was a very challenging year, an intense experience of dealing with culture shock, poverty, a national election, riots in the streets and living with a curfew and trying to find my place in this place that at times shook me to my core and s-t-r-e-t-c-h-e-d me as a human being. I questioned my values and beliefs and struggled to find an answer to what’s missing in my life (see earlier blog).

In my other overseas experiences I took language courses so I could communicate with the local population. Here I never did. There are so many dialects spoken that it is mind boggling, so I chose none. However there was one word that I kept hearing over and over. The word was “awa”. My curiosity got the best of me and one day I asked ”What does it mean?”. I learned that awa means yes. So now after a year in Africa, I can say awa; it is true that I lived a very enriching, challenging year. Awa it was an intense year, emotionally, physically and intellectually. Awa to the many beautiful people I met at my little school with the big heart. Awa to all the relationships I made with the people in my neighbourhood.

I learned. I grew. I learned more. I grew more. Now after this time of reflection I say awa to another year.

7:20AM

Monday morning June 6, 7:20AM and I just got to school. My head is prioritizing. What to do first? Well, first things first. Photocopies for my first class at 8:30. That was easy. I walk over to the computer lab and greet my Malian fellow colleague Issa. He always brightens my day. He has such a positive outlook on life and is goodness incarnated, compassion on two feet really, caring and generosity all rolled into one great human being. So after our usual small talk of the weekend’s ventures, I start to make copies…..Vram ! The photocopier gets stuck. Issa immediately rises from his chair and comes to help me. We work out the few kinks from the antiquated photocopier and start again. First, second and third try…..and I give up. The machine jams every time. Issa reminds me in his usual practical philosophy that the machine is tired, after all it is over 10 years old. “Just like human beings” he says, “elle a de l’age.” « I’ll go see Ruth, » I hurriedly tell him and walk over to the office copier. Same thing with the same results. Aggggghhhhh ! By now, I am sweating and my stress level has gone up a few notches. Two machines to make copies at our school and they both are on the blink. For those who are not teachers, photocopiers are our life line. So many lessons are planned around having handouts for students so NOT photocopying is not an option!

I walk over to my classroom, unlock the door and as I walk in, the heat hits me in a huge wave. I flick the switch for the air conditioner and hot air pushes out…..OH NO! I say out loud ! Not again…the AC does not work ! I walk back to the office at a quick pace and now sweat runs down my back. Nothing works this morning….AGGGHH ! I get to the office and tell Ruth in a frazzled voice that the air conditioner in my classroom which by the way was not working either on Friday, is still not working now Monday morning. I glare at her….isn’t she supposed to get things fixed. Ruth stammers: « I called the guy on Friday but he never called back she says. I’ll call him now….yes please I said ! It’s urgent…you are dealing with someone who has serious hot flashes…And a soon to be room full of complaining, smelly teens.

Running around like this at such an early time in the morning over stimulates my bladder so I head off to the bathroom. The toilet does not flush….aghhhhh ! I open the tap to wash my hands and no water comes out….I wait a few seconds and brown water sputters out……yuck I say ! Finally clear water barely trickles out, but there is no soap. I rinse my hands. There is no paper towel to dry my hands. Agghhhhhh !

I look at Raymond and fire comes out of my eyes…. « Nothing works this morning » I practically scream…..AGGGGGHHHHH! It is 8am and I am not ready for my class. We start with morning assembly; announcements and then we walk over to our classrooms. I have to get to my classroom door before my dear Middle School students, otherwise the day starts chaotically. They are usually as high as kites on Monday mornings….excited to see each other after a weekend deprived of each other’s company. I head off at a quick pace, ahead of my teenage tribe, but Raymond stops me. I look up and see him with a mother and two kids. The oldest looks like a possible student for my class. I walk over and in my usual cheery voice say « Bonjour! « They are from Cote d’Ivoire so I know that French is their first language. I imagine that they are visiting the school and want to inquire for the August start up of school. NO!! To my surprise the young girl is coming in today to visit and will stay till the end of the school year….she speaks no English at all! Aghhhhhh…what will I do with a new student when there are 10 school days left. I walk with her over to my overheated classroom with the already hyper students who have been screaming and laughing, because of course I have been delayed. She has no desk, speaks no English is evidently uncomfortable, completely lost in this sea of noisy, overzealous teenagers.

I try to make her feel comfortable and speak to her in French. I ask my students to introduce themselves and I introduce the young girl. I find a chair for her to sit on. My students are now even more excited to have a new student in class and are showing off by being even more boisterous. « But its too hot to stay in the classroom, » they complain. « I know, tell me about it » I said…trying to keep calm. I wait for everyone to calm down and look at me. « Looks like things are not working well this morning. I want you all to find your inner Zen, your inner peace right now. Think about the day you want to have, will it be positive or negative? You all have the choice to decide which one it will be…will your actions will be positive or negative? » As I hear myself say those words, I am finding my inner peace, SOMEWHAT. I can’t believe what I have been through since this morning and I haven’t even been at school for one hour yet. I’m exhausted! And yes there are only 6 school days left….whew! My students file out of the room with me as we seek out to find the nearest air-conditioned room. Comfort at last…. we decide to go to the Library. The air conditioner is humming as we walk in and the cool air is refreshing; it becomes immediately a wonderful oasis…..even with the smell of rotten mice and mold in there …..Sigh! This is my little school in Africa…..and I’m not used to the dysfunctionnality after a year. Will I ever be? I wonder.

The day ends on a more positive note. Once I arrive home, I walk over to the supermarket. I buy $70 worth of food items. The polite man at the cashier says that he will help me bring my bags home and I accept his offer as it is a 5-minute walk. We chat along the way and exchange ideas about the lack of expatriates which makes for a poorer Guinea. “They do bring in a lot for the economy, “he says, in a matter of fact yet sad undertone in his voice. Then he explains that his salary is 200,000 GF a month…I am speechless. I repeat 200,000 GF a month to him as if I did not understand; “how can you make ends meet,” I say? This is $30 a month and he needs to feed himself and his family of four. He says that it is difficult, « mais c’est comme ca. » Guineans are eternal optimists. I thank him as he leaves me at my door and I add an extra amount of money in his hand. I have nothing to worry about, don’t I? I have no right to complain about my life..….

Happy 30th Anniversary!

In between

Mothers' Day morning and I realize that I am grateful to be a mother. Grateful because of who I have become thanks to having children. I certainly remember when my Nadine was born. I never knew that I could have feelings of love so deep in me that they would rock me to my very core. Having a child did that to me. Then there was Patrick, a son to complete our family. Again my love just grew even more…what, I thought to myself, I can have room for two in my heart? Yes and then love grew stronger.  I understood why when I was a kid and asked my Mom : who do you love best, is it me ? I love all of 7 of you equally. She would always give the same answer, to me and to my siblings. Now I understand why when you bring children in the world, you bring love to your world and there is no end to that.

The next thought that came to me was that it surely would be nice to go have Mother’s Day brunch at Ricky’s Restaurant in Coquitlam Mall. Raymond and I found this little, unassuming diner last year and the food is terrific! What I would give to be there right now, I sighed. There is nowhere in Conakry where we can eat a nice breakfast, you know the cheese omelets-toast- hash browns-sausages and bacon kind of breakfast. Sigh again ! So I decided to stop the self-pity and whining and whip up a cheese omelet while Raymond was washing dishes (he is the live dishwasher). It was the best alternative to brunch at Rickys’ and actually was a pretty nice way to start my Sunday.

Conakry is in between seasons right now. The hot dry season with the harmattan cycle has been interspersed with a few downpours. Yes! We have had 3 rainstorms in the last 2 weeks…beautiful, heaven sent rain! Rain cleans the air and leaves it with that fresh ozone smell and the dust settles, the trees are greener and the clouds disperse to show the blue sky again. Rain is really a magic ingredient in Mother Earth’s bosom. The mango trees are abundant with fruit, and so much that it looks like the branches will snap at any moment. Gorgeous, red, yellow, orange fruit rich with flavour, drop from the trees in our school yard. Merchants stack small pyramids of mangoes along the roads and the fruits look like little soldiers lined up in their sunshine-colored coats. People here call these first rains the mango rains and understandably so.

I am also in between in my work place since my teaching assignment is to teach Middle School. That is a tough place to be for me. These kids have so much energy that if I could bottle their energy, I would become an instant millionaire. The peaks in  teen hormones are visible when I hear the giggling spasms from around the building, the incessant chatter and the running from one place to another. The boys’ feet are bigger than the rest of their bodies and their clumsiness knocks over anything or anyone that happens to be in the way. Should I mention body odor too? Whew!! My middle age body tires by noon and the hot flashes increase as my patience decreases. Menopausal woman teaching Middle School:  how intense can that be!

I am at the in between stage of my life and realize that I do not have the motivation, patience and energy I had when I was a sweet, young thing of a teacher. Gone are the days when I would sign up for night courses in order to learn how to use my new sewing toy, a serger.  That was after a full day of teaching, doing homework with my kids, do the supper then bed routine and then race off to East Vancouver, an hour’s drive away! Was I crazy? No, I was young and energetic!

Living in Guinee now for 9 months, Raymond and I have met many interesting expats. We have met people working for big oil companies and embassies, who have drivers, a huge villa with cooks, gardeners and guards, generous expense accounts, bonus vacations and a generous hardship post salary. On the other hand we have met modern day missionaries, single women and families who have come to Guinee sponsored by churches back in the US or Canada.  They live with little or no electricity or air condition, at times, no running water, no refrigerators and live as simply as they can. One has a solar panel system that runs her small fridge and she loves the way it works. We admire them.

On the other hand, we have a modest apartment with handed down furniture and bare walls.  We have electricity 24/7 (albeit several outages every evening…), running water, a balcony and a spacious dwelling. It is comfortable and modest. I would not be able to live like my Guinean neighbours in shanty dwellings and yet my conscience would bother me if I lived in luxury. We have found a middle ground that suits us. We both love our shower and our coffee in the morning and would not be happy campers without a few basics, so our lifestyle here is in between rich and poor.

I phoned maman in Winnipeg on Mother’s Day and woke her up. The call woke up my papa also and he had to immediately get up, take his shower and get dressed. He is at this stage of his illness where he perseverates on certain routines, has to do what he needs to do and then he can settle somewhat and becomes calmer. Maman and I talk about everything and nothing. I complain about my tough life in Africa, how difficult it is, though as I write this I don’t know exactly what is difficult.  Then my attention turns to her as she whispers that papa is in the shower. We can talk, really talk now that he is not within earshot. I listen while she tells me just a few things about her life and relates her daily life living with my father. I tell her that she is brave, heroic and strong. I admire her faith, acceptance and deep inner strength. She says: “He’s finished his shower now. I’ll have to go. He needs me now.” After we say good-bye, my mom’s presence is still with me. My mom’s acceptance of her life stays with me. If she can accept her present situation then I certainly can accept my life here.  Even if my life in Guinee is tough and I dearly miss my Canadian lifestyle, my life is easy compared to the challenging life my maman has. My maman has accepted her situation and her life is much more difficult than mine. I CHOSE to come and live in Africa. I made the decision a year ago to come to Conakry, Guinee, West Africa.  She did not choose to live with a husband with Alzheimers.

 

 

Black inside

 

Thursday afternoon, 2pm. It is the end of the week and the school day stretches on for another hour. The AC in my classroom is not belting out its usual cold air and it is HOT, really hot, 44oC hot. Here, in Conakry the humidity factor adds to the heat. The AC is my life line right now. There is no other way to exist here, to work with young teenagers, teaching those long hours, end of the day, end of the year….April seems to stretch forever. June is too far away.

 I need to find my own energy to motivate my students at this time of the day and this time of the year. Fortunately, we are studying Africa in our social studies program and the kids are very motivated, interested and positive. Each time one of them reads about one of the students country of origin, their eyes light up and they soon babble endlessly about traditions, foods they enjoyed or activities they did.  The motivation  is high as the subject of   Africa is pertinent to all of them.   We are sitting around the rectangular table at the back of the class all of us wedged together, these seven 12 year olds  and myself. We,ve been sitting around this table as we have since last August, sometimes goofiness sets in and we digress from the subject at hand. At other times,  there have been heavy silences as one shared the loss of mom’s unborn babies. Then there was the lesson where they all wanted to share the terror of experiencing the coup d’etat of September 28 2009. I  had let them talk, knowing from a counselor’s point of view that they needed to speak about their personal experience of fear.

I glance at the clock and notice there are only 5 minutes left, not enough time to start another chapter, not enough time to answer written questions so I decide to just sit and continue talking. Teenagers LOOOOOVE to just talk and hang out. I tell them about our Yaakaar project in Senegal, how we visited local schools, helped at orphanages and how I also have a village. “What do you mean you have a village…you slept in a hut?” Fredrein asks ”it can’t be your village if you don’t sleep there!” I explain that I did not sleep in the hut but I did spend two full days with the women of the village of Ndoundoch. I explained that spending time with the women has more meaning to me than anything else right now.

I don’t know exactly how we got on to what happened next, but I heard myself saying “Sometimes I wish I was black ….” I continued…”I think that I would fit in more. I would understand Africans more……”. My voice trailed.  Then out of nowhere, Lebo, my 13 year old rebel, fashion queen spoke. “Mme Mulaire, you can be black inside.” I said nothing, just looking at her quiet demeanour, noticing her sincere tone,  and serious dark eyes. I let her words sink in. My students left for their PE class and I stayed behind, contemplating those words….”you can be black inside” she had said. Wisdom from a teenagers heart. Wisdom to touch my heart today.

 

 

 

Butterfingers

It is Thursday afternoon and Raymond and I are being driven to the US Embassy. I am looking for  a film about  the history of baseball and how black people were excluded from playing professional baseball in the 1950’s. This past week, I’ve been reading this short story with my students and wanted to bring this story more to life by showing the movie. I just found out that there is a small video store at the US Embassy and that the DVD: The Shutout might be there.  So I am ‘on a mission’ to find a movie to help my students understand the implications of racism and the evolution of blacks in America…..a challenging concept for 11-12 year olds to grasp, hence the reason for a showing a movie.

After the thorough screening at the entrance of the embassy, Raymond and I found the video store tucked away in a corner.  Shelves full of videos were  well organized and typical American junk food was sitting right there at eye level. Red Twizzlers licorice was staring at me….I could not believe it! Here I was in a video store with chocolate bars and Nacho chips! The attendant showed us the US memorabilia for sale, thinking that we would be impressed with the coffee cups and pennants printed  with gold US EMBASSY  lettering. My disinterest was obvious as I kept poring over the shelves for the much  needed video. It was not there. So my attention turned to the candy bars. I turned to Raymond and to the attendant and asked: “Can we buy some of these? “ “Of course you may,” the attendant replied politely, “and let me show you other items that we have in the refrigerator and freezer.”  My mouth gaped …what freezer and which refrigerator?

The attendant opened the freezer door and to our surprise there was cheddar cheese and 12 grain bread! “We’ll buy those,” I said so quickly that I surprised myself, as if this was a dream and I would be awakened and disappointed. We paid for the cheese, bread, Twizzlers and a Butterfingers candy bar. I just had to have good old American junk food. I was floating as we walked out of the Embassy, holding tightly to my new found treasures. I was keeping my wealth close to me, not wanting anyone to see what I was carrying in case it may vanish. I felt selfish not wanting to share any of my new found valuables, with anyone but Raymond.  While I was paying the attendant, Raymond went to get the school mail which arrives on a regular basis  here at the Embassy Mail Room.

We stepped outside and here we were back in Guinee, in the real world, in the heat of the mid-afternoon sun and the dust and hazy sky of the harmattan season.* Bivan, our driver was waiting for us beside the school car, as always, reliable and calm. As I sank in the back seat of the car, I dwelled on this sensation of  glee that had overtaken me. Why was I acting like a kid in a candy store? I suppose it was because I WAS a kid in a candy store. For the last 20 minutes, I felt back home, back in the familiar of my life, back in a video store with the junk food temptations.

As the car moved  on, I took the first bite of my Butterfingers candy bar and the chocolate and crispy peanut butter awoke my taste buds. Wow this is sooooo good! I was in a reverie and experiencing sheer delight! I felt like I was in my own world, reveling  in my new found wealth, the chocolate melting in my mouth. People who know me, know that I am a chocoholic. Over the years, I have developed a taste for very good chocolate, Lindt chocolate being my favorite. Today’s Butterfingers candy bar was not about enjoying gourmet chocolate. It was about getting a taste of back home. 

I had just found here in Guinee, of all places, 12 grain bread, cheddar cheese and a Butterfingers candy bar…..and then I saw her. She was standing in the roundabout, hailing down a taxi. She was dressed in black from head to toe, her face was completely covered: a Muslim woman. We rarely see them here in Conakry. Flashbacks from my life in Saudi Arabia  popped in my mind at that very moment. I wonder if she knows freedom I thought to myself. Does she know what freedom is? I wonder if she  has ever had the ecstatic feeling of eating a candy bar by herself and for herself? What if I was to trade lives with her? I slid lower in the seat and continued biting into my candy bar. The thoughts  of this woman’s lack of freedom were haunting me as I saw 3 young children running on the side of the busy road,  a stick and a plastic bag in hand, laughing and screaming as they saw the plastic bag inflate like a kite. The innocence of children I thought. Would these Guinean children ever know real kites, kites with rainbow colors, designs and funky shapes that climb ever so high in the wide open skies? Probably not. Would they ever experience the freedom that I grew up with? ? Does the average Guinean dream of freedom? Is freedom different for people in poor countries, what we call, being politically correct, developing countries….and what is it that they are developing anyway?

Are we more developed because we have candy bars and video stores on every street corner? In our North American world of overabundance, we know that everything we need and anything we want, we can get. We have experienced abundance to the point where we have not realized that our abundance has developed into overabundance. Does this overabundance give us freedom?  I folded my half-eaten candy bar into my purse.  My cheap chocolate craving  was over.  Freedom, I conclude is an inner state of being, wherever one lives in the world. It is our inner state that decides how free we really are.

*Harmattan is to Guinee as the chinooks are to the Albertans. Chinooks are a warm air current that melts the winter snow and turns a region into a spring day while harmattan is a warm wind from the Sahara desert that carries with it dust and creates hazy skies in Guinee.