Tuesday 22nd September 2015

The alarm went off at 6:15am. Not that early perhaps, yet I still felt very tired. In any case, I was quick to get ready, packed, and out the door of the Catholic welcoming center I was staying in during my training week in Paris. And it is then that I realized or rather wished this were not my first such mission. 6 months long and humanitarian. Not knowing with exactitude neither how nor what to pack made it difficult to abide by the simplistic pack-light approach I grew so fond off during my last backpacking adventure. So yes, I was carrying three large backpacks. I can already see Angelina as well as Sebastian making shocking faces because of how much I packed.  Ha! I’d like to see them in the same situation.

Anyhow, it is only once I managed to haul myself all the way through long Parisian metro connections and sat down in the RER heading to Charles De Gaulle airport that I realized what I had gotten myself into. And I got the similar feeling I always get when the first meditation audio recordings at each Vipassana course I go to starts. For a brief moment I caught myself thinking: “shit! What the hell did I get myself into!? Why!?”…indeed…not working was such a treat and I was getting quite used to it after such a long time. But hey, I signed up for it, and so I sucked it in, and my face smiled a little, the smile resulting from a mix of excitement and anxiety. Strangely enough, the fact that the country of Central African Republic is a war zone and that most workers would consider being posted there as a sanction rather than a treat is not what preoccupied me the most, not at all actually. It was rather the fact that I was to go there on my own to take over a failed project and revamp it with not a single expat behind me locally to guide me through and back me up. This is the very first time I am taking on such challenge. And that is most probably why I have been so darn nervous this whole past week. Nervous like rarely I had been before. It is so strange how despite having taken the craziest challenges each and every time I made a career change in the past; I am still not fully used to it. I really hope it is not something I am addicted to as I sincerely intend to settle down very soon. But hey, this is normal I suppose, since I am daring to make the change and transition, at last, towards the career path that will fulfill me.

During the entire plane ride, which was quite short, only 6.5 hours, I was glued to the digital screen watching movies.  Probably one of the reasons I love flying so much…the abundance of movies and the opportunity to catch up on many I haven’t seen yet.

When we started to descend towards Bangui, the landscape, aside from being lush green, got quite interesting…and helped me get a broad idea of some of the ravages the rebels had done back in 2013. Indeed, I could see numerous remains of what used to be roofed, windowed and doored houses…now only left with the cement walls, and trees and grass growing inside, as if the structures were actually some sort of small walled gardens. And it is then that I understood and realized where I was about to land, and the degree to which this country was a risky place.

When the plane touched ground, I could see loads of random people walking around the bushed on the side of the tarmac, as if it were just a grassed sidewalk. When the door of the plane opened and I walked outside I got slurped by the hot and humid air just like I were walking into a steam bath. Welcome to the tropics!

The airport terminal was no more than 30 meters deep by 30 meters wide. It took me almost 2 hours to cross it and get out. Waiting in line to go through all the filters they have when you land gave me a good sense of what to expect when working here with the locals. I tried to remember that I had already managed to successfully work in Morocco a while back, but my gut was telling me that working in Morocco was piece of cake compared to what I am about to face for the next 6 month. But the thought of the challenge made me smile.

Luckily I got out with all my three bags. I guess Air France economy performs much better in terms of baggage delivery when flying to the pit of the world than American Airline business class on a direct flight flying to two major western cities. Good for me!

Sister Flora and her big brother were outside waiting for me, hoping that I would come out before the major rain and sand storm that was slowly turning the sky threating black would arrive. And I did.

Isabelle in Paris had warned me that central Africans, though very kind, tend to be very individualistic. The drive was very quiet. I could tell that Sister Flora had not really prepared anything at all to help make my arrival and integration smooth and enjoyable. Let’s see how my mission goes before making a firm statement on this.

On the way to the Catholic Mission welcoming center where I am to stay for my first month here and until I find a place to rent, we went through a neighborhood which I totally loved because it was so lively, agitated, colorful, and filled with little streets and stands I would have loved to explore. But Sister Flora said it was the headquarters of the rebels. Ah, ok, I see…well perhaps I will try to hold my curiosity a bit then.

Then we went through the first unique two way roundabout in the world. There was construction work being done, yet they did not manage to find any alternative than to turn a regular one way roundabout into a two way one. Go wonder.

We passed several official buildings. Ministries, hospitals, universities…yet each and every time these buildings were either so old or run down (and not because they had been ravished by the conflict) that they made you wonder whether they were real or part of a zombie movie set. I am dying to find a way to take photos of these places…if only it were legally allowed here!

They dropped me off to my housing, wished me good evening and took off. Just like a taxi driver would have done. 

Dinner is at 7pm. I am absolutely dead tired. The anxiety of the week. The constant errands in Paris. The heat and humidity. I am tired. I get to my room, unpack a tiny bit, and take a long shower. Lol at first when walking into the bathroom, I see a large plastic bucket with a small bucket inside. I think to myself “yay! Just like in Indonesia!”. This little thought making me travel back a while back to such incredibly happy times made me smile and cheer up a bit.

Out of curiosity I try to see if by luck my French SIM card will allow me to send a text message to my parents. It does. Yay! But then it wont allow me to send any other message at all to anyone else. Oh well, at least my mom is now re-assured.  

Dinner is quite interesting…fascinating actually. We are only 6…6 expats Rwanda, Holland, Togo, Italy, and one more I could not figure out. But the caliber of these people, having worked in the worst places on earth for great NGOs, and knowing just about everything about the geopolitical situation of every African country, is just incredible. I barely said a word during the while dinner. Ha! The only comment I made was when one of them mentioned that they would not mind spending a few days in Casablanca. Hell no. Casa has nothing to offer. But quickly I realized that perhaps, compared to what this country has to offer, with all the war restrictions and all, Casablanca might actually feel like a haven. Gosh! I already miss the couscous and tajines of Morocco. Patience…only 6 months to go.

Remi suggested I meditate twice a day during my mission to evacuate all the frustration and stress. Tonight I am way too tired to do this. It is not even 9 pm and I am already hitting the sac.

Nzonilakwi as they say here in Sango. Goodnight…may the mosquitoes not bite…Eastern African malaria is supposed to be way worse than West African malaria, and also potentially lethal.