The Things That Happen

We refer to them as 'moments'. Or rather, we would say, 'it was one of those moments'.They're a culmination of things, where one factor builds on top of another, and the situation just becomes so ridiculous, or random, or hilarious, that you pull into yourself briefly and you try to appreciate that moment for what it is, because you swear that never again will you experience a moment that is so damn ridiculous, and random, and hilarious. Of course, it is not lost on me that these moments very much rely on place, time and context. They're the kind of things that after being told (or heard) are most likely followed by the phrase, 'I guess you had to be there...'. And while these stories are usually the most embarassing (or at least awkward) for the storyteller, I'm going to go ahead with it. Enough of an introduction; these are a few of 'those moments' I've had in Moussoro.

About 8:00 pm I hear three claps at the curtain of my hangar. The hour is significant here because 8:00 pm is the unofficial time where it becomes 'late' in Chad. During our training the female volunteers were specifically told to think of this as 'the hour of love'. If a guy came to their door for a 'visit' after 8 it probably meant he was looking for a little more than talk of the day's heat or a cup of tea. Abdraman at my door was just kind of weird. It was 'late', I was in bed reading, I certainly wasn't in 'visitor mode' (where you try to stretch the dozen or so words you know in Arabic into a conversation of any substance), but what can I do...Salaam alekum! Faddal! (What's up?! Come on in!) Abdraman is a well known chauffeur, or taxi driver, who makes the 7-hour ride to N'Djamena in his Toyota pick-up three times a week. He's a good guy to know; he's also the best friend of my host father, Ali.

So he pops his head into my house and asks if I want to join Ali and him on a visit up to the chateau de l'eau. Roughly translated into 'castle of water', the chateau de l'eau is an enormous silver water tower that sits up high on a plateau overlooking Moussoro. At the time I couldn't imagine what the hell we were going to be doing at the water tower, but I know enough that if something is 'happening' around here, you go with it. So I locked up, jumped in the back of the pick-up, and we're heading up the hill.

Next thing, we're entering the gates that surround the water tower and we're walking up to a big room that is directly below the looming structure. It's weird to be walking into this room that feels as though it's part of this oversized thing. It creates the effect to make me feel as though I've shrunk (or the world has enlarged) and I'm going to visit James upon his peach, or the old lady inside her giant shoe... Anyway, I enter the room, which is large, lined with bright pink fabric wallpaper, illuminated by fluorescent white light, and dominated by a satellite television that blares from the corner. The room is empty of all furniture, but there are pillows scattered along the walls. A pillow and 'prime spot' are offered to me, and I take my place among the 7 or 8 men in the room.

The room and connecting house belong to the man who is in charge of water and electricity in Moussoro. Exactly what his job entails, I have no idea. He too is a good friend of Ali's so we are welcomed and made comfortable. First thing is to make sure the programming is to our liking. Because I'm there somebody starts looking for something, anything, in English. They quickly come to 'Pretty Woman' in English with Arabic subtitles. Then a kid comes in with a tray of cold goat's meat. The meat is cut off the bone and I am told to 'akul' (eat). As I'm finishing, the same kid returns with a tray laden with glasses and a frothy white pitcher. Ali asks me if I drink camel's milk...I respond that I never have...he pours me a tall glass, and as I'm raising it to my lips and I can smell it a little sour and smoky; that is the moment: I'm in a bright pink room, underneath a giant water tower, with a group of Chadian men, watching Pretty Woman, full of goat's meat, about to drink a tall glass of camel's milk, and damn is it late.


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It"s about 5:00 pm and I'm sitting on a plush, shiny black leather couch. It's without a doubt the most comfortable thing I've sat on in Moussoro, and thank god for that because I've been sitting on it for the last 6 hours. It's the kind of couch that makes you think to yourself, 'Well, I'm not in Moussoro anymore', and in a way I'm not. There are very few things in the Prefet's living room that can be bought locally in the Moussoro market. The wall to wall rug, the glass coffee tables, the tea dispenser, the entertainment system...like the Prefet himself, all of these things were sent by the Chadian government in N'Djamena to be 'installed' in Moussoro. The Prefet is the highest ranking official for a long ways, and his gated, barbwired, guarded house is as much of a mansion as exists around these parts.

So it's strange in the first place to be sitting in this room, drinking sodas, Guinness (the first drop of alcohol I've tasted in Moussoro), and tea out of a dispenser, enjoying the consistent breeze from an overhead fan, watching 'Euronews' (which I've memorized by this time becuase it runs on a loop, repeating itself every 30 minutes or so for the past 6 hours) and making small talk with a group of Chadian men. But this is not just any old 'group', this is a 'who's who' of Moussoro if it ever existed. The company has built as the day went on. Michael (my sitemate since early January), Ali, and I arrived to find the Prefet, secretary general, and police commissioner. As we sat and drank, the room collected: the mayor, the Sous-Prefet, the chief doctor and some intimidating military type. The reason we were all there and sitting around waiting was because 'en principe' (or 'supposedly') representatives from the American Embassy were coming into town. It was quickly becoming apparent that we were waiting in vain, and that we better start and finish this party on our own.

So an entire sheep, roasted and intact (much like the sheep pictured at Thanksgiving) is brought out to the dining room table and all chairs are pulled out of the way. The VIP list of 'who's who' (now including two nasaras) all gather round, and as the Prefet reaches in to rip a hunk off the sheep's flank, I look over to Michael and that's the moment: After almost 7 hours, we're gathered around a polished wooden dining room table, with pretty much the top 5 or 6 of Moussoro's all-important bureaucracy, and we're about to reach in (with our rights) to feast on roasted sheep, prepared solely in honor of 'the Americans'; who are now us.
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Jump forward two weeks, and do it all again, except this time the American Embassy rep and his small crew have arrived; and they come bearing gifts. One of the things the embassy does in this country (and in most countries, I guess) is public relations. They try to make it so that America is understood, or should I say 'liked'. Arguably (and this is certainly up for debate) the best way to do this is to give away all kinds of cool stuff.* Cool stuff like really nice wall calendars of Yosemite that were handed to different officials and Moussoro community members. Cool stuff like French-English dictionaries and other books that can be used at the schools. Cool stuff like a brand new 17-inch flat screen G5 iMac and laser printer to be used at Moussoro's (now) state-of-the-art radio station.

Giving this thing away was a pretty big deal (as far as I'm aware this is the only computer in Moussoro) and I've learned that Chadians are not likely to pass up the opportunity for a formal ceremony. As is fitting, the presentation and initial set-up and 'training' on the computer were to be at and on the radio. The whole thing was the embassy guy's deal, but seeing as he's an ex-peace corp volunteer himself (and seeing as Michael and I are the only other two Americans for over 100 miles) he did a great job of including us. He made sure we were there on the 'big day' and he suggested that we could offer ongoing support if anybody had questions about their new toy. (We now go up to the radio station two times a week to teach the guys different things they can do on the imac...it's a lot of fun),

After our Embassy friend said a few words on live air, and the Prefet said a few words...and the President of the Parent's Association said a few words...and the DJ said a few words...we were ready to get the thing juiced up.

We all crowded into the radio's 'technical room' where the computer was to be installed. This computer looks about as out of place among the rest of the station's equipment as I do among the crowd eagerly awaiting the oncoming show. From the moment the little power button began to glow a room full of eyes began to glow along with it (including my own...this computer is really cool). The first steps you must take are to register your new piece of equipment. En principe, this information is stored somewhere, I assume relying on internet capabilites, but in reality I really don't think any information you enter is of any consequence; tell that to a roomful of first-time computer owners who have to decide on one 'official' telephone number to enter as the computer's. After a lengthy discussion that settled on the Secretary General's cell number, we were ready to move on. After moving through several more 'ridiculously important' registration screens we got to the point where we (or 'they') had to decide on the computer's password. This began a whole new heated debate. The first suggestion was 'gazelle', but this was quickly countered by 'chameau' (camel) and as these weighty words were passed back and forth I smiled and closed my eyes briefly; I was crowded into the 'live' room of Moussoro's one radio station, which was currently on the air, staring at their first ever computer, a brand new G5 iMac, while about 6 men passionately (and quite seriously) discussed whether the computer's password should be 'gazelle' or 'camel'.**

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These are the types of moments I have here in Chad....maybe you just really need to be there....

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*To be fair to the American Embassy here in Chad, who have been amazingly kind and supportive to us volunteers, I feel that I should explain a little more about what they do besides promoting America as the land of abundant wealth and materialism. On this particular visit, the embassy man met with all kinds of officials and community members (including politicians, the grand imam teachers, and the president of the cultural center) to express 'America's' interest and support in the community's affairs. He also facilitated screenings of 'Hotel Rwanda', 'Malcolm X' and a movie about women's rights in Africa, which were very well received (or at least well attended). A couple of weeks later, people still talk about the nice Embassy people, so they are definitely doing something right.

**The nature of passwords being what they are, I really don't think I can post their final decision. But I will say it's neither gazelle nor camel.