It was during my first month in Chad. I was stuck in N'Djam�na, trying to get a long term visa without knowing French, without knowing which offices to go to, without knowing whose signatures and stamps to get (and in which order!), and especially without knowing my way around.....
.....For almost two weeks I have just waited. A pastor and his wife have taken me into their home, assuming that it would only be a few days before I can go out to B�r� hospital and finally start learning the languages and to work. But my tourist visa only lasts for one month. A government official has promised to help me, but then an important journey came up and he had to leave.
Concerning the language, I do wonder what in the world I was thinking (or rather, not thinking) in going to a place by myself, where I don't know the languages or anybody. But in His mercy, God has come to my rescue: The pastor and his wife are from Brazil and speak Portuguese. Not that I do, but it somewhat reminds me of Spanish that I learned a bit of while 6 months in Peru, two years earlier. So they speak Portuguese to me, and I answer in Spanish. And dread the day I will end up in B�r�, with only French, Arabic and the local dialect to choose from.
Each day I go with the pastor's wife to the school where she is teaching. I sit 5 hours in the nearby church and read and go back home with her afterwards. I go to bed early, and am woken up every morning at 4 am by the minaret nearby loudly praising Allah and inviting to Morning Prayer. I find it hard to want to praise anybody, brutally being wakened up like that at the only time of day when it's actually cool enough to get some rest!
At last the government official is back. He has something for me to do while still waiting for the visa: there's a clinic near the main market and the big mosque. There is a dentist, and I can go help him pull teeth. The first day the pastor's wife shows me which minivan to squeeze into, and where to get off. She explains to me how to get back, too. So instead of going with her in the mornings, I now go to the clinic. I bring my dictionary and spend most of the time trying to learn more French.
The dentist has a cup that the patients sip from in between his twisting and pulling their teeth. Blood runs off its sides, along with saliva and rotten stumps of teeth. I hardly believe my own eyes when the first patient is done and another quickly takes his place in the chair. And sips from the same cup, not noticing it's only half full (since it has not been changed out or even emptied or cleaned after the first patient.) I am so perplexed and lacking words (of course), I mostly just feel like pointing to the bloody, slimy cup and screaming!!
The dentist likes to talk. Especially about the terrible situation his country is in, with both tuberculosis and AIDS all over. While he talks, I come up with something to say. Somehow I get the words together and ask: "What would happen, if a patient with, for example, AIDS or tuberculosis comes in here, drinks from the cup and bleeds on it, and then right after that someone else comes in and drinks from the bloody cup again?" He answers right away that it would not be good. Next day he has bought a couple of new cups that once in a while get dipped in a bucket with soap water.
The government official arrives at the clinic to tell me he needs two pass port photos from me, and then the visa can be issued. Thrilled, I ask the dentist where to get photos taken. He explains which minivan to get on, and when I see a certain shop on my right hand, then to ask to be dropped off. I go to the big public bus stop, near the main mosque. I get in, and as usual we have to wait to go till the bus is full. Because of the heat, the side door is still open, and I sit right next to it to get most possible of a possible breeze. Someone has opened the back door to load stuff, when suddenly the driver jumps in behind the wheel and takes off! While pressing the horn and pushing the speeder he gets everyone to jump to the side and other vehicles to leave him space on the road. The back door is still open, and I hold on to the frame of the car to not fall out the open side door! "Geez", I think," that's so rare to see anyone here in a hurry!" I want to close the door, but the driver does not slow down over the uneven and bumpy road, so I can't let go of my grip. I get a feeling he's not just in a hurry. I look back and see a jeep filled with armed military in the back, trying hard to catch up with us!
Turning to the front window, I see how the driver takes a narrow street to the left. I'm sure the chase will soon be over, because the street is packed with people selling their vegetables, chickens or other goods at both sides of the street, and I can't believe the driver will run over someone on purpose. Well, he doesn't, but people have to jump for their lives! Women with heavy baskets on their heads throw everything to jump to security; others push people in front of them to not get run over. The driver turns another corner without looking to his sides, speeds up, and tries another little ally. I try to figure out how to fold my arms around my head, so when we do drive into another vehicle I won't break my neck! But we are all bouncing around inside the car and have to hold on to whatever is closest.
Finally the driver ends up in a big area with other minibuses, and before the bus has come to stop he's out and running towards a market set up of several tents. Everybody else gets out of the minibus as fast as possible and are soon scattered. I guess this ride was for free! But I find myself in this unknown market, surrounded by Arabic speaking businessmen and heavily veiled women that all look down and hurry in whatever direction they are headed. I look around. I don't even know the name of the place I was going, just to get off when I see a certain shop on the right. I have lost all sense of direction, and nobody understands anything I say. Not that I actually try to get the attention of the Arab men, who, in my experience, could easily misunderstand my "interest" in them.
I have looked around for a while. I see people get into smaller taxies, and I recognize a lady who was also in the minibus. I get in the same taxi. I don't even ask where we are going. After all, how can this turn out to be a greater adventure than the previous?
Sarah
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