My Chadian Social Life (Part 2): On verra…

To me being flexible has always meant the willingness to change plans with changing circumstances… that is to say, even flexible people have plans to start with. This year, however, I’m discovering a whole new dimension to what it means to be flexible which often involves a good deal of going with the flow. This December, my ability to live in the moment has been ultimately put to the test. From weddings to Christmas gatherings, ‘on verra’ or ‘we’ll see’ has been the hallmark phrase of each celebration.

Take for example, the wedding of my friend Clémence earlier this month. As it turned out, the wedding was the scheduled for the last day of a large workshop on conflict transformation that Ethics Peace and Justice was running in the south of Chad (about a 8 hour journey from N’Djamena). This was a problem. I had already told Clémence that I would attend her ceremony and she had even asked me to wear a matching dress with many of her other friends and family… and yet, would I make it to the ceremony? On verra… with permission to leave the workshop early, I caught the early morning bus to N’Djamena the day of the ceremony. If everything went normalement (according to plan), I’d arrive in the city at 1:30pm for a 2pm wedding. I of course had no plan for how I would get to the ceremony; it was way too early to think about those details… Despite potholes and animals running between our wheels, herds of cattle and a few traditional ‘bathroom’ stops, we arrived precisely and remarkably on time in N’Djamena. Similar luck proceeded to guide each step of my speedy transition from traveller to wedding-goer until I found myself standing in front of Church 6, dressed in my freshly tailored Chadian outfit, only about 20 minutes late, and one of the first guests to arrive…

And because I was one of the first to arrive, I had no idea where my friends and colleagues were, nor did I know where amongst the groups of matching outfits might be an appropriate place for me to sit... apparently my colour hadn’t arrived yet. I managed to find a young usher (who looked like she’d much rather be enjoying the ceremony with her friends than showing older guests to their seats). Without a word and assuming I must be a very special guest, she showed me to some chairs that were set up at the very front of the church and on a bit of an angle to the rest. I had a sneaking suspicion I was in the wrong place, but a bit helpless to make a better choice. As the rest of the angled chairs filled up with middle-aged, important-looking men, I grew increasingly certain of the awkwardness of my situation. Eventually my friends showed up, clearly a little surprised to find me seated with the pastors and elders. By this time the church was full of dancing guests and the choir (backed up with a small keyboard, solo guitar and drum kit) was in full swing behind me. There was no room to move so I stayed where I was. I gave up on fitting in a long time ago, so I just sat back and enjoyed the music!

The wedding ceremony itself took several hours and was full of song and dance, and of course a long sermon. Since all of the legal marriage rituals are done in a separate ceremony in the morning, this is a strictly community-focused event. A friend of the couple presented a comedic monologue and various groups of family and friends gifted the couple with a prepared song (accompanied by a traditional stringed drum). Many of the traditions were surprisingly similar to how weddings are done back home – the vows, the rings, the cake, and even the attire of the bride and groom were not at all unlike what I’ve seen at my friends weddings in Canada. When it comes to presenting the gifts, however, there was no mistaking the distinctly Chadian flavour of this wedding. After a brief announcement the music began again and people began dancing up the isles, all manner of household items held high above their heads. People cheered and clapped and danced their gifts up to the front to create a large pile in front of the couple. This more or less marked the end of the ceremony, but the dancing continued; we were offered plates of sweets and eventually filtered out into the night.

All through events like this, if people are worried about how things will turn out they certainly don’t show it. From an outsiders perspective the ‘Chadian way’ can easily be seen as simply putting off planning as long as possible, or occasionally altogether. Or it might be seen as a lack of foresight or organization. In practice, however, I’ve found it to be more of a preference that often just makes sense given the context in which we are living. Instead of a schedule where each task is allotted a certain time, tasks are prioritized and generally carried out in that order regardless of how long they take to accomplish. In this context, leaving plans ambiguous is actually an extremely practical way of ‘organizing’ one’s day, accounting for all the likely yet unforeseeable happenings of day to day life.

At the end of the day, acceptance for the unexpected is the prominent attitude, and I’ve found that the more comfortable I become with this way of scheduling, the easier it becomes to settle into the flow of Chadian life. Even as I write this, it is 5:30pm on New Year’s Eve and I still don’t know how I will celebrate. I might drop in on my host family’s church where people will be singing and dancing until dawn tomorrow. I might be invited to attend a formal new year’s party with my host dad and many of his colleagues. I might spend the evening with some expat friends (who have clearly picked up the Chadian tendency of last minute planning), or I might have a quiet night in with my host mom and sister… What is certain is that 2014 is going to begin in the company of good friends, looking back on a full and fruitful year, thinking of loved ones around the world, and looking forward to certain and unpredictable adventures in the year ahead… On verra. 

My Chadian Social Life (Part 1): Are You Married Yet…?

Amusingly, the marriage question seems to come from all directions in my life, whether my grandma is kindly reminding me that I could bring a special someone to our reunions anytime I like, or here in Chad where complete strangers are known to propose on the spot hoping for free immigration status. In general the topic of marriage is inevitable when getting to know Chadians and they always seem a little surprised to find out that a young women such as myself is both unattached and unafraid of the future. While it may be perfectly normal for a young Canadian women to be traveling or focusing on education, finding a husband is of paramount social importance for Chadian women and all the single ladies are watching the clock to make sure they don’t get too close to 25 without securing a dowry. This time of year, with the rains long gone and the heat subdued, there’s plenty of events going on. So even while I play the role of long-distance maid-of-honour for my best friend in Canada, I’m taking note of how things are done Chadian style.

And do Chadians ever have style! Last Friday my friend Charlee came into work with her hands and feet covered in beautiful henna art. She was going to have a part in her cousin’s dowry celebration the next day and invited me to come along. We arrived early in the morning to find that dozens of friends and relatives had already begun filling the small courtyard of the bride’s home. There was a DJ and a sound system playing upbeat African and International favourites, and chairs were being lined up for some sort of ceremony. As I took in the scene, Charlee took me by the hand and led me to a separate room just off the courtyard where the bride was seated on a pile of floor pillows. This is where she enjoys the party, surrounded by aunts, sisters, cousins, and friends. It’s not considered proper for her to view the ceremony. The mood in the room was lively and fun as the women greeted, laughed, teased, and laughed some more. Before long the groom’s family arrived (the groom doesn't attend the ceremony either). They filed in carrying large platters of useful and beautiful items – soaps, boxes of sugar, stacks of cloth, piles of shoes, seeds, oil, and crates of fizzy drinks. The chairs quickly filled up so people crowded together on the porch of the house like they were posing for a large family photo around the pile of gifts. Then the proceedings began.

One family member stood and greeted the crowd with charisma. After a flourish of introductions, a mat was ceremonially brought and rolled out in the small bit of open courtyard left between chairs and fizzy drinks. Members of the two families came and sat on either side of the mat. Greetings were exchanged, and then the ‘negotiating’ began. I should add that even through the complete language barrier, it was clear that the entire event was staged for the enjoyment of the two families. Any real decision making was done long before the ceremony, and both families were clearly thrilled at the prospect of the marriage. But on the day of the dowry it’s one for the money, two for the show… The father of the groom pulled 200 000 francs ($400) from his pocket, and the banter began. The family of the bride was clearly unimpressed at the insufficient sum. After some time, the grandfather pulled out the extra 50 000 ($100) to help his grandson’s cause, and still more banter and laughter from the crowd. Eventually the grandfather sheepishly pulled out a single 1000 franc note ($2) as if to say “really, this is all we've got” and everyone laughed, agreements were made, hands were shaken, and the dancing began (yes, for me too!)

On the way back to my house I had lots of questions for Charlee. Why doesn't the couple attend the ceremony? What does a dowry of 250 000 francs mean socially? What exactly was being said between the families? …There is still much that I don’t understand, but I’ll share a few notes. Compared with our western traditions, it may seem strange at first that the couple doesn't attend the ceremony. Back home, the couple is absolutely the center of attention for all events associated with their wedding. However, I would say that this tradition is not so much diminishing the couple’s role, but rather it highlights that the families play a much more central role than in my own culture. Perhaps this is representative of the ways that family plays a more central role in the lives of Chadians in general. I also learned that the amount of this dowry was pretty much average (at least for someone in this socio-economic bracket). If the price were much higher it would reflect badly on the father of the bride, as he would be seen to be ‘selling’ his daughter. Similarly, a less than average gift would suggest that the bride was not worth a proper dowry.

Overall, I think I see more similarities between our traditions than I expected to find. I think at the end of the day, it’s really about the community coming together to support the future of the couple. Back home we function in a society where a bride and groom are starting an independent life together, and all financial support tends to go directly to the couple. In Chad, as in many African cultures, financial inter-dependency within families is the fiscal norm. The couple may be starting a new chapter in life but they’re not necessarily becoming any less dependent on family connections and support. In this way, perhaps trading money between the families is as much a sign of unity as the marriage ceremony itself.

And speaking of ceremonies, the next big celebration will be the wedding of another co-worker in early December. It’s a Chadian tradition that the bride arranges for friends and family to tailor outfits from the same cloth for the wedding day, and my custom dress is in the works. I’m honoured to be included and curious what this next celebration will have in store!

Road Trip! (Pictures)

This is the home of our host, Martin, in Gounougaya. The homes were pretty similar in all the villages - small brick rooms, usually round, with thatched roves, and woven grass sheets for courtyard walls. 

Also at Martin's house, when I explained to these women that I was taking photos so that my friends and family in Canada could better understand life in Chad, they smiled and insisted that I also photograph them with their cooking charcoal.  

This is our second flat tire of the trip.

And don't forget our meetings. This is a group of children in Doba ready to receive their new school supplies. 

There is a herd of cattle in the road. Classic.

On the way home, we stopped to buy all sorts of foodstuffs that are cheaper to buy in the villages than in the city. At this stop we loaded up with fresh sugarcane. 

Road Trip!

It’s about time I explained more about the work I’m involved with here in Chad. I should say that discovering the projects of my organization is an ongoing process. There isn’t a tidy file (at least not that I’ve seen yet) that I can read and get up to speed on the history of the organization or even the current peace and  development efforts, but I invite you to learn along with me – petit à petit. In this post, I’m going to take you along on my most intense week of learning so far – an unexpected opportunity to join the HIV/AIDS program team on a 6 day road trip to visit five rural villages in the South of Chad. We were meeting with partners to discuss the progress and future of a school sponsorship and a microfinance project. But before launching into stories from the trip, it’s worth taking a minute here to explain a little more about the organization I work for.

Ethics Peace and Justice (EPJ) is a division of a larger Chadian organization which has several projects sponsored by MCC. In my department at EPJ there are three full time staff: Boniface works on advocacy projects; Victor is in charge of peaceful conflict resolution training; and Adka oversees the HIV/AIDS support programs. I will be helping out with projects in all three areas throughout the year, but it was Adka’s HIV/AIDS programs that took me south. In these five villages, MCC and EPJ have arranged for children orphaned by HIV/AIDS to attend school and be provided with a uniform and school supplies. The sponsorship is part of a three year program, which has included raising awareness within local churches for how to continue this support program into the future. In some of the villages, there was also a microfinance operation for women living with AIDS. In Chad, as in many African societies, AIDS is considered a shameful disease such that those infected often hide their illness to avoid discrimination. The microfinance project is intended to help such marginalized women organize to support themselves and one another, both financially and socially.

My first journey to the villages began bright and early on a Monday morning. The team picked me up in an antique Toyota pickup; the canvas covered bed was full of school supplies and clothes for children in the villages. We bought some baguettes for the road and began a full day’s drive south. Despite the remnants of the rainy season in N’Djamena, things become greener as we left the city and the dusty Sahel region behind. The roads became gradually less populated, except for the occasional line of women carrying large plastic tubs of produce on their heads to sell in the market, and the odd bus (like a larger version of the van from Little Miss Sunshine) with all manner of things piled high on the roof: baggage, sugar cane, even a live ram! Gradually the population of potholes began to grow until we were weaving back and forth across the entire road to avoid the particularly treacherous parts. Even so, after several hours we found ourselves stuck on the side of the road with a flat tire and a faulty spare. Thus began a bumpy race against time – could we get to the next village on what little air was left? With no small amount of luck, when we pulled over beside a small roadside market we were nearly riding on rim, but there was no damage. We paid a young teen to patch our inner tube and on we went. All along the way, the truck was filled with cheerful banter in French or Ngumbay, as we traded stories and discussed the work ahead.

In the first village, the local language was unknown to our team so everything was translated into French, allowing me to follow almost everything as it happened. First thing in the morning we met with the children and caregivers regarding school sponsorship. Adka started by asking the villagers to recall what they had talked about in the very first meeting when they launched this project. After a long silence, people started speaking up, recalling many important details of the project and sponsorship. Adka reminded them that this is the third and final year of the project, and we then proceeded to check in on the children. Most of the children stood with pride to announce their passing grades and receive their new backpack. Some of the children were sick. Several of the girls had been married and were no longer attending school. Other children were singled out for having failed their studies – the public shame of the announcement intended to encourage them to study harder next year. After all the supplies had been given out and a few pictures taken, the meeting was over and the students dismissed. In the other villages, the meetings didn’t always happen in French but with the odd translated summary I was pretty sure that a similar scenario was playing out in each. In the evenings over sweet tea and boule with fish sauce, we debriefed our meetings and this is what I learned:

The biggest problem facing this project is the dilemma of passing the torch to local churches. In theory there is no reason why churches couldn’t serve as a sustainable institution of social security. Yet, in this village the churches were not likely to continue the program as originally intended. In some cases there was resistance from pastors, not giving Adka and her team the authority to raise awareness about the project. But perhaps a more systemic challenge is that churches in rural Chad don’t collect offerings like churches do in the city. In N’Djamena I’m told, money is donated by the congregation each week to support the pastor and other projects like providing food at church events or giving to charity. In contrast, pastors in the villages struggle just to get by, I’ve been told on as little as 500CFA ($1.00CDN) per month.

In this context, more than one Chadian has told me that “people in the villages believe they have no money…” Every time I hear that I have to wonder, why is that word “believe” in there? Surely for many of the rural poor, it’s true. They really don’t have money. But for others, one Chadian friend explained, they have assets such as animals and crops but they believe they can’t give to others because their assets are not in cash... To be totally honest, I’m not sure what to do with opinions like this. Rural Chad is not an easy place to make a living, and it’s only getting more difficult as climate change brings more frequent and more severe drought. The growing season in southern Chad is significantly shorter than previous generations have seen and this trend is not likely to reverse. Can we really expect our model of collecting offering in support of social welfare programs to work in rural Chad?

In some villages we also met with microfinance groups. Again in our first village, after meeting with the school children, a small group of 6-8 women gathered their benches in a circle under a large tree and the meeting began. This time it wasn’t all in French, so I didn’t get to hear all of the stories they shared, but it wasn’t hard to follow the tone of the meeting. The women in turn gave voice to their struggles and suffering, explaining the many challenges with their illness and entrepreneurship. Even through the language barrier, I started to feel awkward sitting there in that circle – what exactly gave me permission to plop myself down in such an intimate time of sharing and support, in a circle where there was already bonds of trust and friendship and I was so clearly an outsider? How did the women feel about my presence? I didn’t want to play the role of a distant observer, invading their meeting, swiping their stories and pictures without offering any gesture of friendship in return… No, I had to find some way of contributing empathy to this circle. After a while, I could tell that Adka had left business matters behind and was counselling the women about how to support one another, to live with hope, and embrace life despite illness. From my seat of privilege, what could I possibly say to these women that would be genuine and meaningful…? The circle reminded me of another cross-cultural experience I had in Canada, a guest in a different circle in a First Nations community. In that circle, we had traded songs in reciprocity and friendship… suddenly my heart knew exactly what I could share, just as Adka turned to me. “Michelle, isn’t there anything you’d like to say…?” So I borrowed a cultural tradition to bridge a culture, language, and life experience gap thousands of kilometers away. This is what I sang:

Peace before you
Peace behind you
Peace under your feet
Peace within you
Peace over you
Let all around you be peace.

I couldn’t remember the other verses so I made up my own that seemed appropriate…

Strength before you…
…Love under your feet…
…Hope within you…
…Let all around you be…

…Peace, strength, love, hope. Could these gifts of the human heart overcome, just for a moment, barriers of race and privilege? I sang the simple melody slowly, repeating each verse and letting the phrases hang in the air. The song was simple to translate and the women asked me to write down the lyrics for them. I can only hope that it leaves them with some small amount of peace, strength, love and hope. I’ve grown accustomed to lengthy handshakes, but after that meeting did the women hold on just a little bit longer? All my words felt inadequate so I just held on, hoping that a moment of lingering eye contact would carry a little more peace, strength, love, and hope.

Those were our first meetings in Gounougaya, and there were many more insightful and touching moments to come throughout the week. One woman in the village of Doba told about how she had just about given up on life in her battle with AIDS when this program started. She was bedridden in the hospital when she got word that her children were being sponsored to go to school and she would have the chance to start her own small business. She sat tall and proud and thankful as she told us this story. Another elderly woman in Bebidja simply expressed that she would never have had the means to send her grandchildren to school if not for the sponsorship. She wanted to give us something to say thank you, but had nothing to give. She said she hoped that God would bless us for this work. I think the blessing was in her words.

And so, after a week of putting faces to the recipients of our aid programs and pondering with the team the sustainability of the efforts, I was left with a pretty mixed bag of emotions. More than ever, “I have been impressed with the urgency of doing…” (Leonardo Da Vinci) and more than ever, I am aware that we have yet to figure out what exactly ought to be done. 

Powerless?

I write this post in the dark (under my mosquito net, sweat absorbing into my bed sheets…) on a laptop I charged with the generator at work. We haven’t had electricity for 2 weeks and counting. This length of outage is apparently uncommon, though certainly not unheard of here in N’Djamena. Water is also cut frequently for large portions of the day, at which times we (and several of our neighbours) depend on the well beside our home. That’s just how it is with services in Chad. For most people, even in the capital city, money can’t buy internet fast enough for Skype, taxis come when taxis come, and there is no way of knowing when basics like power or water will come back. It’s true, you could trace a general pattern that richer neighbourhoods will have more reliable power than poorer neighbourhoods; as well there seems to be a greater likelihood to be without power during the day and more chance of power at night… but beyond that, it’s almost impossible to predict. There is no news expected about whether anyone is making an effort to restore the situation. Life just carries on with what’s available. While we can always hope for the lights to come on, it seems nobody is holding their breath.

This attitude that Chadians take towards power outages is just one example of an interesting cultural difference that’s come to my attention recently (through my experiences and a book I've been reading).* African cultures tend to utilize resources in the moment to meet the immediate needs of themselves, friends and family. Then, they are prepared to do without until more becomes available. In managing personal finances, there is good reason why the culture has evolved this way. Personal relationships are the backbone of society, providing a social safety net to people who have seen more than their share of hardships throughout history. It is simply expected that those with excess resources will share the wealth with friends and family. Someone who keeps excess money to themselves is not seen as investing in a secure future, but rather selfishly failing to fulfill his/her relational obligations – the very relationships which would provide in the event of future needs. And so, Africans tend to spend their resources fairly quickly (either to meet their own needs, the needs of others, or to ensure that the funds are spent before any kin has the chance to ask for it) and as a result, they are accustomed to inconsistencies in the availability of resources. They're willing to wait in half-hearted annoyance about the inconvenience until the resource becomes available again.  

While this note-culturelle helps me understand the attitudes I encounter, all these black evenings leave me wondering - why is it exactly that there couldn't be enough power in this city to avoid cuts all together? People expect and tolerate shortages, but they would certainly prefer not to lose power. What is keeping this country from obtaining enough supply? Chad is an oil-producing nation. Surely there is a solution to be found in the wealth of black exports. Maybe it's a problem of politics... or what about solar? Surely if panels could be installed throughout a city like N'Djamena you could build a self sufficient grid right into the infrastructure of the city! So maybe it's an engineering problem... Or maybe... suddenly I'm reminded of a recent conversation with a Chadian friend, and I have mixed feelings about my brainstorming... 'Development in Africa,' he told me, 'needs to come from Africans.' I couldn't agree more. Real, viable solutions to development challenges in Chad are going to have to line up with cultural realities that I am still reading about in books. Perhaps the most promising solutions are those that will defy western business models and baffle development scholars. Much like how the willingness to sit in the dark for weeks on end and the preference to use rather than budget resources is baffling to a Canadian like me. 

Despite the inconvenience and inequality, I must say that I’m rather fond of evenings without power. It makes everyday life feel a little bit like camping, and I’ll do my best to paint the picture for you. Nights are cooler at this time of year, dropping to around 30°C. It is extremely hot in the house, so I put on some bug-spray and join the family sitting outside. The moon is bright and the breeze is refreshing. We sit in comfortable silence for a while – silent that is, except for the soundtrack of tonight’s feature film blaring from the cinema next door. Someone tells a story in French or Moundang (my host family’s language – pronounced “moon-dung”). I ask how to say a simple phrase in Moundang, get a lesson in pronunciation for the sounds that English and French simply don’t use, and sit for a while silently memorizing the new words so that I can greet my host dad (Papa) when he gets home. The mood seems relaxed and content, even though I know all the children (whether 6 or 24 years old) would rather be watching TV. Papa arrives, parks his work SUV in the back of our compound, and teases me about why I’m just sitting around when I could have gone back to Canada to find some electricity. We eat leftovers from lunch – reheated rice or corn-flour paste with a runny, flavorful tomato or peanut sauce. We watch the stars, slap a few mosquitoes  and trade stories about our days in between long bouts of comfortable silence. Mama is dozing on a wooden bench, only after having checked several times that everyone had enough to eat (especially me). Olga is texting friends; Junior is asleep on a plastic woven mat on the front porch, and aunt Odette is singing softly to herself a hymn from the family’s Lutheran song book. Deli, however, is bored and he's been eyeing his mother's cellphone, carefully nestled in the crook of her arm. He stealthily gets up and creeps behind his mother’s bench. Much to the amusement of everyone, he reaches over his mother to swipe his prize… but she senses something and reaches out to swat the mosquito – back jumps Deli! Mama hasn't noticed him, but the rest of us can’t keep our laughter in and his secret is out! …Back to our comfortable silence, and the night goes on.

Even across cultures and language barriers it’s amazing how powerful it is to just be with people. We’re taking in a shared experience – tranquil evenings, family time, more than a few stars and more than a few mosquitoes. Big questions on life and development will just have to wait until tomorrow. 

*David Maranz (2001). African Friends and Money Matters. Dallas: SIL 

It's a good internet day! I've finally been able to upload pictures! 

(Hopefully more photos to follow *fingers crossed*)

Here is a typical picture of what it's like driving around N'Djamena. 

Believe it or not, this is a typical load for a bicycle!

This is my neighbourhood, currently flooded from the rainy season. 

This picture was taken outside the front door of a friends house, and our house is just across the pond.

And here's a shot of my courtyard at home :)

The same courtyard from another angle. This is our outdoor kitchen where we do most of the cooking. And yes, that is a turkey running around the kitchen! 

This is the main room of my house - a cozy shared living/dining space.

Yellow Sky Through a Child's Eyes

Throughout our orientation to MCC and to Chad, our country reps tried to prepare us as best they could by sharing stories about their own times of transition. One such story was about the first time they moved their family to Africa – the realization of a long term dream. Upon arrival, however, the reality of the situation was not quite the dream come true they were expecting. They found their front yard littered with broken glass and other dangers for their young children. What exactly where they doing? ...they wondered this aloud to one another, sitting on the front porch on their first day. Then as if on cue, their young daughter burst through the front door with a huge grin on her face and proclaimed, “I… LOVE it here!!” It was just the encouragement they needed, and if you read their current blogs about life in Chad, you’ll find it’s just this spirit of acceptance and joy that makes Chad feel like home for their family today.

It would be dishonest of me to write this reflection as if I have not had my own trying and emotionally exhausting experiences during these first few weeks. I have indeed had several sitting-on-the-front-porch-wondering-what-I'm-doing kinds of moments. But today, I felt my inner child bursting out the front door of my heart to exclaim “I… LOVE it here!” It’s hard to say exactly what inspired this sudden and profound explosion of love for this place. Perhaps it’s the atmosphere in the office where every little accomplishment is worthy of celebration. Perhaps it’s the conversations about things that matter and the sincerity with which I’m being embraced for who I am. Perhaps it’s that every time I see a new area of this crazy city, I’m baffled and intrigued and delighted and curious and aghast at the extraordinary, everyday lives people lead. Perhaps it’s the adventure of every meal, of eating an entire fried fish with my fingers or trying to guess at the seemingly strange ingredients in the sauces from their French names. Perhaps it's the feeling of a cool shower (dfn: fetching a bucket of cold well water and using a small plastic bowl to pour the water over one's self) – pure bliss, even for someone who has always had an aversion to cold water! Perhaps it’s the enormity of realizing (just by stepping around a bend in the road by my house) just how tremendously the torrential rains change the lives of people in Dembe every year and the resilience with which they take the damage and inconvenience in stride. Perhaps it’s the tropical vegetation, colourful lizards that scurry up and down compound walls, or the ever-present heat that envelops you like a familiar blanket everywhere you go...

Or perhaps it’s the yellow sky. 

I was told about the yellow sky when I arrived in N'Djamena, and I wasn't really sure how to imagine it. I imagined a sunset - but a sunset looms over the horizon and casts its rays in a pattern across sky and clouds. This was more like a warm glow that appeared suddenly throughout the whole sky and changed the lighting of the entire courtyard, like someone suddenly adjusted the colour on some grand, celestial set of stage lights. My senses responded instinctively, ready for the next scene to emerge, for the plot to take its turn… but my African family took no notice. In fact, they seemed to be as fascinated with my studying of the sky as I was with the celestial event itself. Within minutes the yellow shifted across the hazy city, adjusting its tone slightly from a greenish to golden palate as it settled in the west, seamlessly shifting once more to fill the sky with a cheerful, red glow as darkness swept in. I've never experienced a sunset quite like it. 

From within our compound walls, you cannot experience much of the great expanse of sky and so I took in the final reddening glow from my bedroom window. It was here that my adult self started reflecting on the response of my inner child. Context: my window stands about two feet from the tall, cinder-block wall of our compound, above which the sky is further obstructed by the pleated metal roof of the neighbour’s home. Essentially I was staring past a rather ugly facade at a small sliver of what seemed to be the most beautiful and mesmerizing performance-art I’d ever seen... This struck me as profound. Our experiences are shaped by what we choose to see, and I was so awestruck by the beauty in that sliver of sky that I hardly minded if this great ugly wall stood in my way. Through the eyes of my inner child, I had hardly noticed its presence at all. Now let me be clear: while I may have a natural bias towards optimism, I am not setting up this metaphor to propose that we should be blind to the uncomfortable situations in life. I know well the importance of observing dangers and dilemmas to build street smarts and gain insight towards creating solutions. But that said, what would happen if we also practiced viewing the world with a bias towards beauty, as though we’d never learned to judge, cast stereotypes or feel entitled? What if we reacted with the boldness and acceptance of a child when confronted with new experiences? With those dirty, uncomfortable, challenging, unnecessary, humbling, unfair, desperate, dysfunctional, underdeveloped realities of our world? Today I wonder if a moment of golden light might just be the strength of heart needed to face these realities, and the hope that may inspire everyday designers like us to make this world a little more beautiful. 

Home sweet home

One week ago I moved into my new home in Dembe market, N'Djamena, and began my work at Ethics Peace and Justice. This first week has been a time of ups and downs and many changes, from the excitement of arriving in my bustling neighbourhood, to food poisoning, to new customs and norms, and trying to get my bearings in a new part of the city (remember, no street addresses or road names to be found! I have a rough, hand-sketched map of key landmarks that I'm adding to all the time). Through it all, my host parents have taken me under their wing as their 7^th child, encouraging me to make myself at home as another sister in the house, teaching me everything (when to take my shoes off or cover my head or close the windows or greet people), and encouraging me that “petit a petit” I will get the hang of life here. My host father wishes that I call him “Papa Tchouadang” and has since introduced me to his friends and congregation as Michelle Tchouadang :) I could not have hoped for a warmer welcome into Chadian life. Four of the family's children are grown up and moved out, but 24 year old Olga and 13 year old Deli are still living at home. There are also many others who come and go from the house and so every day I am meeting more family and friends. Our home is in another walled and gated compound set back from the road. There are other buildings in our compound and I haven't figured out yet who lives there. The walls and all the buildings in our compound are concrete. Entering the house, there is a spacious living/dining area with several couches, a TV (with about 5 French and African channels), a large dining table and a china cabinet. Behind this living area there are three bedrooms (one of which I have to myself), a small indoor kitchen with a gas stove and sink, an outdoor kitchen (for wood and charcoal) where most of the cooking is done, and two western bathrooms with running water, toilet and shower (for which I am extremely grateful). The electricity cuts out often and apparently the water is also cut occasionally, at which point we'll depend on the well in our shared courtyard.


Hopefully I'll be posting pictures soon, but for now I'll try to describe my neighbourhood. In the Dembe area there are a couple of paved main roads, but the side roads throughout the neighbourhood are all dirt... actually right now they're more like swamps. Until the rainy season ends we'll do a lot of driving (even for short distances) in the family's 4x4 to avoid trekking through the mud. When driving through the streets of N'Djamena, nothing is really surprising... or at least the strange and surprising seem to be totally normalized. Over there is a man attaching at least half a dozen chickens to the handlebars of his bike, and there is cart carrying the leaning tower of assorted plastic containers, and up in that tree there is... no, no, not the tree with all the dangling backpacks and handbags for sale, that other tree with the man perched 2 or 3 stories up... is he a city worker? landowner? Either way, he seems to be doing maintenance on that tree in front of his home or shop by hacking away at the branches with an ax, the normal hustle and bustle of street life carrying on below... No problem. This is Chad. All the while the streets are FULL of people walking, women in colourful dresses and head scarves, children running around, people pushing two-wheeled carts full of every imaginable commodity, women in orange construction vests sweeping and shoveling piles of dust off the road, dogs laying by the curb trying to conserve energy, motos, bicycles piled high with cargo, cars, trucks, and the odd donkey cart all dodging in and out of one another's space like masters of some hidden level of Mario Kart! It's crazy; it's overwhelming; it's fun; it's unbelievable; it's home.


Over the past week many people have asked me what differences I see between Chad and Canada, and I've been trying to sort not only what is the most appropriate way to answer that question in the moment, but also how to answer the question in a broader sense for my own reflections. There is so much going on here that I think a lot of the time, you see what you're looking for. It's easy to look at the markets or streets of Dembe and see largely underdevelopment and poverty. Let's face it, as Westerners, it's an easy first impression that we are more or less conditioned to look for in Africa – mud or tin shacks, run-down looking storefronts, lack of electricity, children and people with disabilities begging in the street, trash kneaded thoroughly into every sand pile, and pools of still water breeding mosquitoes and flies and green muck that can't be healthy. This stuff is all here. It's real and it's problematic, and there are times when I haven't the foggiest idea what to make of it, let alone how to feel at home in the midst of it all. However, with a slight change in perspective it might be just as easy to see a very different reality. When we set out with the assumption that we have lots in common, we see a world full of people trying to make life and the world a little bit better, whether in Canada or Chad. With this lens I see ingenuity as people build businesses from limited assets, resilience as people rebuild homes destroyed by heavy rain, communities of people who take time for one another, take pride in their heritage, and dedicate themselves to building the best life possible for themselves and their communities. In all these ways, perhaps life in Chad is not all that different from life back home. We see what we're looking for, and here in N'Djamena I am looking for strength and possibility, and maybe a new feeling of home for this year. Petit a petit.

So this is culture shock...

We arrived in Chad on Thursday morning after a delay in Ethiopia and a bumpy landing at N'Djamena international airport. The heat and humidity hit us like a wall as we got off the plane. In my light sweatshirt, I was sweating before I even made it to the tarmac. Inside the airport we made it through customs and ventured on into luggage collection. The room holding the luggage roundabout was crowded and chaotic. Men in airport uniforms were competing for our attention, hoping to make a few hundred Francs to carry our bags. I did a lot of looking around in bewilderment until two men approached us carrying our flight itinerary, clearly sent by MCC to help us through the chaos. On the other side we were met by Angela, one of our country reps. We've spent the last couple days staying in her home and slowly easing ourselves into the Chadian way of life. We've met some of MCC's Chadian partners, including Victor who will be my supervisor at Ethics, Peace and Justice. The biggest adventure by far has been exploring the Central Market.

For the first market trip we went with Jeanne, Angela's housekeeper, as our guide. Jeanne is a gentle and caring woman with a great deal of patience for my less-than-fluent french. I and the other women covered our hair and we all left the gate of John and Angela's walled compound to explore the rest of the city. We walked down dirt streets, full of deep holes from the rainy season, past many low rise concrete buildings and groups of people sitting outside on the curbs, staring at us like the foreigners we are. Traffic has no rules – at least none I recognize. Motos (motorcycles) and cars drive together in a nebulous space of unclear lanes, and intersections seem to operate on a “watch out – everyone for themselves” sort of system. Into this traffic environment Jeanne waved down a bus (a 15ish seat van). We paid a thousand Francs (~ $0.50 each) and piled into the back seats through the trunk. Once in the market we navigated the crowds by sticking to Jeanne like a brood of goslings – literally, we formed a single file line and wandered around like poor lost geese! There was a lot take in: rows upon rows of vegetables on the ground, raw meat being prepared before our eyes with large machetes, beads, bags, clothing, people hanging out in every available corner, vendors trying to get our attention in Arabic and French, navigating rough ground dotted with potholes and mud-puddles, cars and motos plowing through the crowded alleys, horns honking, people bartering, and all the while hearing “Nasara, Nasara” at our backs wherever we went - “white person, white person...”


The next day we went back to the market but this time without a guide. Slightly apprehensive but eager to make our way we set out – three young Nasara's – trying to mimic everything Jeanne had done the day before. We made our way down sandy roads, dodged motos and cars, found a bus, confirmed it was indeed headed for the market, got off at the right place, made it past the clothing and beads and meat to the vegetable alley and bartered our produce to a reasonable price! Feeling fully victorious at the success of our adventure we headed back to the main road to get the return bus, finding one in just the same place as the day before. A simple conversation with the driver informed us that his rout was different than we needed so we turned back to wait for another bus. All of a sudden we hear voices calling us back - “we'll change our route” the driver told us in French. “Do you know Hotel Shanghai?” we asked about the landmark nearest Angela's home. He replied that he knew it well and would take us there for the usual fare. So we hopped in. From the first turn I knew we were not headed back the way we came. My attempts to communicate this were ignored, so we decided to roll with it for a little and see if they new another way... T.I.A. after all. It soon became clear that these people had no idea where to find Hotel Shanhai. Not a clue. And we had no idea where in the city we were. Lost in N'Djamena on day two! Our driver asked a passing taxi for directions; he asked other passengers; one passenger even called a friend (first going through the whole Chadian ritual of “how are you? How are your children? How are your children's children?” and still didn't find out where to find Hotel Shanghai). Eventually the bus stopped and out the window I saw some Chinese script on the adjacent building, but I had no idea where we were. He'd taken us to the other Chinese hotel in town. It was time to enact the emergency plan B. We looked around – United Nations office on one corner with guards out front, major European hotel chain on another – and decided this was likely a relatively safe area of town to hop out of the bus and wait to be rescued. We called Angela who knew the place and came and picked us up.



I wish I had some great insight about Chadian culture to glean from this experience, but I think for now I'll let the story speak for itself. Leaning to find my way in this new place will be a process, but for now I'm thankful for the chances to get out there and explore, and for excellent country reps who swoop in and save the day when we get lost!

Listen First

My adventure began as so many do, with an early morning, the anxiety of “surely I am forgetting something…” the tetris game of loading a van full of bags, and a long drive. At the other end we were greeted by warm and friendly MCC staff, wearing names around their necks that I recognized from many emails and phone calls.

The first activity of the evening was supper and I quickly discovered why mealtimes would be a highlight of orientation (and not only for the joy of eating delicious food). While SALT is a program that sends young adults from North America to volunteer in countries around the world, we are also sharing this orientation experience with incoming IVEP participants (International Volunteer Exchange Program), a program in which volunteers come from all over the world to help out in the US and Canada. The resulting cross-cultural experience is rich and engaging, and the sharing often comes most naturally while sharing meals together. We've connected with participants from the opposite program who come from the places closest to our own destinations, sharing stories and cultural tips with one another. Conversations begin to occur in many different languages whenever possible – French, Spanish, Indonesian, Lao, Korean, and Tonga (to name a few). Warmth, interest, courtesy, laughter, respect, openness, and did I mention laughter? These are simply some of the characteristics of this exceptional group. In just a few short days, I have seen people reach out to one another across cultural and language barriers, embracing the lives and stories of strangers and extending care and friendship.

One thing I've heard over and over again during these orientation presentations is that the key to cross-cultural relationships is to listen, listen, and listen again. In this respect, I brought a surprise secret weapon with me to orientation. I woke up the day before my departure with laryngitis... While certainly not ideal (I’m sure those who met me on Wednesday evening believed that I have a shy, reserved and quiet nature), the seemingly unfortunate loss of my voice actually turned out to be incredibly valuable as I prepare to jump into Chadian culture. What better way to force me to practice listening than by physically removing my capacity for speech!? By holding my tongue a little more than usual this week, I’ve become a more attentive participant in this temporary community of travelers. Now as my voice returns, I’m trying to remember this lesson. I’ll practice being curious, and patient. I’ll practice asking questions first and pausing to consider my contributions more carefully than I might have before. Stay tuned to see how well I remember this lesson in the future!

Orientation has given me a fabulous community of support that will soon be scattered all over the world. I will be keeping each traveler in my heart as I board my own flight, and wish well for everyone, whether they end up in Philadelphia, Vancouver, Durban, or Beirut. Travel well, my friends!

About this blog

From August, 2013 until July 2014 I am working as a Peace and Justice Assistant for Mennonite Central Committee, in N'Djamena Chad. During the application process, many people asked me "Why Chad?" and the best way I could find to answer them was by telling this story:

In 2009 I found myself in South Africa, staying in the home of a Coloured family near Cape Town. Every night we would sit at their kitchen table before bed, drinking Rooibos tea and talking about Apartheid, peace, development, and life in Africa. They shared from a lifetime of experience. I shared my modest reflections from a 3 month journey. One night my host said to me: "Michelle, it's great that you came to South Africa to learn about life here; but this is the Europe of Africa. Until you travel further north, you still do not understand Africa." Those were sharp words for a curious soul, and they stayed with me.

In many ways, my privilege prevents me from truly understanding the Africa of my host family, but my hope was that in signing up for a year of peace and development work in another African country, I would get a little closer. I knew almost nothing about Chad when the placement came up, and perhaps that was my first clue that N'Djamena was the perfect choice. My hope is that through sharing stories and reflections from my time in Chad, we may come one step closer to understanding the vision of Africa held by my friend from the Cape.