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!
No comments:
Post a Comment