Greetings!
You may remember that in my last blog posting, I mentioned that Aurel, the night sentinel, had disappeared at about 1 a.m. on a Saturday morning, much to my horror, dismay and extreme annoyance. It seemed that I now had even more sentinel problems, and, to be honest, was/am getting fed up with them all. During the day on the Saturday, I got a phone call from him apologising for his departure, saying that he’d had a bout of fever come on him, so he thought that he’d better go to a hospital right away, and that he was now under treatment for malaria. I wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not, to be honest, but what could I do or say?
Aurel showed up for work on the Monday looking most woebegone and obviously suffering (or else it was really fine acting!). He’d had two anti-malarial perfusions, and was due for a third one, which is actually why he came in to work, i.e., to get some money for it, so I gave him 5000 FCFA – my last bill, I told him. I don’t think he believed me, because he showed up on the Tuesday, still looking ill, saying he had to have another perfusion. I told him that I really didn’t have any money on me (true), and sent him back home. He looked rather discouraged, I must admit, but I’m getting tired of the constant begging for help. It’s true that most of it comes out of the following salary (depending on my level of benevolence on pay day), but it does leave me short of ready cash. And I have to say that Cameroonians can smell money from far away – which is why I rarely have any cash on me, so that I don’t get bothered. But when I do carry some cash (one does have to, once in a while), it’s quite amazing how many requests for help there are!
Ironically, Aurel’s doctor (who, I believe is a cousin of his wife), told him to spend less time on his motorbike, as this can exacerbate the possibilities of catching malaria. I’m not quite sure of the logic behind this, since malaria is transmitted by one type of mosquito, and I would have thought that a mosquito splatting into one’s face wouldn’t have time to prick through one’s skin to deposit the virus (or whatever the mosquito deposits). Anyway, because of his illness, Aurel was off for a whole week, checking in every day by phone, giving me all the details of his illness, his voice terribly sad and tired, poor wee man.
Hé, hé! It turned out that Aurel was really a good actor! I’m almost tempted to congratulate him on his performance, except that he would then know how I found out, and that wouldn’t do! On the Saturday of the week that Aurel was ill, I went into town for my weekly shopping trip, driven, as always, by the ever faithful Njikam. Njikam and I have a great old time nattering in the car, although I have to say that he’s very good at noticing the times when I’m not in the mood for chat, and vice versa. That day was fine, though, so we chatted away. I have a tendency to tell him about my sentinels because he’s met them all (and has seen the sots in all their states!) and witnessed a few of the exciting events at the Macfarlane household. He also knows Aurel, because Aurel had asked Njikam to take him to the airport to meet his mother-in-law when she had arrived from Switzerland, where she works as a nurse, a couple of weeks earlier. (Apologies for all the details, but they are necessary in any soap opera!)
Anyway, I mentioned to Njikam that Aurel hadn’t been well since the Friday night, and that he was taking perfusions daily. Really? said Njikam, and started chuckling. “He’s lying”, said he to me. So, of course, I asked him what he meant. Well, it turns out that on the Tuesday (a day when Aurel was “having” the perfusion for which I’d paid), Aurel called on Njikam to take his mother-in-law and him out for a couple of errands (the mother-in-law having taken to Njikam). So that’s what they did – and Njikam said they were out for a good part of the day. Actually, it was most amusing to hear Njikam talk about it, because he finds that a) Aurel talks too much and b) Aurel is far too curious (so nice to have this confirmed), even to the point of wanting to know how much I pay Njikam etc. And, of course, Njikam can’t bear Aurel’s constant boasting about how good he is and all his connections, etc. It seems that even Aurel’s mother-in-law told him to belt up. Héhé, I must meet this lady! I have to admit that he and I had a good chuckle over this story. As I said to Njikam, all Aurel had to do (if he hadn’t really been ill) was to ask for a few days off to look after mother-in-law, or just to have some rest, and he would have got it! Ah well… Not sure what I’m going to do about it, since I don’t want to let on that Njikam spilled the beans, and, of course, I value the latter’s friendship and advice. Anyway, I did have a good laugh.
Of course, Aurel being “ill” meant that I had a small problem with night watches. So, having conferred with Roger on the matter it was decided that André be the sentinel here at the apartment, and that I ask Dahirou to guard at night at the house. I thought that that was an ok solution, although I suppose Dahirou could have stood watch (well, slept-watch) here. Roger said that it was a way for me to check out André, and I thought that that made sense, plus, of course, there is no bar near the new house to which Dahirou could repair. Dahirou, of course, was delighted at being asked to do extra work, and, somehow Mustafa tagged along too, although he won’t be getting any extra pay. I wonder when the latter sees his children… He’s always with Dahirou. André, while pleased at being asked to guard the “boss” did express some concern about the house, but I said that since it was empty, I didn’t have much problem with the arrangements that had been made.
The first night of the arrangement was on a Tuesday, and on the Wednesday I went around to the new house at 7 a.m., because I was to have a meeting with Mr. Olli (the house agent) to discuss a few matters with him (the early hour was at his suggestion). Roger was with me, of course. André, who had returned to the house at 6 a.m., said that he’d had to spend a lot of time cleaning up after Dahirou and Mustafa, as there were an awful lot of cigarette butts all over the place etc. Walking around, I noticed a bit of a whisky sachet and pointed it out. André doesn’t drink (or so I hope)… Well, I didn’t do anything about that either, and decided, with Roger, that we’d wait for further proof – of course, with both Dahirou and Mustafa in the house, it could easily have been said that only Mustafa was drinking (likely story!) and that Dahirou had stayed sober.
Mr. Olli didn’t show up on time (not a surprise), and as both Roger and I had to be at work by 7:30, we left at about 7:20. I had a full slate of things to do, so when Olli called shortly before 8, I missed his call. I called him back shortly after noon (fortunately these gadgety phones, new to me, old hat to most of you! tell you that you have a “missed call”), explaining that I’d been in class all morning (true). Anyway, he suggested that we meet in the evening, at about 6. Not a problem, said I, and promptly informed Roger of this.
That Wednesday was one of my colleagues' birthday, and it had been arranged that we’d go out for a drink after work. So I duly dropped things off at the apartment, called Aurel, to find that he was still “ill” (this was before the Njikam trip, of course), told Dahirou that I’d like him at the other house again that night (ok if Mustafa comes along? I said sure, but I was only paying for one guard). Mustafa was around – which slightly annoyed me, since at the last big meeting, I had stated explicitly there should be no visitors (even other guards) inside the concession. Of course, Mustafa said he was here to see if Aurel was feeling better. Hem… He also took the occasion (Mustafa, of course) to ask if he could have a salary advance. I told him that I had no money at all and I didn’t know when it was going to arrive, so I was very sorry, but I couldn’t oblige. (Apologies for so many details, my friends, but they are all relevant, honest!)
So, off I went to have my one drink – to my colleague’s disgust, I only had a soft drink – I mean, it was a birthday, and one should have at least one beer (and they know that that’s my limit, we’re talking 675 cl bottles here), but I explained that I had a meeting at 6 with the house agent, and I wanted to keep a clear head for the confrontation. So, I duly left at 5:55 and got to the place shortly after 6. On the way there, a couple of the neighbours asked me (separately) if I’d moved in the previous day. I said no, why? Well, they wondered, because there seemed to have been a party going on until quite late! Hmm, I said – sorry about the disturbance, I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again. Not too pleased, obviously, neither the neighbours nor I, but it did confirm that whisky and beer had been consumed during working hours and that a good time had been had by my two wayward sentinels!
The meeting with Olli went quite well, although he was in his usual bulldozing mode – he attacks first and hopes to intimidate. However, I stood my ground, as did Roger, since the purpose of the meeting was to get Olli to get his act together and finish off the various jobs that still remained to be done in the house prior to my moving in. Olli was most miffed about all the electrical arrangements, saying it had all been being resolved and what did I mean going behind his back to finalize things? I pointed out that I’d been threatened with fines and possible imprisonment because of the illegal line and that seemed to shut him up. Anyway, I won’t go into details here, suffice it to say that he caved in, and said that the house would be all ship-shape within a couple of days. And the outside toilet? Well, the good news is that he’s going to finish it, and at his own expense (quite right too!). He expressed surprise that it wasn’t already done, since he’d already paid the plumber for the work (big lie, no one pays for work ahead of time here!). At the time of writing, I’m still waiting…
Of course, all this took time, and by the time Roger and I got back to the apartment it was after 7. Dahirou had already left at 6, and Mustafa was waiting for us and took off as soon as we arrived (stinking of beer, I might add, which is probably why he rushed off), so I had no time to mention no partying – and as Roger hadn’t been party (sorry) to the information, he didn’t stop Mustafa either. I told Roger about the partying, and we decided to mull things over. Anyway… André finally showed up at about 8, saying that the two had taken their good old time in getting to the house, but that they’d finally got there. Now, for some reason, Dahirou and Mustafa didn’t give André their key to our gate here, even though they had the key to the house gate. This meant, of course, that I had to let André in and, basically, lock him in for the night (I’d had to do that the previous night too). This didn’t seem to bother him; he’s such a cheerful fellow, singing along to the radio while he works, and playing “spoons” with a couple of knives.
At about 9 p.m. on this fine evening the bell went, and of course, I had to go out, since I had the only key to the gate. I wasn’t expecting anyone, and was quite surprised to see Mustafa at the gate, who wanted to see me. So, I trotted downstairs to see what he wanted. He slurred very formally that he wanted to come in and said that Dahirou wasn’t feeling well, but since I had no money to help, he wanted to pick up some traditional medicine that was lying around. Of course, I said yes, and watched him as he picked up a bag of kola nuts (he must think I don’t know what they are, héhé!). He then told André, in quite a severe voice, that he wouldn’t tolerate André having guests in the house, since it wasn’t done, and what was the young lady doing there when they arrived? And off he went, teetering and tottering – it didn’t bode well for the night, I must admit! André looked most woebegone – I knew about the young lady, of course, since he’d asked permission (she’s a neighbour, and just a friend, he says, and I didn’t think it was any of my business). I’d said that I didn’t mind, as long as she didn’t go into the house, and I’m pretty sure that that’s been the case. And as there’s nothing in the house anyway… and the poor man is there all alone day and night… I think André was more worried about what was going to happen at the house – he’s worked very hard at being friends with the neighbours (quite right), and I certainly don’t want trouble with them, even before I move in!
Anyway, I told André not to worry about things, although I wasn’t too happy about the situation either. Phew…
So, the next day at noon, I went around to the house, as André had called me to say that the living room wall-lights had been installed and the plumber sighted. As I arrived at the house, one of the neighbours, a different one, came up to me and said that I should know that my other guards had left the house shortly after 8 and hadn’t returned until well after midnight – she did add, though, that they’d been quiet! I’d told André not to clean up, because I wanted to see the kind of mess they might have made, but he said that they must have cleaned up a bit, because it wasn’t as bad as the previous time, although there were still a lot of ashes about. Anyway, I duly admired the lamps, and went back to the apartment, wondering what to do about my wayward sentinels!
That evening, Mustafa, whose day on duty it was, asked whether Dahirou and he would be expected to go to the house, so I lied and said that Aurel might be arriving later and that I’d get in touch if I needed them. This was just before 6, which is going-home time for the day guards. André showed up at about 7, upset because he’d missed my phone call earlier. The poor man had been having a nap, not having been able to sleep for much of the day because of various workers around the house, and hadn’t heard the phone ring. So, I told him that Aurel wasn’t coming, and that he, André, had a choice: he could stay at the house and rest, or, if he preferred, he could come and guard here (and sleep for a while), and we’d leave the house empty – which, of course, had been done before. He opted for coming here, so I told him to show up by 10 p.m., leaving lights and radio on at the house, as we had done the last time (when Mustafa had been drunk).
What a to-do! All quite amusing, really, but simply confirming that the drunken sots will have to go at the end of their contracts, if not sooner. I’m not sure they see it coming, although they have both been formally warned, in writing, to smarten up. However, that doesn’t seem to have happened yet; it does add spice to life, I must say!!
On to more cheerful topics!
One of my colleagues was married a couple of Saturdays ago, and, along with my other colleagues, I attended both the ceremony at the registry office and the reception in the evening. The invitation for the ceremony at the registry office said to arrive by 10:30, since the ceremony was due to start at 11, and, in true David fashion, I arrived with Njikam’s help at 10:27. Njikam told me that I’d be far too early, and I said that was too bad, but I had supposed that at the registry office being on time would be more important since there must be several marriages to officiate. He just grinned – rightly so, as it turned out that I was the first guest of our party to arrive. I stood around waiting, and the rest started showing up at about 11, easily recognisable since most of them were wearing shirts or dresses (depending on the gender) made of the same material, as was I. (There were a number of groups waiting for various ceremonies, of course.) This is a tradition here, and in many countries of Africa, where to show friendship and solidarity on important occasions, everyone wears a “uniform”, usually chosen by the host or couple (as was the case this time). Unfortunately, the colours chosen (a traditional African motif) didn’t suit me, but too bad! Most of the ladies wore the same material, cut in so many different styles it was quite amazing.
The wedding couple, Raoul (my colleague) and Edwige arrived in a be-flowered Mercedes at 11:15, he bedecked in a white suit (and their son, aged 18 months, dressed in smaller version of the same suit), she in a resplendent silver dress and a coiffure to die for! The ceremony finally got under way at 11:45, and most guests had arrived by 11:30 (being smarter than I had been about timing!).
The little hall was packed, of course, and with only one small window, it was quite hot. The mayor did his thing, which consisted in welcoming everyone present, having the statutes concerning marriage read out, and then providing a commentary on all of them. It was pointed out that marriage was a patriotic duty, thus a good thing, since it legitimised all offspring and made inheritance matters easier (that was one statute); that the man was the “head of the family” and unto him falls the responsibility of ensuring the well-being of the family (another statute); that the wife is to ensure the well-being of the man (!) and the moral upbringing of the family (obviously this statute was designed by someone who believed in St. Paul!); and the last statute basically repeated the first three, with the addition that, in exceptional cases, a wife could elect to live in another dwelling, with the children, if the man hadn’t provided a decent place (although the couple are requested to make choices together). The mayor was quite amusing in his perorations, though, so it made it a bit easier to bear.
At last, the moment came for the exchange of rings. When the mayor said “Now is the time to raise your finger (lever le doigt)”, everyone burst out laughing, because that is the title of a song that is extremely popular at the moment. Fingers were duly raised (by everyone!) and the rings put on. Oops,” said the mayor, “I forgot to ask – which option are you choosing?” I was most puzzled, I must admit, and didn’t hear the answer as it was given fairly quietly. Then the whole room erupted in cheers! I asked the person sitting beside me what the answer had been, and she said “monogamy, he chose monogamy!” Héhé… polygamy is legal, as Njikam explained on the way home later, but it has to be announced on the occasion of the first wedding that that is the option chosen, so that the first wife is fully aware and, one supposes, accepts the situation. And every new wife has to be married at the registry office as well to ensure the legality of each marriage. How amusing… Njikam was quite surprised at my surprise, and quite aghast at the fact that polygamy was not legal in Canada. “Well, that wouldn’t work out well, would it? What do people do when they want a change?”
After the ceremony, there were lots of photos, of course, and there was to be a traditional “ride around town” in which I didn’t participate, not having my own vehicle.
There was a reception at the couple’s home during the afternoon, but I didn’t go to that – because I hadn’t been invited to it – I suspect it was only for close friends and family, which would no doubt add up to a hefty number anyway! That evening, though, was the formal dinner and dance, to which I was invited. As it was just up the road, at the Centre (there’s a huge activity hall there), I was able to walk up. The invitation said “8 p.m. precisely”, but I took that to mean 9 p.m., and duly went up at that time. I wasn’t the first to arrive, but certainly not the last! I was immediately shown to my table, and conversation ensued with those who were there. The happy couple were milling about, greeting guests, he in an outfit made up of the same material that was being worn by an awful lot of the guests, she in a stupendous dress made of the same material, coiffure still in one piece. At 9:30 or so, an announcement was made to apologise for the delay in setting out the meal – the caterer, on his way to the Centre, had been involved in an accident. Nothing serious, but as the boss wasn’t there, the caterers weren’t sure what to do. Finally, at about 10:15, the program started, with the official entry of the happy couple into the hall. They had changed yet again, and he wore a dark suit and she a stupendous gold shimmery thing, very fetching, I must admit. To the tune of Mendelssohn’s Wedding March, they very slowly promenaded around the hall, in a very royal manner, preceded by six hostesses and followed by two others. Regal waves and smiles all around. The promenade took a good 15 minutes, all the guests standing and applauding during it all, and then the meal got under way. A very nice buffet, with the usual offerings here (at least, from my experience of two other buffets!), pasta salad, mixture of rice and vegetables (alas, aubergine was included, but I gritted my teeth and forced my gullet open), fish (full of bones but very nice), suspicious looking meat, which I didn’t take (I think it was beef, but wasn’t sure enough to try, and anyway, I’m nearly a vegetarian now!), fried plantains, manioc (didn’t take that!) and various fruits. Wine, beer, pop and juices, as well as water, were flowing freely. It must have cost the couple a fortune, because we were at least 150!
At 11:00 or so, to my surprise, I started to flag, even though I’d had a good, long nap in the afternoon, but didn’t think I could leave yet. At last, the MC announced that the official opening of the dance was about to start. This entailed inviting the happy couple to the middle of the dance floor, preceded by the hostesses – thus another slow walk! – and then standing face-to-face while the MC went on about the beauty of marriage, and how Raoul had told him of how he had first met Edwige (he’d tripped and fallen at her feet, or perhaps she tripped him, said the MC). Finally, the first song was played, Andrea Bocelli’s Con tì partiro. The couple just stood there, embracing, during the opening recitative, and then slowly started revolving when the “refrain” started, at which point the music stopped. The MC then invited 6 other couples to join the wedding couple on the floor – these were the witnesses (two couples), a brother and his wife, the two sets of parents and a good friend and his wife. The MC exhorted these couples to look into each other’s eyes and remember when they first met, and the music started up again – same scenario, embracing during the recitative and slow revolves at the refrain, and then the music stopped again, and the dance floor was formally opened.
According to the program, “the giving of the gifts” was going to take place a good hour after the opening of the dance. It was now midnight, and I figured it would be 1:30 a.m. before that event happened, and I decided I couldn’t take it any more, so I asked one of my colleagues to give my gift in my name, and duly left. I wasn’t the first to go, so I didn’t feel too bad. Roger, who was there, insisted on accompanying me to the gate at the apartment, because he said it just wouldn’t be safe for me to walk home alone – a mere 150 metres, if that! Very nice of him, I must say… Mustafa let me in sullenly, but seemed sober, although I swear I caught a whiff of beer on his breath (even though he tried to stay away from me!), but I couldn’t be sure. At least he wasn’t teetering, or refusing to open the gate!
Sunday morning was quite calm, but although I’d slept in late (until 7:30, late for me!), I still felt quite tired, and so went off to have an early nap (Sunday tradition!) at about 11:30. I woke up shortly after 2 p.m., freezing cold (it must have been about 35 degrees outside!) and wrapped up in the light duvet that serves as a bed cover. I who never use duvets in any country and in any temperature, since they overheat me! Obviously, things were not right, and even I realized that I was running a fever. Not having a thermometer (I do now, however!), I decided that I’d better find a doctor and get checked out. Unfortunately, my neighbour downstairs, who is a doctor, was away for a couple of weeks, so unsure of what to do, I called up my other taximan, Simplice (Njikam doesn’t work on Sundays, although I’m sure he would have made an exception in this case!), and asked him to come around to take me to a clinic.
It was about 2:30, I think, when I called Simplice, and he said he’d be around as soon as he could get his car out of the parking lot where he keeps it. He normally works on Sundays, but had decided to take that particular one off. True to his word, he showed up within the hour, and off we went. In the meantime, I had tried calling the various clinics on the list that had been given to me by the Canadian High Commission, but none of them answered, even the one that said it was open 24/7 – and I let it ring a long time. So, when Simplice arrived, I just asked him to take me to the best clinic in his ken. The first one was shut, but the second one we tried was open, thank goodness, and wasn’t too busy (and was on my list, phew), so I was seen immediately by the nurse on duty. She took one look at me, shoved a thermometer under my armpit, took it out about 30 seconds later (it didn’t take long!), looked at it and said “Immediate intravenous to lower your temperature which is at 40.2 C ” (I think that’s about 102 degrees F). No argument, no going home to pick stuff up, straight to the bed, bared my arm and shoved things in! I don’t know what they use to bring down fevers, but it was pretty effective, because within 30 minutes I was feeling much, much better. I asked if I had to stay overnight and received a pitying, scornful look saying yes, that this was just the first perfusion, and that the doctor would be along in a little while. Meanwhile, they had taken a blood sample before starting the flow, and had sent it along to their little lab for analysis.
I called Roger to inform him of developments, and he said that he’d be around immediately. I think he was a bit miffed that I hadn’t called him first (rather than Simplice), but I told him that I wasn’t necessarily thinking straight, and it was Sunday and not a day to disturb people etc. He said “Stuff and nonsense” or words to that effect. Off Roger and Simplice went, with instructions on where to find the wherewithal to make my stay comfortable, as nothing is provided in these hospitals. Roger returned with Simplice about 90 minutes later, to find me ensconced comfortably in the armchair, perfusions dripping nicely, reading Jeune Afrique quite happily, and feeling fine. Roger was accompanied by Père Natalino, Père Roland (the parish priest) and André, the night guard. “Dearie me!” I said, “I don’t really need the last rites!” They stayed for a bit, Natalino just telling me to be careful and to take my time over things etc. and finally, they left, leaving Simplice and André. André explained that it was customary for patients to have someone from the household with them, and that Roger had decreed that he should be the lucky one, leaving Dahirou and Mustafa in charge of both residences (Aurel still being officially on sick leave at that point), so that was that. Worried that I hadn’t eaten, Simplice had bought a pineapple and proceeded to chop it up there and then and I gobbled what I could of it. The whole city must know of my predilection for pineapple!
Simplice left at about 9 (I’m a bit hazy about times, of course), and at about 10 the doctor on duty strolled in, punched me around a bit, sounding a bit surprised that I had no other symptoms other than the fever, but said that just in case it was malaria, they would start with the quinine right away (the test results wouldn’t be in until the morning). So the nurses fixed me up for the night and kindly brought a mattress for André to lie on. He dutifully set it down on the floor, blocking the door so that no one would dare come in during the night. I slept quite well, considering my position, since I was a bit concerned that I would yank out the needle, as I tend to sleep on my side. However, all was well, and morning came quite quickly.
Simplice showed up at about 8 a.m. with some more pineapple, bless him, and stayed for a short time. Soon after his departure, the nurses came in and changed perfusions, with another dose of quinine, and the doctor on duty came by to confirm that it was indeed a case of malaria, although not a serious one (in spite of the fever), and that it would soon go away, there, there. He congratulated me on my overall fitness (hem, hem, I don’t think I’ve ever had that said before!), expressed amazement that a person my age had so few aches and pains, that my blood pressure was extremely normal (his term, not mine) and off he went, saying that after perfusion number 4, I could, if I wished, go home and finish the treatment there, or stay at the clinic to finish it off (two more perfusions at the clinic, or a course of pills at home). Given the cost of the clinic, I opted for the home treatment, although it would mean time away from work (gasp!).
I was finally allowed out at about 6:30. Of course, in order to get out, one has to pay, and to pay, one has to have cash, because the clinic doesn’t accept cheques, so off we went, Simplice, André, two nurses from the clinic and me. First we had to go to the apartment to pick up the bank card, then off to the bank, I hoping that the cash machine would be working (it was!), then back to the clinic to pay, then to the pharmacy to have the prescription filled out and then home again. Not very restful, I must confess.
The next day, Tuesday, I felt fine, although the fever, as promised by the doctor, returned in a lesser form over the next couple of days. I spent most of the time sleeping and reading, doing a bit of work whenever I felt up to it, and generally having a good time. I went in to the office a couple of times, just to check on e-mails. It took about a week before I felt totally better, and I’m glad to report that all is now fine, thank you very much!
Thursday, May 1, was International Workers’ Day, and a holiday here. I didn’t go downtown with the masses, deciding that I was still convalescing, although many of my colleagues hoped that I would join them in the festivities. At about 2:30, I went over to the Centre, since a meal had been planned for the workers on their return from downtown. I’d been told the meal would be ready for 1:30, so I figured an hour late would be about right – and it was (I’m learning, I’m learning)! The meal was ready, but not everyone was there, so it wasn’t until about 3:15 that lunch was served. I came back home at about 4 for a bit, as I had to go out again shortly after 5 to attend a birthday party for the one-year old son of a colleague. I tell you, it’s all go!
Carlos, my colleague, had planned for a total of about 40 persons to show up for his son’s birthday party, but there must have been closer to 70 by the time all the kiddies were counted, everyone dressed up to the nines. I was the only white chappie there. Good food – although having two meals within three hours of each other was a bit much (same menu all around!), so I didn’t eat much. Maybe my stomach has shrunk at last! It was like kiddie parties everywhere, screaming kids (happy, mind you), all ages and a good time was being had by all. The kids started dancing after a bit, and there were some pretty nifty movers, aged all of nine or so. And some of the babies (the ones that could stand) weren’t doing too badly either! I left shortly after 7, when one of my other colleagues announced that he was walking home and did I want to come along. As I hadn’t brought my torch, and it was dark, I thought it best to leave with him, although I’m sure someone else would have accompanied me later on.
The sentinel saga has continued all through this, by the way, but I will spare you the narration. Just more of the same; all very tiring, and ensuring that at the end of this month, if not sooner, two of them, Mustafa and Dahirou, will no longer be in my employment. I’m not sure what to do about Aurel, since he’s been caught leaving early a couple of times, and has been warned about that. Ho, hum… hard to find good help these days!
Meanwhile André continues to be cheerful, especially as one of his wives is on a visit from the village with children in tow. I’m not sure how long they are staying, but I guess it was time to see papa. I don’t know if I’ve told you much about my lusty young sentinel and his two wives, two children and two to come (one per wife)? Not to mention the girl-friend here… André, who professes to be a good Catholic, told me quite seriously that things were changing a lot in Cameroon, as men couldn’t afford as many wives as they could in the past. He was planning on only having the two, while his father had had five, his paternal grandfather had had sixteen and his maternal grandfather had had thirty-one. Such Catholicism should exist in Canada… I met his wife number one (that’s how he introduced her) and their two children, boys aged 5 and 3. They are all staying at the house for the moment, although the place is totally empty. He told me today that wife number 2 had gone back to her own village, without telling him (he only just found out) and to have their child there. However, André intends to go and pick up his child shortly after the birth (this one is expected in June, I believe), as “the child is mine, and the wife can come back if she wants”. Of course, the Yaoundé girl-friend may be in line to replace wife number 2, or, who knows, become wife number 3.
The move to the new house was supposed to take place this weekend, but had to be postponed as the moving truck wasn’t available. The truck belongs to the Centre (the truck is a bit of a rattle-trap), and was offered for the purpose, but this weekend it had been reserved by the Salesian sisters (who run an orphanage up the hill) so that they could take some kids one some kind of outing. I can just hear the outcry in Canada! A hundred kids stashed in the back of an open truck lurching down the pot-holed highway!
On the work front, the next stage of the curriculum document saga is about to start – the consultant has been hired who is to coordinate the whole thing (with me looking over his shoulder), and we’re in a bit of a rush (the first version of the documents have to be ready by May 15). The first meeting of his team of experts was held this Friday evening, starting at 6 p.m. – on an official day off (both May 1 and 2 were statutory holidays this year)! Fourteen out of eighteen experts showed up, which wasn’t bad, really. We didn’t get out until 9 p.m. Just as well as I wasn’t moving after all! All the documents are to be in final form by the end of June, and I’ll be glad when that activity is over. In the meantime, I’m busy planning next year’s professional development activities for all the teachers at the Centre – it’s quite an ambitious program, with training sessions, classroom observations and individual feedback, but should be quite fun. I’ll be working with a couple of my colleagues so that we can share the load.
Well, that’s the story up to now, my friends! I hope all is well with you and yours. The next instalment probably won’t be posted for two or three weeks, when I shall regale you with (no doubt) hilarious stories about the move!
Cheers!
David
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Monday, April 14, 2008
Yaoundé, April 14, 2008
Greetings!
It’s hard to believe that more than a month has passed since my last posting. It has been busy, both on the personal front and on the work front, so there hasn’t been much time to sit on the balcony or to write.
When I last wrote, I had rented a house down the road, and an outside toilet had been (almost) completely built for the sentinels. The toilet is still in the same state, you’ll be glad to know, that is, all is there except the bowl and the small sink. I think the agent hopes that I’ll cave in and buy them, but that would be admitting ownership and no doubt being held liable for the cost of the total. So there it sits. The dear man is unfindable, in spite of repeated phone calls (unanswered) and e-mails (equally unanswered), although he has been sighted by André, the sentinel at the new house. I’m waiting to see what’s going to transpire on that front.
On the electrical front, there was quite a lot to do. I think I promised an amusing account on that score, and I shall not disappoint, even if sometimes events were a tad frustrating.
One Saturday, I was inspecting the house and outside toilet, together with Roger, my helpful friend from the Centre, and André, the ever-smiling sentinel at the house, the bell at the gate rang, and it turned out to be the electrical inspector cum metre reader. He had come to deliver a bill and asked me who I was! It turns out that a) the previous lessee (or the owner) had left without paying bills and that b) to turn on the electricity, this bill had to be paid. I pointed out, gently, that it wasn’t my responsibility to pay off this bill, and the electricity man agreed that it was the house agent’s business to clear things up. The latter (Mr. Olli), of course, had told me that there was no problem, and that all we had to do was to go to the electricity board, the Société nationale de l’électricité (SONEL from now on) and sign a few papers to have the electricity contract switched to my name.
André’s radio was blaring, and from the gate, it was clearly evident that it was plugged into a socket, indicating that we were using electricity. The metre man, Ben by name, expressed surprise, since the electricity had been cut off at least twice since November. So he went over to the metre to see what was going on… Imagine our surprise to find that the metre had been by-passed, and that power was being stolen directly from the grid, with no protection whatsoever. Lordy, lordy! Well, said Ben, this is not only illegal but dangerous. I totally agreed with him, and asked what he suggested. So, it was decided that the SONEL people would come around on Monday morning and cut off the wires, and thus the electricity. Then I could set up my own account with the SONEL.
That evening, Roger and I called Mr. Olli. I asked Roger to do most of the talking, figuring that messages might be clearer if passed between two Cameroonians. Roger had a hard time getting through to Mr. Olli’s head – the latter just blusters on and on and tries to bulldoze his way out of things. Mr. Olli insisted that all was well and that I shouldn’t meddle with things that didn’t concern me. I pointed out that they did concern me, since the lease clearly stated that I was responsible for all electrical bills from the time of the signing of the lease, not before, and I needed bills in my name. Plus, I said to Mr. Olli, at the moment the electricity was being stolen off the grid, and I had no desire to be fined or imprisoned for stealing from the state, and that I had given orders for the electricity to be cut off on the Monday. Dead silence from the other end…
On the Monday, Aurel (one of the night guards, the talkative one), was delegated by Roger to go to the SONEL to see what should be done once the power had been cut off by Mr. Ben. He discovered that I would need to fill out papers, pay for the installation of a metre and all its accoutrements and that a deposit would be required. I duly took out the money that was required, and he went back to make the payments (I’d also filled out the forms) and start the process. A few days later, the new metre was set up, the illegal electric wire taken down, and the legal system put in place. Phew…
No, no, the saga isn’t finished yet! The new metre was set up during the morning of a Friday, and at noon, André came around to the apartment, looking quite woebegone, saying that the power had just been cut off! He said that he’d had power for about an hour, and then a team of electricity workers had shown up with a work order to turn it off. As I had all the papers with me, he couldn’t prove that the power had just been turned on legally, and the team said they were just doing their job and showed him the work order that they had. Poor man! I sent him back to the house, saying that Aurel would be showing up shortly. Once Aurel showed up, the team came back with their boss, Mr. Ben. Mr. Ben, if you remember, had told me that he was going to make sure that the illegal power was cut off, and that was the reason for the work order. It’s just that he hadn’t got around to it on the Monday or Tuesday, as originally promised. So Aurel and Ben went back to the SONEL to see Aurel’s contact there (who happens to be the district manager, fortunately) to see what had happened. The district manager was quite surprised and apologetic, since he had forgotten that he had signed that work order before signing the order to re-install the electricity. Héhé… all was well, however, and he ordered the team back to re-install the electricity, so the power was back on by 3 p.m. I’m sure there’s a TV series to be made of all this!
I suspect that I’ve made a few people in the neighbourhood unhappy, since I’m quite sure that the illegal line was feeding quite a few households… Ah well, I’ll have to live with it! No way am I paying for everyone’s electricity – it’s expensive enough as it is!
Of course, the speed at which all this was accomplished could not have been attained without the help of baksheesh left, right and centre (plus a bottle of whisky for the district manager)! I suppose I shouldn’t be encouraging that type of behaviour, but as Aurel said, if you want to get things done, you need to follow local practices, or else end up waiting for a long time (i.e., months or years) to get your legal connection. Poor Cameroonians… Fortunately, it was Aurel doing the baksheeshing, or the price would have been higher!
Meanwhile, on the apartment front, things have been happening also. I believe that I’ve mentioned the fact that Dahirou, the older day guard, has quite the liking for little sachets of whisky. The younger guard, Mustafa, does also, and this had led to quite a few amusing, if frustrating, moments.
Relations between the various guards seemed to have deteriorated dramatically over a few weeks. I suspect that Aurel’s self-importance together with the fact that he’d been haring back and forth from the apartment to the SONEL to the house hadn’t helped (he does strut with self-importance), plus, of course, the ever present jealousy that seems to be a fact of life in Cameroon. I’m sure Mustafa and Dahirou are wondering why I didn’t ask them to do all haring around. The answer is quite simple, really: Mustafa, nice as he is, is such a wimp and Dahirou is in his cups most of the time (or snoring it off) that neither of them could accomplish much.
Anyway, the latest ruckus started on the Friday evening of the day when the electricity was finally installed, when Dahirou and Aurel had words. As stated up above, Aurel had spent most of the week fixing things up with the SONEL during the day, and still guarding at night, and by Friday, he was pretty bushed, to put it mildly. So, on the Friday afternoon, when he came to confirm that the power was on, at about 3 p.m., I told him to take a few hours to rest and that he didn’t need to report for work until 9 p.m. (he usually starts at 6 p.m.). At 6, I told Dahirou that he could go home, because Aurel would be late, as I’d given him permission to be so. Dahirou said that he’d wait anyway, and I said that it was up to him, but that he was free to go (no way am I getting into paying overtime!). Dahirou finally gave up and went home at 8. At about 8:45, Aurel showed up, in time to start his shift; he put his motorbike in the parking area, locked all the gates behind him, and was about to come up to get his bottle of filtered water, when there was a knock at the gate, and it was Dahirou, almost banging. I happened to be on the balcony and saw Aurel ask who it was (he always does) and then open the gate to say hi to Dahirou and ask what he wanted. I didn’t hear what Dahirou said, but Aurel exploded and said that he had been given permission to arrive late, and what business was it of Dahirou’s to tell him off. Hard words then seem to have been exchanged, with Dahirou wanting to come in to pick up a couple of logs he’d collected during the day (to cook on), so Aurel got them for him, but threw them over the wall! It was from my vantage point fairly obvious that Dahirou had been drinking between 8:00 and 8:45, just from the way he was walking. Aurel was furious (of course, I’m sure he’s blameless in all this, hem, hem), and phoned Roger to tell him about this (they sort of report to Roger, in the sense that he hired them all, and he’s asked to be kept informed of all that happens; a very complicated management system to be sure!). Aurel wanted Roger to go and tell Dahirou off right away, but Roger said that he’d see Dahirou the next day. Roger then spoke to me, and I confirmed just what I’d been able to hear, and of course that I’d given Aurel time to rest before coming in to work. Roger and I agreed to discuss this the next day, or Sunday, when cooler heads might prevail.
Anyway, Aurel fumed around for most of the evening (he really doesn’t like Dahirou!), pointing out that his qualifications and experience and connections were better than anyone else’s around here and rant, rant, rant! I suspect that it’s that kind of talk that gets people’s backs up (doesn’t it always?).
Roger duly came round on the Saturday, and said that we should hold another meeting of the troops to clear the air (you’ll remember that there was one in early February). He doesn’t find it normal that adults should act like children, and of course it looks bad on him, as it were. As zebigboss, I’d have to be there too, and say a few words. Lordy…
Saturday was a normal day, in that Dahirou was at work (and slept a lot!), as was Sunday, and Mustafa came on for night duty, as usual (he works Saturday and Sunday nights, Tuesdays and Thursdays during the day). On the Sunday evening, Mustafa came up at about 7 and asked me if I’d seen the bow and arrows that are usually kept downstairs for the sentinels. No, I replied, the last time I’d seen them had been the night before. He said that they had disappeared. The mystery was (somewhat) cleared up a little bit later, when Dahirou came round to say hello to Mustafa; Dahirou had taken the weapons home, claiming they were his. After Dahirou had left, Mustafa asked me if this was the case. I replied saying that I had assumed that they were mine, in that I had a bill showing that I had bought a bow and arrows back in December, and that anything that I’d bought was for use by all the guards. Mustafa didn’t say anything, just looked quizzical and off he went.
If this is starting to sound like a soap opera, you’re not wrong….
So, Monday night rolled around, and the troops were gathered by 6 p.m., including André and Roger. We congregated downstairs, with me sitting on the steps, and began. I started off first, saying that I’d noticed that there seemed to be some discord at the moment, and I was hoping that things could get resolved, since I want a team to be working for me, not a bunch of individuals (management 101!). I also said that I’d noticed that alcohol was still being consumed, and that this was a final warning – not only were they not to drink on the job, but not to drink during working hours (in case it was interpreted that it was ok to leave and drink outside on the street!). I also added that I expected them to show up for work sober, since they couldn’t be very good sentinels if a bit woozy. All very diplomatic etc.
Then the fireworks started! Roger was sort moderating the meeting, so he asked if anyone had anything to say, and Aurel started up right away – quite the harangue about Dahirou, the fact that he had dared to insult Aurel on the previous Friday, that he had no right to question Aurel’s arrival time, etc. etc, not to mention that he (Aurel) had lots of experience, etc etc. Basically, Aurel was looking for an apology for the insults (which I felt he deserved, I must admit). Of course, Aurel claimed that Dahirou was drunk at the gate, and that on a number of occasions he’d had to bang hard on the gate to be let in, especially during this week when he’d had to consult me about the electricity, etc. Aurel does go on a lot… and doesn’t help his case!
Roger waited until he’d finished, and then asked Dahirou for his side of the story. Dahirou claimed that he had just come around to pick up the bits of wood that he had forgotten, and had just asked out of curiosity why Aurel was late, and then Aurel lit into him. Of course, I couldn’t corroborate that, since I hadn’t heard what Dahirou had said outside the gate… Then Dahirou went on and on about how from the beginning things hadn’t gone well; first there was the story of the radio – I’d given Aurel money to buy a small radio for the sentinels, and within a few days, it had been broken, and couldn’t be fixed (or so I was told). So I bought another one, but the original one disappeared, probably to Aurel’s home, and Dahirou thought that this was not on. Aurel fumed at this, and interrupted (this is a no-no, since the person who has the floor is allowed to complete his piece before someone else starts talking), saying that the radio had been broken because Dahirou had fiddled with it in the first place, instead of just using it normally, and besides what about all the cigarette butts that were always being littered about and that he had to clean up when he came on duty in the evening, not to mention the fact that the cardboard he’d brought, from his own home, to put on the ground so that all the sentinels could use it to lie on when taking a brief rest, and how come Dahirou was forever taking bits of the cardboard on which he “did his doings” and then threw it over the wall, which meant that the cardboard had to be replaced, and the fact that his things are always being gone through and there are never any matches left no matter what size box is there, and on and on and on…. Lordy… He finally calmed down after Roger yelled at him and told him that Dahirou had the floor. So, of course, Dahirou lit in, saying that all these things were lies etc etc, and he had his own litany of woes, the major one being that Aurel was always late by a few minutes even since he’d got his own motorbike.
Meanwhile, I drank my iced tea, wishing it was whisky (there’s an unopened bottle of Lagavulin in the cupboard, but maybe not unopened for much longer!). Roger then asked what had happened to the bow and arrows (Mustafa had gone to tell him of this event), and Dahirou said that as they were his, he had decided to take them home. At this point, I intervened, and said (unknowingly adding fuel to this boiling mix) that I had paid for these weapons, and that I had a bill to prove it, and that I’d give Aurel the money for this purchase at the time that he had presented me with his list of necessities (I think the list is in one of the previous blogs). Well – what a ruckus! Aurel said that when he had gone looking for a bow and arrows, he had been unable to find any, and had come back to say so, while Dahirou was around. Dahirou, according to Aurel, said that he had a set, so why didn’t he sell them to Aurel for 5000 francs (about $12.50), so that’s what happened. Dahirou retorted that that was not what had happened, that he’d only agreed to lend the bow and arrows until such time as new ones could be bought, and that he’d not received any money for them. Woo-hoo… what a fight of he saids you saids etc. Somewhere, of course, there was shifty work – not that a great sum was involved, but…
All this time, Mustafa and André were just spectating, Mustafa unsure what to say, since he’s related to Dahirou, but wanted the bow and arrows back, and André, as the newcomer, just standing there with a huge smile on his face.
Roger finally took command of all this, and started his speech and giving out orders of what should now be happening. First, he summarized what we had all heard, and pointed out that we’d never know the full truth, neither about the bow and arrows, neither about the quarrel on the Friday night, but pointed out that there seemed to have been funny business originally with the bow and arrows. He added that both he and I have more to do with our time than worry about childish behaviour (“I’m ashamed of you”), there are lots of other people looking for work.
Roger then warned the drinkers (Mustafa and Dahirou) that they’d better cease and desist, as this constituted their second formal warning. Mustafa mewed at this point that he’d never been derelict in his duties, at which Roger sneered and said that Mustafa had been quite tipsy the last time that he’d been around, about ten days before, and that M. David had noticed too. Mustafa looked at me at this point, probably for support, but I had to agree with Roger that Mustafa had definitely been under the influence and that I’d even had to go down and let a guest in at the gate because Mustafa had refused to open it. Anyway, a round of dismissals was threatened again.
The meeting finally came to an end, and Dahirou, Mustafa and André all went off, with Aurel staying behind, since he was on duty..
By this time, it was about 8:30, and Roger went off home, and I sat down to finish some work. Well, it didn’t take more than 10 minutes for Aurel to come in, having knocked and then just wandering in as is his habit, to say how angry he was at a) Dahirou and b) at the Roger had mismanaged the meeting. Of course, Aurel didn’t get his way at the meeting, so I assume that’s why he was annoyed. He was most hurt at being accused of stealing (the bow and arrows and false invoice), since he thought he was helping Dahirou out (the latter never having any money) and he knew, since he’s worked with other Canadian projects, that I had to have a receipt for every expense. Anyway, he ranted on and on, I just made hum and hah noises, and looked pointedly at my computer, but nothing was going to get rid of him, so I allowed the steam to flow. He finally left me alone.
Lo and behold, ten minutes later, the bell rang, so I went out to the balcony, to see Dahirou’s smiling face looking up at me from the street, to say that Mustafa would be along with the bow and arrows in a few minutes. Off he went. Off I went, back to my papers. Ten minutes later, the bell went again, and it was Mustafa, with bow and arrows, but he refused to give them to Aurel, and insisted on coming up to the balcony, made a little speech saying that these were the bow and arrows brought back for the time being until replacements were bought, handed them to me solemnly and off he went.
At this point, I must confess I’d had enough, and told Aurel that I really had to finish this work before I went to bed, and shut the door behind him.
The next day, I had to face Mustafa, who came to work promptly at 7 a.m. (instead of around 7:15), and he too told me what he thought – he too hadn’t liked the way Roger had run the meeting. Mustafa said that Dahirou claimed that he hadn’t received any money for the bow and arrows but that they would stay here until replacements were found. Plus, he added, he (Mustafa) didn’t want to be involved in this type of disagreement, because he always took his duties seriously and showed up for work even if he’d had a few too many (!!!). I pointed out gently that I appreciated this, but that if he were tipsy, he couldn’t be an effective sentinel – and repeated that I’d had to let someone in the previous week because he wouldn’t open the gate. Of course, he swore it wouldn’t happen again, and I said I hoped not, because his contract wouldn’t be renewed if it did happen again (he has a 6-month contract). And off he went…
And so, I thought, things would remain calm… Alas, it was not to be! If you need a pause from reading, this is a good place to take a break. Maybe have a glass of whisky?
As luck would have it, on the Friday following the meeting I had one of my sleepless nights – thankfully, they are very few here – and I woke up at about 2:45. At 3, I got up, since it was obvious that I wasn’t going to sleep again unless I had a cup of mint tea or something, and while waiting for the water to boil, I thought I’d ask Aurel if he’d like some water or a cup of coffee, or something. So, I opened up the doors (this is like unlocking Fort Knox), and called down to him. No answer. A bit concerned, I must admit, I went downstairs to see if he was ok or just sleeping (which no doubt happens a lot, although Aurel will never admit to sleeping on the job!). Imagine my surprise to find that he wasn’t there and neither was his motorbike. This type of absence had happened at least once before, so I wasn’t too pleased, obviously! So much for the paragon of sentinels! And another warning coming up…
Saturday was thus spent in a bit of a haze, of course, although I had a couple of naps to recoup. I’d gone back to bed at about 5, and was awakened by the doorbell announcing Dahirou’s arrival shortly before 7. He doesn’t usually ring the bell, but he announced with a big grin that Mustafa was there also. Being rather dozy, I didn’t register (it meant that Mustafa had come for money), and just smiled, shut the door and went back in! Anyway, when I went out shopping (the highlight of the week) with Njikam, the taximan, Mustafa was nowhere to be seen, and Dahirou was snoring it off as usual – he didn’t hear me clang open the bar, unlock the door and lock it again behind me. I supposed that he’d been drinking all night, ho hum…
Dahirou was awake when I came back a couple of hours later and the rest of the day passed quietly. At about 3:30 or so, the bell rang, and it was Mustafa. He had asked me, on the Thursday, if I could give him an advance on his salary (they don’t get paid until the end of the month), since he and his family didn’t have anything to eat, and at the time, I told him I couldn’t because I didn’t have any money on me (quite true) and that I wouldn’t have any until Saturday. Hence his visit… So, I gave him all of 5000 francs, which is all I could afford, and off he went. Dahirou, who never misses a chance to get an advance, told me he had to attend a funeral and could he have an advance too, so he got his 5000 francs also. Dahirou then went rushing off (to pay something, he said, truthfully, héhé) and no doubt bought himself a couple of little bags of whisky. Anyway, he came back, and left at 6, at which time Mustafa was to come on duty for the night.
As it happened, I was on the balcony and saw Mustafa carefully approaching the apartment, from the direction of the bar, of course (I mean, it’s in the same building). He was watching his steps carefully, and talking to himself and pointing at something. I’ve seen him like this before and know that it is an indication that he is tipsy. Well…. I wasn’t only disappointed, , I was bloody mad! Apart from the fact that he’d been warned again, it meant that the 5000 francs I’d given him a couple of hours earlier, theoretically to feed his family, had gone to booze.
You’ll remember that Mustafa says he can work even if a bit tipsy. So I watched him fumble at the gate, stumble up the stairs to get the bottle of water needed to make coffee, swaying as he made the request, admired him while he looked at the box in which the coffee accoutrements live (kettle, coffee, cups, sugar, little bags of milk, mosquito coils, matches) and finally decided that he should make two trips of it (and watched him negotiate the stairs twice, almost in the hopes that he would trip!). I wasn’t quite sure what to do, to be honest; although I was fuming, I didn’t dare say anything in case I lost control and because although he’s pretty skinny, he’s also pretty strong, and I didn’t want to get into a fight. Nor did I want to hurt him, accidentally. So, coward that I am, and also wanting a witness, I called Roger (who had asked to be informed of any transgression, of course), and invited him around for a brief visit. So, a few minutes later, Roger rang at the gate. Mustafa stumbled to the gate, looked at it in perplexity, hunted for the key in his pockets (he locks the gate as well as bars it) and stumbled back to his chair, without having opened the gate. Roger rang again, and this time, I came down and let him in, with Mustafa sort of hanging over us – I’d managed to get to the gate before Mustafa stumbled back. Roger didn’t say anything, just came upstairs and said – he’s drunk again!!! Yup, I said, that’s what I wanted you to see.
Of course, a few days before at the big meeting, we had just given notice that drunkenness would lead to automatic dismissal. Roger, however, pleaded for one more chance for Mustafa, and also pointed out that we needed to follow legal procedures, which include a written warning that had not yet been written. So, we decided that Roger would go and get André and bring him in from the other house, so that he could be the sentinel at the apartment, and that we’d send Mustafa home so he could “rest”. No sooner said than done, and Roger was back with André within 20 minutes. Mustafa, befuddled as he was, wondered why André was here, and I said that I thought Mustafa should go home to rest, because he didn’t look too well, and that, as a consequence, I’d asked André to come and keep the guard. Oh no, said Mustafa, I’m not tired, I’m ok, things are fine, André can go back to the other house. Roger then lit in and said that a) it was obvious that Mustafa was tipsy and b) he was refusing a direct order from his boss. I wish I’d been able to record the ensuing conversation, with Mustafa slurring his words, saying that he wasn’t tired, that he wasn’t tipsy, that the boss was just an old man who liked him, and anyway it was up to the boss what to do – all this while the boss kept on repeating that he should go home. I have a contract, said Mustafa, who must have realized that he was in danger of losing his job. Yes, I said, but your contract says that you have to be sober when you are at work. I am sober, he said, and I’m not tired and I must do my work. And so on, and so on…
This continued in the same vein for a good twenty minutes, with André trying to talk sense into Mustafa, but without any luck. Finally, I’m not sure quite how it happened, Roger just reached out and took Mustafa by the shoulders and pushed him out of the gate, and locked it behind him. Quite dramatic, I must admit. Roger then said that Mustafa should be suspended without pay for at least a week (for gross insubordination and for showing up drunk at work), a ruling with which I agreed.
So, Mustafa had a week off, without pay, and he wasn’t too chirpy about it, especially when pay day rolled around. Everyone gets paid on the last day of the month, and in March, this was on the Monday, and everyone was paid by 5 p.m. The next day, Tuesday is a day on which Mustapha works, and he duly showed up at 7 a.m., looking a bit worse for wear – I suspect that he’d been drinking on Monday night. Anyway… I came home at noon, as usual, for my lunch break, and, also as usual, Mustafa went off for his lunch. The guards are only supposed to be away for about 20 minutes when they go to get their lunch – I’ve asked them to bring it back to eat here, since they are on duty, and when Judith (the lady who “does” for me) is here, one feels a responsibility. Anyway, I left shortly before 1 and he hadn’t returned. Judith told me later on that he did come back shortly after 1, and that she then sent him out on an errand, to buy some pineapple. I guess he went off happily, but took quite a while to come back, telling Judith that he’d stopped off to have lunch (!). Judith said that she wasn’t sure what he’d had for lunch, but anyway…
I was due at the Hilton for a meeting with colleagues at about 4:00, and had a couple of errands I wanted to run in town before getting there, so I came back to the house at about 2:30 to drop off some stuff that I might need for the evening work. I knocked on the gate as usual, since the guards always pull the bar across the gate (quite right too!). No reply – I peeked through the crack between the wall and the gatepost, and all I could see were Mustafa’s feet, sticking out from under the stairs. When Dahirou is sleeping, he lounges in the guard chair, so I can see all of him (as it were), but this was a bit worrying. Anyway, I banged louder and louder, with no reaction from the man at all. I could see that Judith was still there (fortunately! She sometimes leaves at about 2, when she’s finished her work, with my permission), so I finally rang the doorbell. Judith came to the balcony, and I shouted up at her that Mustafa was sleeping (the whole street could hear, I’m sure!), so she came down to open the gate, making sure that she made lots of noise doing so. I came into the yard, and banged the gate shut, clanged the bar across it – absolutely no movement from Mustafa. I mean, absolutely none. A bit concerned, I came up closer to him, and called his name, but to no avail. I shook him a bit, and still no reaction. There was a definite whiff of alcohol and a couple of empty beer bottles (but of course, no proof that he’d actually been doing the drinking). Since it was impossible to wake him up, I left him there (too kind, really – I should have called someone and had him hauled out, but I didn’t have time), and went upstairs to fritter around the office. When I left, about 20 minutes later, there had been no movement, and I noticed that Mustafa had left his keys in full view. So, I pocketed them, and asked Judith a) to lock the gate behind me and b) to lock the gate behind her when she left. This is what she did – I phoned her later to ask if there had been any change, and she said that when she left, at four thirty, he was still in the same position, with no movement as she clanged the gate.
The meeting turned into a supper meeting, and I got back at about 9 p.m., and Aurel greeted me like a long-lost brother, and lit into his narrative about Mustafa and Dahirou. It turns out that the keys I’d picked up were actually Dahirou’s set of keys (no idea where Mustafa’s were), and he’d come to pick them up so that he could get into his shack! So, there they were conferring through the gate when Aurel arrived, Mustafa wondering where he’d dropped his keys (maybe when I had lunch, he said, showing how befuddled he was, since he couldn’t have got back in without his keys!). Dahirou, of course, was not pleased, since it now meant that he had to break the padlock to get into the shack and he also had the keys to a neighbour’s house… The final conclusion that these fine people arrived at (naturally, I suppose), was that Judith must have taken the keys! I disabused Aurel of this notion, saying that I’d picked them up for security reasons
The next morning (Wednesday), Dahirou came up to complain that his keys had been taken and was wondering if “la dame” had taken them. I said that she hadn’t taken them, but that I had, and that I didn’t know that they were his keys. I pointed out that Mustafa was sleeping so hard that anyone could have come in to take them (etc. etc). When I came home at noon, Dahirou handed me a note that Mustafa had delivered as an apology. I just grunted, and said that I would have a letter for Mustafa at the end of the day. In the letter, I gave a last warning, and added that any transgression, no matter how small, to the rules and regulations and responsibilities would be cause for immediate dismissal. I really wanted to fire him right away, but not being able to prove he’d been drinking on Tuesday, I felt that I should give him his second written warning, as required by the law.
On the Friday, Mustafa spent most of the day here, with Dahirou, although it’s not a Mustafa day. I’m quite sure he was drinking, as Mustafa has a strange way of talking when he’s under the influence. I did ask them to be a bit quieter, a couple of times, since I was working at home with a colleague. At about 2:30, the colleague and I went off downtown – she to her hotel (she was in town from Canada for a couple of weeks) and I to the bank. When I got back, Dahirou was nowhere to be seen (neither was Mustafa), and the gate was unlocked! Before I could get in, Dahirou came rushing up saying that he’d just gone out to buy a couple of cigarettes. I told him off for a) leaving without permission and b) leaving the gate unlocked! Lordy, lordy, but patience (even mine) was wearing thin…
And it goes on! On Sunday, Dahirou asked to go out for lunch at about 11:30 (permission granted) and he was back in about 20 minutes (probably just enough time for a couple of nips; how uncharitable of me). Anyway, at about 1:15, I went out on the balcony and noticed that the bar across the gate was down, a sign that the guards are outside on the street. Curious, because I couldn’t see anyone, I went down to open the gate and peeked out. No one around and THE GATE HAD BEEN LEFT UNLOCKED AGAIN. I was furious, to put it mildly! I was just about to pull the gate to, when Mustafa came rushing up saying that Dahirou was having a discussion with a man at the bar (yeah, right) and that he, Mustafa, was coming to take Dahirou’s place. I showed my annoyance by shouting at him, saying that I was paying Dahirou to guard during the day, and what business did Dahirou have to leave and leave the gate unlocked? I stormed upstairs, clanging various gates and doors shut behind me. What I should have done, of course, was lock Mustafa out and tell him to come back at his working time, and just left Dahirou to stew, but it was too late by the time I came out – Mustafa had gone to get Dahirou and they were both there. So I just banged doors shut. And wrote a letter for Dahirou too…
On Monday (nearly done, my friends!), I announced that there would be a meeting on the Thursday evening, with all guards. I wrote out all the rules and regulations (they are included in their contracts), invited Roger to be present, and read the riot act. I read out the rules, made sure that they said they had understood them, repeated again that this was the final warning for all of them, got them to sign the sheet of paper on which the rules had been printed, gave them each a copy of the rules and sent them away.
We’ll see now what happens…
While all this was going on, the work side was quite busy. My two colleagues from Canada were here, as it is the time of year to prepare the annual report and to plan next year’s activities, so it was a busy time, to put it mildly!
This has been quite long, but I hope not too boring! Looking back on it, it’s been quite amusing, but also frustrating. I think, however, I’ll leave you for now so you can all recuperate, and will add more in a few days’ time… Life in Cameroon is anything but boring!
Cheers!
David
It’s hard to believe that more than a month has passed since my last posting. It has been busy, both on the personal front and on the work front, so there hasn’t been much time to sit on the balcony or to write.
When I last wrote, I had rented a house down the road, and an outside toilet had been (almost) completely built for the sentinels. The toilet is still in the same state, you’ll be glad to know, that is, all is there except the bowl and the small sink. I think the agent hopes that I’ll cave in and buy them, but that would be admitting ownership and no doubt being held liable for the cost of the total. So there it sits. The dear man is unfindable, in spite of repeated phone calls (unanswered) and e-mails (equally unanswered), although he has been sighted by André, the sentinel at the new house. I’m waiting to see what’s going to transpire on that front.
On the electrical front, there was quite a lot to do. I think I promised an amusing account on that score, and I shall not disappoint, even if sometimes events were a tad frustrating.
One Saturday, I was inspecting the house and outside toilet, together with Roger, my helpful friend from the Centre, and André, the ever-smiling sentinel at the house, the bell at the gate rang, and it turned out to be the electrical inspector cum metre reader. He had come to deliver a bill and asked me who I was! It turns out that a) the previous lessee (or the owner) had left without paying bills and that b) to turn on the electricity, this bill had to be paid. I pointed out, gently, that it wasn’t my responsibility to pay off this bill, and the electricity man agreed that it was the house agent’s business to clear things up. The latter (Mr. Olli), of course, had told me that there was no problem, and that all we had to do was to go to the electricity board, the Société nationale de l’électricité (SONEL from now on) and sign a few papers to have the electricity contract switched to my name.
André’s radio was blaring, and from the gate, it was clearly evident that it was plugged into a socket, indicating that we were using electricity. The metre man, Ben by name, expressed surprise, since the electricity had been cut off at least twice since November. So he went over to the metre to see what was going on… Imagine our surprise to find that the metre had been by-passed, and that power was being stolen directly from the grid, with no protection whatsoever. Lordy, lordy! Well, said Ben, this is not only illegal but dangerous. I totally agreed with him, and asked what he suggested. So, it was decided that the SONEL people would come around on Monday morning and cut off the wires, and thus the electricity. Then I could set up my own account with the SONEL.
That evening, Roger and I called Mr. Olli. I asked Roger to do most of the talking, figuring that messages might be clearer if passed between two Cameroonians. Roger had a hard time getting through to Mr. Olli’s head – the latter just blusters on and on and tries to bulldoze his way out of things. Mr. Olli insisted that all was well and that I shouldn’t meddle with things that didn’t concern me. I pointed out that they did concern me, since the lease clearly stated that I was responsible for all electrical bills from the time of the signing of the lease, not before, and I needed bills in my name. Plus, I said to Mr. Olli, at the moment the electricity was being stolen off the grid, and I had no desire to be fined or imprisoned for stealing from the state, and that I had given orders for the electricity to be cut off on the Monday. Dead silence from the other end…
On the Monday, Aurel (one of the night guards, the talkative one), was delegated by Roger to go to the SONEL to see what should be done once the power had been cut off by Mr. Ben. He discovered that I would need to fill out papers, pay for the installation of a metre and all its accoutrements and that a deposit would be required. I duly took out the money that was required, and he went back to make the payments (I’d also filled out the forms) and start the process. A few days later, the new metre was set up, the illegal electric wire taken down, and the legal system put in place. Phew…
No, no, the saga isn’t finished yet! The new metre was set up during the morning of a Friday, and at noon, André came around to the apartment, looking quite woebegone, saying that the power had just been cut off! He said that he’d had power for about an hour, and then a team of electricity workers had shown up with a work order to turn it off. As I had all the papers with me, he couldn’t prove that the power had just been turned on legally, and the team said they were just doing their job and showed him the work order that they had. Poor man! I sent him back to the house, saying that Aurel would be showing up shortly. Once Aurel showed up, the team came back with their boss, Mr. Ben. Mr. Ben, if you remember, had told me that he was going to make sure that the illegal power was cut off, and that was the reason for the work order. It’s just that he hadn’t got around to it on the Monday or Tuesday, as originally promised. So Aurel and Ben went back to the SONEL to see Aurel’s contact there (who happens to be the district manager, fortunately) to see what had happened. The district manager was quite surprised and apologetic, since he had forgotten that he had signed that work order before signing the order to re-install the electricity. Héhé… all was well, however, and he ordered the team back to re-install the electricity, so the power was back on by 3 p.m. I’m sure there’s a TV series to be made of all this!
I suspect that I’ve made a few people in the neighbourhood unhappy, since I’m quite sure that the illegal line was feeding quite a few households… Ah well, I’ll have to live with it! No way am I paying for everyone’s electricity – it’s expensive enough as it is!
Of course, the speed at which all this was accomplished could not have been attained without the help of baksheesh left, right and centre (plus a bottle of whisky for the district manager)! I suppose I shouldn’t be encouraging that type of behaviour, but as Aurel said, if you want to get things done, you need to follow local practices, or else end up waiting for a long time (i.e., months or years) to get your legal connection. Poor Cameroonians… Fortunately, it was Aurel doing the baksheeshing, or the price would have been higher!
Meanwhile, on the apartment front, things have been happening also. I believe that I’ve mentioned the fact that Dahirou, the older day guard, has quite the liking for little sachets of whisky. The younger guard, Mustafa, does also, and this had led to quite a few amusing, if frustrating, moments.
Relations between the various guards seemed to have deteriorated dramatically over a few weeks. I suspect that Aurel’s self-importance together with the fact that he’d been haring back and forth from the apartment to the SONEL to the house hadn’t helped (he does strut with self-importance), plus, of course, the ever present jealousy that seems to be a fact of life in Cameroon. I’m sure Mustafa and Dahirou are wondering why I didn’t ask them to do all haring around. The answer is quite simple, really: Mustafa, nice as he is, is such a wimp and Dahirou is in his cups most of the time (or snoring it off) that neither of them could accomplish much.
Anyway, the latest ruckus started on the Friday evening of the day when the electricity was finally installed, when Dahirou and Aurel had words. As stated up above, Aurel had spent most of the week fixing things up with the SONEL during the day, and still guarding at night, and by Friday, he was pretty bushed, to put it mildly. So, on the Friday afternoon, when he came to confirm that the power was on, at about 3 p.m., I told him to take a few hours to rest and that he didn’t need to report for work until 9 p.m. (he usually starts at 6 p.m.). At 6, I told Dahirou that he could go home, because Aurel would be late, as I’d given him permission to be so. Dahirou said that he’d wait anyway, and I said that it was up to him, but that he was free to go (no way am I getting into paying overtime!). Dahirou finally gave up and went home at 8. At about 8:45, Aurel showed up, in time to start his shift; he put his motorbike in the parking area, locked all the gates behind him, and was about to come up to get his bottle of filtered water, when there was a knock at the gate, and it was Dahirou, almost banging. I happened to be on the balcony and saw Aurel ask who it was (he always does) and then open the gate to say hi to Dahirou and ask what he wanted. I didn’t hear what Dahirou said, but Aurel exploded and said that he had been given permission to arrive late, and what business was it of Dahirou’s to tell him off. Hard words then seem to have been exchanged, with Dahirou wanting to come in to pick up a couple of logs he’d collected during the day (to cook on), so Aurel got them for him, but threw them over the wall! It was from my vantage point fairly obvious that Dahirou had been drinking between 8:00 and 8:45, just from the way he was walking. Aurel was furious (of course, I’m sure he’s blameless in all this, hem, hem), and phoned Roger to tell him about this (they sort of report to Roger, in the sense that he hired them all, and he’s asked to be kept informed of all that happens; a very complicated management system to be sure!). Aurel wanted Roger to go and tell Dahirou off right away, but Roger said that he’d see Dahirou the next day. Roger then spoke to me, and I confirmed just what I’d been able to hear, and of course that I’d given Aurel time to rest before coming in to work. Roger and I agreed to discuss this the next day, or Sunday, when cooler heads might prevail.
Anyway, Aurel fumed around for most of the evening (he really doesn’t like Dahirou!), pointing out that his qualifications and experience and connections were better than anyone else’s around here and rant, rant, rant! I suspect that it’s that kind of talk that gets people’s backs up (doesn’t it always?).
Roger duly came round on the Saturday, and said that we should hold another meeting of the troops to clear the air (you’ll remember that there was one in early February). He doesn’t find it normal that adults should act like children, and of course it looks bad on him, as it were. As zebigboss, I’d have to be there too, and say a few words. Lordy…
Saturday was a normal day, in that Dahirou was at work (and slept a lot!), as was Sunday, and Mustafa came on for night duty, as usual (he works Saturday and Sunday nights, Tuesdays and Thursdays during the day). On the Sunday evening, Mustafa came up at about 7 and asked me if I’d seen the bow and arrows that are usually kept downstairs for the sentinels. No, I replied, the last time I’d seen them had been the night before. He said that they had disappeared. The mystery was (somewhat) cleared up a little bit later, when Dahirou came round to say hello to Mustafa; Dahirou had taken the weapons home, claiming they were his. After Dahirou had left, Mustafa asked me if this was the case. I replied saying that I had assumed that they were mine, in that I had a bill showing that I had bought a bow and arrows back in December, and that anything that I’d bought was for use by all the guards. Mustafa didn’t say anything, just looked quizzical and off he went.
If this is starting to sound like a soap opera, you’re not wrong….
So, Monday night rolled around, and the troops were gathered by 6 p.m., including André and Roger. We congregated downstairs, with me sitting on the steps, and began. I started off first, saying that I’d noticed that there seemed to be some discord at the moment, and I was hoping that things could get resolved, since I want a team to be working for me, not a bunch of individuals (management 101!). I also said that I’d noticed that alcohol was still being consumed, and that this was a final warning – not only were they not to drink on the job, but not to drink during working hours (in case it was interpreted that it was ok to leave and drink outside on the street!). I also added that I expected them to show up for work sober, since they couldn’t be very good sentinels if a bit woozy. All very diplomatic etc.
Then the fireworks started! Roger was sort moderating the meeting, so he asked if anyone had anything to say, and Aurel started up right away – quite the harangue about Dahirou, the fact that he had dared to insult Aurel on the previous Friday, that he had no right to question Aurel’s arrival time, etc. etc, not to mention that he (Aurel) had lots of experience, etc etc. Basically, Aurel was looking for an apology for the insults (which I felt he deserved, I must admit). Of course, Aurel claimed that Dahirou was drunk at the gate, and that on a number of occasions he’d had to bang hard on the gate to be let in, especially during this week when he’d had to consult me about the electricity, etc. Aurel does go on a lot… and doesn’t help his case!
Roger waited until he’d finished, and then asked Dahirou for his side of the story. Dahirou claimed that he had just come around to pick up the bits of wood that he had forgotten, and had just asked out of curiosity why Aurel was late, and then Aurel lit into him. Of course, I couldn’t corroborate that, since I hadn’t heard what Dahirou had said outside the gate… Then Dahirou went on and on about how from the beginning things hadn’t gone well; first there was the story of the radio – I’d given Aurel money to buy a small radio for the sentinels, and within a few days, it had been broken, and couldn’t be fixed (or so I was told). So I bought another one, but the original one disappeared, probably to Aurel’s home, and Dahirou thought that this was not on. Aurel fumed at this, and interrupted (this is a no-no, since the person who has the floor is allowed to complete his piece before someone else starts talking), saying that the radio had been broken because Dahirou had fiddled with it in the first place, instead of just using it normally, and besides what about all the cigarette butts that were always being littered about and that he had to clean up when he came on duty in the evening, not to mention the fact that the cardboard he’d brought, from his own home, to put on the ground so that all the sentinels could use it to lie on when taking a brief rest, and how come Dahirou was forever taking bits of the cardboard on which he “did his doings” and then threw it over the wall, which meant that the cardboard had to be replaced, and the fact that his things are always being gone through and there are never any matches left no matter what size box is there, and on and on and on…. Lordy… He finally calmed down after Roger yelled at him and told him that Dahirou had the floor. So, of course, Dahirou lit in, saying that all these things were lies etc etc, and he had his own litany of woes, the major one being that Aurel was always late by a few minutes even since he’d got his own motorbike.
Meanwhile, I drank my iced tea, wishing it was whisky (there’s an unopened bottle of Lagavulin in the cupboard, but maybe not unopened for much longer!). Roger then asked what had happened to the bow and arrows (Mustafa had gone to tell him of this event), and Dahirou said that as they were his, he had decided to take them home. At this point, I intervened, and said (unknowingly adding fuel to this boiling mix) that I had paid for these weapons, and that I had a bill to prove it, and that I’d give Aurel the money for this purchase at the time that he had presented me with his list of necessities (I think the list is in one of the previous blogs). Well – what a ruckus! Aurel said that when he had gone looking for a bow and arrows, he had been unable to find any, and had come back to say so, while Dahirou was around. Dahirou, according to Aurel, said that he had a set, so why didn’t he sell them to Aurel for 5000 francs (about $12.50), so that’s what happened. Dahirou retorted that that was not what had happened, that he’d only agreed to lend the bow and arrows until such time as new ones could be bought, and that he’d not received any money for them. Woo-hoo… what a fight of he saids you saids etc. Somewhere, of course, there was shifty work – not that a great sum was involved, but…
All this time, Mustafa and André were just spectating, Mustafa unsure what to say, since he’s related to Dahirou, but wanted the bow and arrows back, and André, as the newcomer, just standing there with a huge smile on his face.
Roger finally took command of all this, and started his speech and giving out orders of what should now be happening. First, he summarized what we had all heard, and pointed out that we’d never know the full truth, neither about the bow and arrows, neither about the quarrel on the Friday night, but pointed out that there seemed to have been funny business originally with the bow and arrows. He added that both he and I have more to do with our time than worry about childish behaviour (“I’m ashamed of you”), there are lots of other people looking for work.
Roger then warned the drinkers (Mustafa and Dahirou) that they’d better cease and desist, as this constituted their second formal warning. Mustafa mewed at this point that he’d never been derelict in his duties, at which Roger sneered and said that Mustafa had been quite tipsy the last time that he’d been around, about ten days before, and that M. David had noticed too. Mustafa looked at me at this point, probably for support, but I had to agree with Roger that Mustafa had definitely been under the influence and that I’d even had to go down and let a guest in at the gate because Mustafa had refused to open it. Anyway, a round of dismissals was threatened again.
The meeting finally came to an end, and Dahirou, Mustafa and André all went off, with Aurel staying behind, since he was on duty..
By this time, it was about 8:30, and Roger went off home, and I sat down to finish some work. Well, it didn’t take more than 10 minutes for Aurel to come in, having knocked and then just wandering in as is his habit, to say how angry he was at a) Dahirou and b) at the Roger had mismanaged the meeting. Of course, Aurel didn’t get his way at the meeting, so I assume that’s why he was annoyed. He was most hurt at being accused of stealing (the bow and arrows and false invoice), since he thought he was helping Dahirou out (the latter never having any money) and he knew, since he’s worked with other Canadian projects, that I had to have a receipt for every expense. Anyway, he ranted on and on, I just made hum and hah noises, and looked pointedly at my computer, but nothing was going to get rid of him, so I allowed the steam to flow. He finally left me alone.
Lo and behold, ten minutes later, the bell rang, so I went out to the balcony, to see Dahirou’s smiling face looking up at me from the street, to say that Mustafa would be along with the bow and arrows in a few minutes. Off he went. Off I went, back to my papers. Ten minutes later, the bell went again, and it was Mustafa, with bow and arrows, but he refused to give them to Aurel, and insisted on coming up to the balcony, made a little speech saying that these were the bow and arrows brought back for the time being until replacements were bought, handed them to me solemnly and off he went.
At this point, I must confess I’d had enough, and told Aurel that I really had to finish this work before I went to bed, and shut the door behind him.
The next day, I had to face Mustafa, who came to work promptly at 7 a.m. (instead of around 7:15), and he too told me what he thought – he too hadn’t liked the way Roger had run the meeting. Mustafa said that Dahirou claimed that he hadn’t received any money for the bow and arrows but that they would stay here until replacements were found. Plus, he added, he (Mustafa) didn’t want to be involved in this type of disagreement, because he always took his duties seriously and showed up for work even if he’d had a few too many (!!!). I pointed out gently that I appreciated this, but that if he were tipsy, he couldn’t be an effective sentinel – and repeated that I’d had to let someone in the previous week because he wouldn’t open the gate. Of course, he swore it wouldn’t happen again, and I said I hoped not, because his contract wouldn’t be renewed if it did happen again (he has a 6-month contract). And off he went…
And so, I thought, things would remain calm… Alas, it was not to be! If you need a pause from reading, this is a good place to take a break. Maybe have a glass of whisky?
As luck would have it, on the Friday following the meeting I had one of my sleepless nights – thankfully, they are very few here – and I woke up at about 2:45. At 3, I got up, since it was obvious that I wasn’t going to sleep again unless I had a cup of mint tea or something, and while waiting for the water to boil, I thought I’d ask Aurel if he’d like some water or a cup of coffee, or something. So, I opened up the doors (this is like unlocking Fort Knox), and called down to him. No answer. A bit concerned, I must admit, I went downstairs to see if he was ok or just sleeping (which no doubt happens a lot, although Aurel will never admit to sleeping on the job!). Imagine my surprise to find that he wasn’t there and neither was his motorbike. This type of absence had happened at least once before, so I wasn’t too pleased, obviously! So much for the paragon of sentinels! And another warning coming up…
Saturday was thus spent in a bit of a haze, of course, although I had a couple of naps to recoup. I’d gone back to bed at about 5, and was awakened by the doorbell announcing Dahirou’s arrival shortly before 7. He doesn’t usually ring the bell, but he announced with a big grin that Mustafa was there also. Being rather dozy, I didn’t register (it meant that Mustafa had come for money), and just smiled, shut the door and went back in! Anyway, when I went out shopping (the highlight of the week) with Njikam, the taximan, Mustafa was nowhere to be seen, and Dahirou was snoring it off as usual – he didn’t hear me clang open the bar, unlock the door and lock it again behind me. I supposed that he’d been drinking all night, ho hum…
Dahirou was awake when I came back a couple of hours later and the rest of the day passed quietly. At about 3:30 or so, the bell rang, and it was Mustafa. He had asked me, on the Thursday, if I could give him an advance on his salary (they don’t get paid until the end of the month), since he and his family didn’t have anything to eat, and at the time, I told him I couldn’t because I didn’t have any money on me (quite true) and that I wouldn’t have any until Saturday. Hence his visit… So, I gave him all of 5000 francs, which is all I could afford, and off he went. Dahirou, who never misses a chance to get an advance, told me he had to attend a funeral and could he have an advance too, so he got his 5000 francs also. Dahirou then went rushing off (to pay something, he said, truthfully, héhé) and no doubt bought himself a couple of little bags of whisky. Anyway, he came back, and left at 6, at which time Mustafa was to come on duty for the night.
As it happened, I was on the balcony and saw Mustafa carefully approaching the apartment, from the direction of the bar, of course (I mean, it’s in the same building). He was watching his steps carefully, and talking to himself and pointing at something. I’ve seen him like this before and know that it is an indication that he is tipsy. Well…. I wasn’t only disappointed, , I was bloody mad! Apart from the fact that he’d been warned again, it meant that the 5000 francs I’d given him a couple of hours earlier, theoretically to feed his family, had gone to booze.
You’ll remember that Mustafa says he can work even if a bit tipsy. So I watched him fumble at the gate, stumble up the stairs to get the bottle of water needed to make coffee, swaying as he made the request, admired him while he looked at the box in which the coffee accoutrements live (kettle, coffee, cups, sugar, little bags of milk, mosquito coils, matches) and finally decided that he should make two trips of it (and watched him negotiate the stairs twice, almost in the hopes that he would trip!). I wasn’t quite sure what to do, to be honest; although I was fuming, I didn’t dare say anything in case I lost control and because although he’s pretty skinny, he’s also pretty strong, and I didn’t want to get into a fight. Nor did I want to hurt him, accidentally. So, coward that I am, and also wanting a witness, I called Roger (who had asked to be informed of any transgression, of course), and invited him around for a brief visit. So, a few minutes later, Roger rang at the gate. Mustafa stumbled to the gate, looked at it in perplexity, hunted for the key in his pockets (he locks the gate as well as bars it) and stumbled back to his chair, without having opened the gate. Roger rang again, and this time, I came down and let him in, with Mustafa sort of hanging over us – I’d managed to get to the gate before Mustafa stumbled back. Roger didn’t say anything, just came upstairs and said – he’s drunk again!!! Yup, I said, that’s what I wanted you to see.
Of course, a few days before at the big meeting, we had just given notice that drunkenness would lead to automatic dismissal. Roger, however, pleaded for one more chance for Mustafa, and also pointed out that we needed to follow legal procedures, which include a written warning that had not yet been written. So, we decided that Roger would go and get André and bring him in from the other house, so that he could be the sentinel at the apartment, and that we’d send Mustafa home so he could “rest”. No sooner said than done, and Roger was back with André within 20 minutes. Mustafa, befuddled as he was, wondered why André was here, and I said that I thought Mustafa should go home to rest, because he didn’t look too well, and that, as a consequence, I’d asked André to come and keep the guard. Oh no, said Mustafa, I’m not tired, I’m ok, things are fine, André can go back to the other house. Roger then lit in and said that a) it was obvious that Mustafa was tipsy and b) he was refusing a direct order from his boss. I wish I’d been able to record the ensuing conversation, with Mustafa slurring his words, saying that he wasn’t tired, that he wasn’t tipsy, that the boss was just an old man who liked him, and anyway it was up to the boss what to do – all this while the boss kept on repeating that he should go home. I have a contract, said Mustafa, who must have realized that he was in danger of losing his job. Yes, I said, but your contract says that you have to be sober when you are at work. I am sober, he said, and I’m not tired and I must do my work. And so on, and so on…
This continued in the same vein for a good twenty minutes, with André trying to talk sense into Mustafa, but without any luck. Finally, I’m not sure quite how it happened, Roger just reached out and took Mustafa by the shoulders and pushed him out of the gate, and locked it behind him. Quite dramatic, I must admit. Roger then said that Mustafa should be suspended without pay for at least a week (for gross insubordination and for showing up drunk at work), a ruling with which I agreed.
So, Mustafa had a week off, without pay, and he wasn’t too chirpy about it, especially when pay day rolled around. Everyone gets paid on the last day of the month, and in March, this was on the Monday, and everyone was paid by 5 p.m. The next day, Tuesday is a day on which Mustapha works, and he duly showed up at 7 a.m., looking a bit worse for wear – I suspect that he’d been drinking on Monday night. Anyway… I came home at noon, as usual, for my lunch break, and, also as usual, Mustafa went off for his lunch. The guards are only supposed to be away for about 20 minutes when they go to get their lunch – I’ve asked them to bring it back to eat here, since they are on duty, and when Judith (the lady who “does” for me) is here, one feels a responsibility. Anyway, I left shortly before 1 and he hadn’t returned. Judith told me later on that he did come back shortly after 1, and that she then sent him out on an errand, to buy some pineapple. I guess he went off happily, but took quite a while to come back, telling Judith that he’d stopped off to have lunch (!). Judith said that she wasn’t sure what he’d had for lunch, but anyway…
I was due at the Hilton for a meeting with colleagues at about 4:00, and had a couple of errands I wanted to run in town before getting there, so I came back to the house at about 2:30 to drop off some stuff that I might need for the evening work. I knocked on the gate as usual, since the guards always pull the bar across the gate (quite right too!). No reply – I peeked through the crack between the wall and the gatepost, and all I could see were Mustafa’s feet, sticking out from under the stairs. When Dahirou is sleeping, he lounges in the guard chair, so I can see all of him (as it were), but this was a bit worrying. Anyway, I banged louder and louder, with no reaction from the man at all. I could see that Judith was still there (fortunately! She sometimes leaves at about 2, when she’s finished her work, with my permission), so I finally rang the doorbell. Judith came to the balcony, and I shouted up at her that Mustafa was sleeping (the whole street could hear, I’m sure!), so she came down to open the gate, making sure that she made lots of noise doing so. I came into the yard, and banged the gate shut, clanged the bar across it – absolutely no movement from Mustafa. I mean, absolutely none. A bit concerned, I came up closer to him, and called his name, but to no avail. I shook him a bit, and still no reaction. There was a definite whiff of alcohol and a couple of empty beer bottles (but of course, no proof that he’d actually been doing the drinking). Since it was impossible to wake him up, I left him there (too kind, really – I should have called someone and had him hauled out, but I didn’t have time), and went upstairs to fritter around the office. When I left, about 20 minutes later, there had been no movement, and I noticed that Mustafa had left his keys in full view. So, I pocketed them, and asked Judith a) to lock the gate behind me and b) to lock the gate behind her when she left. This is what she did – I phoned her later to ask if there had been any change, and she said that when she left, at four thirty, he was still in the same position, with no movement as she clanged the gate.
The meeting turned into a supper meeting, and I got back at about 9 p.m., and Aurel greeted me like a long-lost brother, and lit into his narrative about Mustafa and Dahirou. It turns out that the keys I’d picked up were actually Dahirou’s set of keys (no idea where Mustafa’s were), and he’d come to pick them up so that he could get into his shack! So, there they were conferring through the gate when Aurel arrived, Mustafa wondering where he’d dropped his keys (maybe when I had lunch, he said, showing how befuddled he was, since he couldn’t have got back in without his keys!). Dahirou, of course, was not pleased, since it now meant that he had to break the padlock to get into the shack and he also had the keys to a neighbour’s house… The final conclusion that these fine people arrived at (naturally, I suppose), was that Judith must have taken the keys! I disabused Aurel of this notion, saying that I’d picked them up for security reasons
The next morning (Wednesday), Dahirou came up to complain that his keys had been taken and was wondering if “la dame” had taken them. I said that she hadn’t taken them, but that I had, and that I didn’t know that they were his keys. I pointed out that Mustafa was sleeping so hard that anyone could have come in to take them (etc. etc). When I came home at noon, Dahirou handed me a note that Mustafa had delivered as an apology. I just grunted, and said that I would have a letter for Mustafa at the end of the day. In the letter, I gave a last warning, and added that any transgression, no matter how small, to the rules and regulations and responsibilities would be cause for immediate dismissal. I really wanted to fire him right away, but not being able to prove he’d been drinking on Tuesday, I felt that I should give him his second written warning, as required by the law.
On the Friday, Mustafa spent most of the day here, with Dahirou, although it’s not a Mustafa day. I’m quite sure he was drinking, as Mustafa has a strange way of talking when he’s under the influence. I did ask them to be a bit quieter, a couple of times, since I was working at home with a colleague. At about 2:30, the colleague and I went off downtown – she to her hotel (she was in town from Canada for a couple of weeks) and I to the bank. When I got back, Dahirou was nowhere to be seen (neither was Mustafa), and the gate was unlocked! Before I could get in, Dahirou came rushing up saying that he’d just gone out to buy a couple of cigarettes. I told him off for a) leaving without permission and b) leaving the gate unlocked! Lordy, lordy, but patience (even mine) was wearing thin…
And it goes on! On Sunday, Dahirou asked to go out for lunch at about 11:30 (permission granted) and he was back in about 20 minutes (probably just enough time for a couple of nips; how uncharitable of me). Anyway, at about 1:15, I went out on the balcony and noticed that the bar across the gate was down, a sign that the guards are outside on the street. Curious, because I couldn’t see anyone, I went down to open the gate and peeked out. No one around and THE GATE HAD BEEN LEFT UNLOCKED AGAIN. I was furious, to put it mildly! I was just about to pull the gate to, when Mustafa came rushing up saying that Dahirou was having a discussion with a man at the bar (yeah, right) and that he, Mustafa, was coming to take Dahirou’s place. I showed my annoyance by shouting at him, saying that I was paying Dahirou to guard during the day, and what business did Dahirou have to leave and leave the gate unlocked? I stormed upstairs, clanging various gates and doors shut behind me. What I should have done, of course, was lock Mustafa out and tell him to come back at his working time, and just left Dahirou to stew, but it was too late by the time I came out – Mustafa had gone to get Dahirou and they were both there. So I just banged doors shut. And wrote a letter for Dahirou too…
On Monday (nearly done, my friends!), I announced that there would be a meeting on the Thursday evening, with all guards. I wrote out all the rules and regulations (they are included in their contracts), invited Roger to be present, and read the riot act. I read out the rules, made sure that they said they had understood them, repeated again that this was the final warning for all of them, got them to sign the sheet of paper on which the rules had been printed, gave them each a copy of the rules and sent them away.
We’ll see now what happens…
While all this was going on, the work side was quite busy. My two colleagues from Canada were here, as it is the time of year to prepare the annual report and to plan next year’s activities, so it was a busy time, to put it mildly!
This has been quite long, but I hope not too boring! Looking back on it, it’s been quite amusing, but also frustrating. I think, however, I’ll leave you for now so you can all recuperate, and will add more in a few days’ time… Life in Cameroon is anything but boring!
Cheers!
David
Friday, March 14, 2008
Yaoundé, March 14, 2008
Greetings all!
Well, life has certainly been fun over the last few weeks, so this may be a bit long – just a warning. I suppose I could keep some of it for another time, but anyway!
In my last instalment, I mentioned that a general strike had started. As it turned out, it lasted for most of a week. As mentioned, in Douala, the economic centre of the country, about 250 km away, things got a bit rough, with a fair amount of vandalism and looting. This spread to other towns and cities in the country, with the result that a number of public buildings were burned, as well as a number of shops – and many shops that didn’t get burned got thoroughly looted. A number of people died also, 16 is the official number, and over a hundred according to the Cameroon Human Rights Watch organization. The police and other security forces were out in full strength, with a special battalion called in as well – unsmiling young men that you don’t want to mess with. Here in Yaoundé, things were calm, in the sense that there was very little looting, although there was a fair amount of marching, and the taxis stayed off the road, as did most other transport. The president finally spoke to the nation on the Thursday evening, basically saying calm down or else… and that all legal means would be taken to quell the uprising. He didn’t sound very friendly, to put it mildly. So, on the Friday, Yaoundé was back to vaguely normal, and an unsettled calm reigned everywhere. There were round-ups of hooligans (and anyone else caught in the net) and summary justice has been carried out all week – prison terms being handed out left, right and centre, and hundreds of people being processed per day, with no chance of raising a defence. Some of them are innocent, we are told, but too bad for them! According to the local radio, over 1600 people have been arrested across the country, most of them youths.
The president stated that the transporters’ strike was legal, and that hadn’t been the problem. The problem was unscrupulous opposition parties (any excuse for a thrust at them) who wanted to exploit the situation and also vandals and hooligans who took advantage of the strike to loot. Of course, the opposition parties have denied this, claiming that the government is using any excuse to blacken their reputations. Nothing was said in the president’s speech about the main underlying cause, the rise in the cost of living which is making it hard for all Cameroonian households to make ends meet. The price of basic necessities has risen astronomically, as had the price of gasoline. The president did grant a decrease in the price of gasoline by lowering it by 2.5 cents a litre (after having raised it to by 12.5 cent a litre!) and that was it. Some foodstuffs have increased by 140% over the last year, and in one instance by 400%, and, of course, salaries haven’t kept pace.
The following week was a bit tense – people aren’t sure what may happen once the president submits his proposal for a Constitutional amendment, allowing him to run for as many seven-year terms as he wishes (at the moment, the limit is two terms, and Paul Biya is nearing the end of his mandate, which runs out in 2011). Of course, the man was also president before the last Constitutional amendment, back in 1993; Biya first took over in a peaceful coup in 1982, after having served the previous and first president as prime minister since 1962. Only two presidents since independence… Mr. Biya, who is 75 this year, like many other presidents around the world (at least in many countries) would like to carry on until he’s in his grave – after all, who else could possibly do the job?
On Friday of last week (March 7), the president announced a couple of measures designed to make Cameroonians happier (and to ensure that his amendment goes through). First, he raised public servants’ salaries by 15%, as well as the military’s and then announced a series of reductions in excise taxes on various foods, to take effect on April 1 (April Fool’s?). Those who are not public servants or soldiers, of course, don’t get a salary raise, and are wondering why there’s enough money now to do all this… So we’ll see…
In my area of town, things are always calm, as we are way out in the suburbs, so nothing much happens. One just stays put… and stocks up on food and other essentials in case things go awry again.
The fun bit about the whole week (well, sort of!) was that a Canadian colleague of mine was here for meetings. She managed to make it from the hotel to the Centre on the first day of the strike, using a hotel taxi (they use unmarked cars, so were thought to be private vehicles). The next day, I went to fetch her at the hotel, with my taxi man Njikam, because taxis ran from 7 a.m. until 10 a.m. At noon, she went back to the hotel with the Centre’s driver. On the Wednesday, she took the hotel taxi again, and then, in the evening, I accompanied her back in the taxi, posing as her husband, and the taximan as our driver, in case we were stopped. On the Thursday, Liane stayed at the hotel but managed to get out again on the Friday, since taxis were back on the road. All fun!
The strike and its consequences added quite a bit of spice to life, since I had, a few days before, found a house that I decided to rent. A very nice villa, with three bedrooms, a huge sitting room, a dining room and a totally paved courtyard (to lessen the impact of the dust)! Very nicely finished, and not far away at all, just what I was looking for (a bit bigger than I need, actually, but as I have LOTS of furniture, I need a big place, if only for storage purposes!). Actually, I found it about two weeks before the strike, but it took a while to get things sorted out. There was a lease to be negotiated (I consulted a lawyer, at my employers’ suggestion, which was a good idea) and papers to be signed etc. etc. There were still a few things to be done to the house, nothing major, and I was assured that it would all be taken care of within a few days. Since I wasn’t and am not in a hurry to move (I can’t break the 6-month lease on the apartment; I did try…), I was quite agreeable to this scenario. In addition, there are a some things that I want to have done to the house before I move in, such as having mosquito netting installed at all the windows and doors, a hot water heater put in (alas, they don’t come automatically with houses) and an outside toilet for the sentinels. Here, at the apartment, they have access to a field next door which serves well, although Aurel, the night sentinel, tends to want to use the facilities indoors. This, I think, is because he is immensely curious and wonders what on earth I could be doing instead of talking to him!
Anyway, it took a few days to negotiate the lease to everyone’s satisfaction, but finally the papers were signed. The agent, Mr. Olli, had agreed that an outside toilet was a fine idea, and I told him that I would look after this, since it was my wish to have it. I also told him that I didn’t have the money to start the work right away, and that I’d have to get at least three quotes before I could start doing anything. This didn’t cause any problems with him (obviously), and, after walking around the outside of the house, we agreed on the spot where the said toilet would be placed. The strike intervened, so of course nothing could get done, but last week, I went around to the house to measure a few things and met Mr. Olli who was there. He asked if it would be ok to build a little room at the back of the yard, as the landlady thought that this would be a good idea for the future – a sort of shed, if you like, where sentinels could keep their stuff (and sleep, no doubt!). I said I had no trouble with the idea at all, providing, of course, that this was at the owner’s expense, since I didn’t need nor want a shed. No problem…
So, a couple of days later, I went around to the house again, and lo and behold, the shed was almost done. What was most surprising, though, was that the wall of the toilet was half-finished! I called Mr. Olli, who said that there had been some cement blocks left over (there were still some) and he thought he’d be helpful. I said that it was very kind of him to offer me the blocks, since I couldn’t pay for them. There was silence at the other end of the phone line. I reminded him that I’d told him that I had to get three quotes and that I couldn’t pay for anything anyway as I didn’t have the money. There was a bit of bluster at the other end – and I also reminded him that the toilet was my responsibility and that he really shouldn’t be doing anything about it.
In the meantime, the house had been unguarded. Mr. Olli had assured me that he had a guard in place, and one evening, I thought I’d stroll over to the house to meet the man, since I was going to be paying him for a few weeks. No one there… I went back the next evening, at a different time, still no one there. I tried in the middle of the day – no one there; I sent Mustafa, one of my sentinels, two evenings in a row, at about 9 and 10 o’clock, still no one there. Mustafa reported that a neighbour had said that there was no one around… So, the next day, I wrote to Mr. Olli (he reads his e-mail, fortunately) saying that I was a bit concerned and that I would hire a guard forthwith. I called Roger, the friend who works at the Centre and who has been very helpful, and, a couple of days later, he came up with a young man from a village somewhere, André, a brawny young man, whom I hired as a temporary guard.. So, we strolled over to the house and what did we find there… another sentinel!!!!
Together with the toilet episode, the finding of the sentinel sent vibes through the brain. The latter still functions every so often… It was very clear that I was going to end up paying for the shed! So, I asked Roger to deal with Mr. Olli, because I was starting to think that the man didn’t understand me (or didn’t want to, as the case may be). Not only was it surprising to suddenly find this second guard there, what was unsettling was that the guard had all the keys to the house, inside and out. I had understood that I had all the sets of keys, except for the one to the front gate, so that Mr. Olli could let the workers in. Of course, having hired André, I had to let the unknown sentinel go…
Anyway, to cut a long story short, we have had a few tiffs with Mr. Olli – the toilet wall has been built up to height, in spite of Mr. Olli being told to cease and desist, and the plumbing has also been put in. Roger is insistent that I don’t pay a cent for this work, because it shouldn’t have been done, so it’s quite nice to have a toilet built for nothing. Not sure how Olli is going to take it! However, he has been warned! Now, I just have to change all the locks to the outside doors… something that I was hoping to avoid!
There is still electricity to be set up – there is some at the moment, but I’ll need to have the contract changed over to my name, so that will no doubt be fodder for another blog! The various quotes for mosquito netting are in the works; these things take time, as one can’t have the various carpenters around at the same time, so it’s one per day… that should take up most of this week, then the decision as to who gets the work, and then we’ll see how long it takes to get it done – then the move!
On that note, I’ll leave you for now. In case you’re wondering, I still manage to get my work done around all this! It certainly makes life full!
Cheers!
David
Well, life has certainly been fun over the last few weeks, so this may be a bit long – just a warning. I suppose I could keep some of it for another time, but anyway!
In my last instalment, I mentioned that a general strike had started. As it turned out, it lasted for most of a week. As mentioned, in Douala, the economic centre of the country, about 250 km away, things got a bit rough, with a fair amount of vandalism and looting. This spread to other towns and cities in the country, with the result that a number of public buildings were burned, as well as a number of shops – and many shops that didn’t get burned got thoroughly looted. A number of people died also, 16 is the official number, and over a hundred according to the Cameroon Human Rights Watch organization. The police and other security forces were out in full strength, with a special battalion called in as well – unsmiling young men that you don’t want to mess with. Here in Yaoundé, things were calm, in the sense that there was very little looting, although there was a fair amount of marching, and the taxis stayed off the road, as did most other transport. The president finally spoke to the nation on the Thursday evening, basically saying calm down or else… and that all legal means would be taken to quell the uprising. He didn’t sound very friendly, to put it mildly. So, on the Friday, Yaoundé was back to vaguely normal, and an unsettled calm reigned everywhere. There were round-ups of hooligans (and anyone else caught in the net) and summary justice has been carried out all week – prison terms being handed out left, right and centre, and hundreds of people being processed per day, with no chance of raising a defence. Some of them are innocent, we are told, but too bad for them! According to the local radio, over 1600 people have been arrested across the country, most of them youths.
The president stated that the transporters’ strike was legal, and that hadn’t been the problem. The problem was unscrupulous opposition parties (any excuse for a thrust at them) who wanted to exploit the situation and also vandals and hooligans who took advantage of the strike to loot. Of course, the opposition parties have denied this, claiming that the government is using any excuse to blacken their reputations. Nothing was said in the president’s speech about the main underlying cause, the rise in the cost of living which is making it hard for all Cameroonian households to make ends meet. The price of basic necessities has risen astronomically, as had the price of gasoline. The president did grant a decrease in the price of gasoline by lowering it by 2.5 cents a litre (after having raised it to by 12.5 cent a litre!) and that was it. Some foodstuffs have increased by 140% over the last year, and in one instance by 400%, and, of course, salaries haven’t kept pace.
The following week was a bit tense – people aren’t sure what may happen once the president submits his proposal for a Constitutional amendment, allowing him to run for as many seven-year terms as he wishes (at the moment, the limit is two terms, and Paul Biya is nearing the end of his mandate, which runs out in 2011). Of course, the man was also president before the last Constitutional amendment, back in 1993; Biya first took over in a peaceful coup in 1982, after having served the previous and first president as prime minister since 1962. Only two presidents since independence… Mr. Biya, who is 75 this year, like many other presidents around the world (at least in many countries) would like to carry on until he’s in his grave – after all, who else could possibly do the job?
On Friday of last week (March 7), the president announced a couple of measures designed to make Cameroonians happier (and to ensure that his amendment goes through). First, he raised public servants’ salaries by 15%, as well as the military’s and then announced a series of reductions in excise taxes on various foods, to take effect on April 1 (April Fool’s?). Those who are not public servants or soldiers, of course, don’t get a salary raise, and are wondering why there’s enough money now to do all this… So we’ll see…
In my area of town, things are always calm, as we are way out in the suburbs, so nothing much happens. One just stays put… and stocks up on food and other essentials in case things go awry again.
The fun bit about the whole week (well, sort of!) was that a Canadian colleague of mine was here for meetings. She managed to make it from the hotel to the Centre on the first day of the strike, using a hotel taxi (they use unmarked cars, so were thought to be private vehicles). The next day, I went to fetch her at the hotel, with my taxi man Njikam, because taxis ran from 7 a.m. until 10 a.m. At noon, she went back to the hotel with the Centre’s driver. On the Wednesday, she took the hotel taxi again, and then, in the evening, I accompanied her back in the taxi, posing as her husband, and the taximan as our driver, in case we were stopped. On the Thursday, Liane stayed at the hotel but managed to get out again on the Friday, since taxis were back on the road. All fun!
The strike and its consequences added quite a bit of spice to life, since I had, a few days before, found a house that I decided to rent. A very nice villa, with three bedrooms, a huge sitting room, a dining room and a totally paved courtyard (to lessen the impact of the dust)! Very nicely finished, and not far away at all, just what I was looking for (a bit bigger than I need, actually, but as I have LOTS of furniture, I need a big place, if only for storage purposes!). Actually, I found it about two weeks before the strike, but it took a while to get things sorted out. There was a lease to be negotiated (I consulted a lawyer, at my employers’ suggestion, which was a good idea) and papers to be signed etc. etc. There were still a few things to be done to the house, nothing major, and I was assured that it would all be taken care of within a few days. Since I wasn’t and am not in a hurry to move (I can’t break the 6-month lease on the apartment; I did try…), I was quite agreeable to this scenario. In addition, there are a some things that I want to have done to the house before I move in, such as having mosquito netting installed at all the windows and doors, a hot water heater put in (alas, they don’t come automatically with houses) and an outside toilet for the sentinels. Here, at the apartment, they have access to a field next door which serves well, although Aurel, the night sentinel, tends to want to use the facilities indoors. This, I think, is because he is immensely curious and wonders what on earth I could be doing instead of talking to him!
Anyway, it took a few days to negotiate the lease to everyone’s satisfaction, but finally the papers were signed. The agent, Mr. Olli, had agreed that an outside toilet was a fine idea, and I told him that I would look after this, since it was my wish to have it. I also told him that I didn’t have the money to start the work right away, and that I’d have to get at least three quotes before I could start doing anything. This didn’t cause any problems with him (obviously), and, after walking around the outside of the house, we agreed on the spot where the said toilet would be placed. The strike intervened, so of course nothing could get done, but last week, I went around to the house to measure a few things and met Mr. Olli who was there. He asked if it would be ok to build a little room at the back of the yard, as the landlady thought that this would be a good idea for the future – a sort of shed, if you like, where sentinels could keep their stuff (and sleep, no doubt!). I said I had no trouble with the idea at all, providing, of course, that this was at the owner’s expense, since I didn’t need nor want a shed. No problem…
So, a couple of days later, I went around to the house again, and lo and behold, the shed was almost done. What was most surprising, though, was that the wall of the toilet was half-finished! I called Mr. Olli, who said that there had been some cement blocks left over (there were still some) and he thought he’d be helpful. I said that it was very kind of him to offer me the blocks, since I couldn’t pay for them. There was silence at the other end of the phone line. I reminded him that I’d told him that I had to get three quotes and that I couldn’t pay for anything anyway as I didn’t have the money. There was a bit of bluster at the other end – and I also reminded him that the toilet was my responsibility and that he really shouldn’t be doing anything about it.
In the meantime, the house had been unguarded. Mr. Olli had assured me that he had a guard in place, and one evening, I thought I’d stroll over to the house to meet the man, since I was going to be paying him for a few weeks. No one there… I went back the next evening, at a different time, still no one there. I tried in the middle of the day – no one there; I sent Mustafa, one of my sentinels, two evenings in a row, at about 9 and 10 o’clock, still no one there. Mustafa reported that a neighbour had said that there was no one around… So, the next day, I wrote to Mr. Olli (he reads his e-mail, fortunately) saying that I was a bit concerned and that I would hire a guard forthwith. I called Roger, the friend who works at the Centre and who has been very helpful, and, a couple of days later, he came up with a young man from a village somewhere, André, a brawny young man, whom I hired as a temporary guard.. So, we strolled over to the house and what did we find there… another sentinel!!!!
Together with the toilet episode, the finding of the sentinel sent vibes through the brain. The latter still functions every so often… It was very clear that I was going to end up paying for the shed! So, I asked Roger to deal with Mr. Olli, because I was starting to think that the man didn’t understand me (or didn’t want to, as the case may be). Not only was it surprising to suddenly find this second guard there, what was unsettling was that the guard had all the keys to the house, inside and out. I had understood that I had all the sets of keys, except for the one to the front gate, so that Mr. Olli could let the workers in. Of course, having hired André, I had to let the unknown sentinel go…
Anyway, to cut a long story short, we have had a few tiffs with Mr. Olli – the toilet wall has been built up to height, in spite of Mr. Olli being told to cease and desist, and the plumbing has also been put in. Roger is insistent that I don’t pay a cent for this work, because it shouldn’t have been done, so it’s quite nice to have a toilet built for nothing. Not sure how Olli is going to take it! However, he has been warned! Now, I just have to change all the locks to the outside doors… something that I was hoping to avoid!
There is still electricity to be set up – there is some at the moment, but I’ll need to have the contract changed over to my name, so that will no doubt be fodder for another blog! The various quotes for mosquito netting are in the works; these things take time, as one can’t have the various carpenters around at the same time, so it’s one per day… that should take up most of this week, then the decision as to who gets the work, and then we’ll see how long it takes to get it done – then the move!
On that note, I’ll leave you for now. In case you’re wondering, I still manage to get my work done around all this! It certainly makes life full!
Cheers!
David
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Yaoundé, February 26, 2008
Greetings!
Life continues to be good here in Cameroon, in spite of a few upheavals in the last few days – getting all the news about the weather in Canada continues to make me feel very smug, to be honest.
You may have heard about the recent troubles here in Cameroon, over the last weekend, and here’s a brief summary. There are two strands, one economic and one political, which seem to have joined forces.
In Yaoundé, the taxi drivers decided to join all the taxi drivers in the country for a day-long strike to take place on Monday, February 25. Basically, the reason is that the price of gasoline has climbed quite high (it’s now 600 FCFA a litre, about $1.50), and of course, the price of a taxi drive is set by the government and it hasn’t risen for quite a while. In addition to these costs is the fact that the price of basic necessities has increased, since transportation costs have increased for everything. Even the moto-taxis were off the road, and the ones who tried to cash in on the day were stopped. As hundreds of thousands of people depend on this form of public transport, the strike meant that most people were reduced to walking to work or school, and most of them supported the strike, in spite of the inconvenience they suffered. There was not much rampaging, if any.
The story in Douala is very different, although the radio has just announced that calm has returned to the economic capital. I’m not too sure of the details, but a political demonstration had been planned for late Saturday afternoon, to protest against a move to change the Constitution (specifically, the article that limits presidential terms). It seems that the demonstration was banned at the last minute, and although the demonstrators started leaving quietly, the police charged anyway (of course, the official story is the reverse, and who knows which is the correct version?). As often happens, I guess, bands of “wild youths” went on the rampage, and two young bystanders were killed, setting off more riots! Sunday, it seems, was fairly calm, but the rampage started again today, with “wild youths” taking advantage of the lack of taxis to attack a lot of places. It seems that there is a lot of damage to a number of state buildings, as well as a lot of breaking into stores and making off with useful items. We are now waiting for a pronouncement from four government ministers about solutions being offered (you’d think they’d have thought of this before raising the price of gasoline!).
At the time of writing, things seem to have calmed down everywhere, and life is due to go back to normal today.
In the last installment, you’ll remember, I was full of woe with respect to my toe-nails, and I’m sure that you’re all very concerned about them. You’ll be glad to know that less than an hour after I had posted the blog, my brother Neil, who lives in Ghana (practically next door, a mere 2000 km and four countries away) and suffers from the same problem, gave me the solution to my problem: using wire cutters! So life is good and I’m sure that you will all be delighted to know that the separation of over-long toe-nails from top of toes has been successfully accomplished.
Speaking of separations, after much thinking, many ruminations, cogitations, reflections, consultations and exchanges of e-mails, Marion and I have reached a decision that may surprise some of you. Hé, hé, don’t worry – I just couldn’t resist writing that! As you know, Marion had planned to join me here in Yaoundé, but it has turned out that her employers were not willing to give her a leave-of-absence for such a long period – they might have accepted one year, but certainly not two or three. As a consequence, and Marion being much more sensible than I am, we have decided that Marion should keep her job, and we will yo-yo between the two continents for the next little while. This is a sort of insurance – should I not have a job immediately after this one ends, then we can survive and should something happen to me (like being run over by an elephant) while I’m here, Marion won’t end up being husbandless and jobless (I didn’t dare ask her which would be worse!). The added advantages are that we keep the house in Fredericton, and I manage to avoid Canadian winters! We’ll see how this works out and then, perhaps, revisit the decision at a later date. At the moment, it looks like Marion will be able to come out to Yaoundé once a year, and I will be able to get to Canada once a year as well. Who knows, we may manage more than that!
There hasn’t been much of note happening lately. I mean, the sun rises and sets at almost exactly the same time each day, and the weather has been quite steady – warm and dry, although, by Cameroonian standards, the last few mornings have been quite chilly, with a heavy mist, sometimes lasting until early afternoon.
I had to give a sermon to the sentinels the other day, as a certain laxity had set in. People arriving late for work, leaving early, and, quite often, leaving in the middle of the day for quite a long time. So, I called an early morning meeting of the troops and instructed them in my expectations: arrive on time, leave on time, and no leaving without permission during the day. And no drinking alcohol during working hours, which was still happening. As I pointed out (in private, not during the sermon) to the one sentinel who really loves his little bags of Scotch, once he’s had his little nip, he falls asleep, in such a deep sleep that he doesn’t hear people knocking at the gate (ie me). In fact, it was this behaviour that got me riled up enough to set up the sermon meeting. One Sunday morning, I left the apartment to go and buy a loaf of bread at the bakery up the road. The sentinel was sleeping very heavily (and it wasn’t 6 a.m. and they’re not supposed to sleep on the job) that he didn’t hear me come down, unlock the gate and pull the bar open – all very noisy operations! I don’t think he realized that I’d gone, because when I came back, he’d woken up and gone to the snack bar next door to buy his little bag of Scotch. He didn’t see me coming back, so he was caught in the act, so to speak. Anyway, I’m hoping that the little sermon will do some good, very naïve of me, no doubt!. I did tell them that if I caught any of them in flagrante delicto that they would lose their job immediately. And yes, I had a witness for all this. Fortunately, as the apartment is next door to the Centre, I am able taken to coming home at odd hours to see what’s happening!
You’ll no doubt remember the fun I had with opening my bank account back in December? Well, I’ve been having fun with the bank ever since. I’m not sure that they’re having fun with me, however!
The bank that I’m with is known for being very careful in its financial transactions, which is a very good thing, but it does occasionally slow things down a bit. I think I told you that one of my duties is to administer some of the project funds, in particular funds needed to reimburse the Centre where I work for certain expenses. Once I’d opened my bank account, and some funds had been transferred from Canada, I’d paid a few bills. One day, I got a call from the bank asking me to come in and see the Head of Client Services. A bit bemused, I did so. Of course, you have to understand that going to the bank takes a while – first, call the taxi; second, wait for the taxi; third, go through incredible traffic (see blog on driving!) before arriving at the bank; fourth, wait at the bank until the person who called is free. Anyway, I duly showed up, did my mandatory waiting, and was finally invited into the office of the Head of Client Services. He looked at me very seriously, pulled a sheet of paper out from a folder and handed it to me. I was starting to think that I’d inadvertently done something wrong! The sheet of paper had a photocopy of a cheque that I’d made out about ten days earlier. “Did you write that cheque?” I was asked. “Yes,” I confessed. “Why?” “You’re sure that it’s your cheque?” “Absolutely sure. In fact, let me show you the cheque book stub.” Finally, satisfied that I was telling the truth, Mr. Moukoury explained that the reason they were double-checking (pardon the pun) was that the bank in which the cheque had been deposited had a history of doubtful dealings, and my bank wanted to make sure that it was ok to pay out the money. I expressed gratitude at such careful work and went back to the office. It was a surprising sort of visit, but I must admit that it certainly increased my respect for the bank’s administration (even if one is sometimes frustrated by the length of time it takes to get things done!).
This is a good time to take a break, my friends, as the banking story continues…
You have to understand that the local currency is expressed in francs, whose value is very small. For example, one thousand francs is equivalent to about $2.25, so purchases are often in the tens of thousands of francs (and many items are quite expensive). Those of you who have had the misfortune to try to decipher my handwriting also know that it is illegible at best. So, I try very hard to make the cheques that I write out very legible, which entails a lot of time practising on a piece of paper, since the sums have to be written out in full in a fairly constricted space. When one writes a cheque for three million, nine hundred thousand and four hundred and thirty francs, it has to fit in the space provided and not go over the edge. So, having practised, I then write out the amount, put in the amount in figures, identify to whom the cheque is made out and then sign and date it. None of this is very surprising, of course!
A few weeks ago (I have to tell you that I keep my stories for a while before sharing them, otherwise the blogs would be even longer than they are now!), I wrote a cheque out for the Centre. We’ll assume that it was for the sum I mentioned above, three million, nine hundred thousand and four hundred and thirty franc. This was the first cheque I’d written out for the Centre, so I felt very noble and proud at finally being able to embark upon one of my responsibilities. I duly gave the cheque to Laurentine, the secretary-bookkeeper, who verified that the information was correct, and off she went, at some point, to deposit the cheque (the Centre uses the same bank as I do). You need to know that it takes at least two days for a cheque to be processed (even within the same bank) and sometimes three days. So, it was a slightly agitated Laurentine who came to see me in my office a few days later, to say that the cheque had been bounced, with no reason given, and would I go and see what it was all about. To say that I was flabbergasted would be putting it mildly. Not to say embarrassed! Off I went to the bank (same steps as before!), and waited until the clerk who looks after bounced cheques was a) at her desk and b) ready to receive clients. I courteously explained who I was, and expressed surprise at the fact that the cheque had not been accepted. The clerk took the cheque out, looked at it, looked at me, looked at the cheque, and said, very gravely,: “There’s a mistake on the cheque.” I looked at the cheque and didn’t see it right away - and I, a French teacher and proof-reader! Yes, my friends, I’d forgotten the “s” at the end of the word “franc” (so it wasn’t a typo up above, héhé), and for that reason, the cheque bounced. Lordy…
Back I went to the office, made out another cheque, making sure that the “s” was visible and legible (lots of practice!), and gave the cheque to Laurentine, who verified it (she was highly amused at the reason for the bounce), and off she went to deposit the cheque. A few days later, she was back in the office, much more agitated, wig a bit askew (a lot of ladies wear wigs, some of them architectural wonders), to say that the new cheque had been bounced, and would I please go and see what had happened now? The first time, it had been funny, this time it was a bit more serious, especially as the Centre needed the money that kept on being bounced. So, this time, I went with Laurentine to the bank. Same story, in the sense of waiting times, but this time the reason for the bounce was the signature. “Your signature seems to have evolved” said the clerk, with nary a smile, “and it doesn’t look like the signature that we have on file” (scanned). I looked at the signature and said that yes, it was mine, and yes, it was probably slightly different from the one on file. I also pointed out that I had warned the bank that my signature varied (unheard of, I guess), depending on the pen I was using, the position I was in when writing the cheque and perhaps my mood. However, the clerk was not going to be amused, as this was serious business! Slightly impatient, I wrote out a third cheque, there and then, with the clerk as a witness, and gave it to Laurentine, who was standing next to me. The clerk looked at the cheque carefully, looked at me sorrowfully (at last, an expression on her face), shook her head slowly and said that the signature wasn’t quite right (one line extra, difficult to explain the difference).
Well, what to do? I thought, well, this can’t go on, so I suggested to Laurentine that I take out the money in cash, and then she could deposit it right away. This seemed to be a sensible solution to the predicament, although probably not to the liking of accountants the world over. Ah well… so I wrote a cheque out to myself (there are no withdrawal slips here, one has to use cheques), in front of the same clerk, who again refused the cheque, because the signature was different again. This was getting serious, to put it mildly! So, I went to see the Head of Client Services, Mr. Moukoury, and explained what was happening. Much cogitation and consultations with various bodies, shaking of heads, rolling of eyes and other dramatic elements. Finally, it was decided that I should fill out new signature forms. I pointed out that this did not guarantee that my signature would remain stable. I also pointed out that this was the first time I’d had this trouble in any country that I’d been in. Anyway, a final solution was found. First, I sign the cheque, then, under my signature, I write my name. I pointed out that my writing varied a lot also, but that I always made my “f” the same way. So, on the card, it is noted that the “f” is the only stable element of my signature, that if there are any questions, to refer them to Mr. Moukoury or to phone me. Once all this was done, I wrote out another cheque, which was then initialed by at least three people, so that I could withdraw the money owed to the Centre, so that I could give it to Laurentine.
The largest bill is the ten-thousand franc note, so after a few minutes (cheque having magically been accepted by the unsmiling clerk), I was handed a huge pile of bills, a large number of ten thousand franc notes, a large number of five-thousand franc notes, and some two-thousand franc notes. Actually getting the money also took time, since the clerk had to count it all, and then I had to count it all. Then I staggered over to Laurentine with this huge whack of notes, and gave them to her. She then filled out her deposit slip, counted the notes, and went to the teller, who had just given me the notes, who then proceeded to count them all again and deposit the money in the Centre’s account.
The whole operation, from beginning to end, took five hours!
You may be sure that I’m very careful about how I fill out the cheques now, and, fortunately, there have been no more bounced cheques! I must say, though, that it was quite pleasant going around with more than three million in one’s hands!
On that note (groan!), I shall leave you for now! Hope all is going well for you all!
Cheers!
David
Life continues to be good here in Cameroon, in spite of a few upheavals in the last few days – getting all the news about the weather in Canada continues to make me feel very smug, to be honest.
You may have heard about the recent troubles here in Cameroon, over the last weekend, and here’s a brief summary. There are two strands, one economic and one political, which seem to have joined forces.
In Yaoundé, the taxi drivers decided to join all the taxi drivers in the country for a day-long strike to take place on Monday, February 25. Basically, the reason is that the price of gasoline has climbed quite high (it’s now 600 FCFA a litre, about $1.50), and of course, the price of a taxi drive is set by the government and it hasn’t risen for quite a while. In addition to these costs is the fact that the price of basic necessities has increased, since transportation costs have increased for everything. Even the moto-taxis were off the road, and the ones who tried to cash in on the day were stopped. As hundreds of thousands of people depend on this form of public transport, the strike meant that most people were reduced to walking to work or school, and most of them supported the strike, in spite of the inconvenience they suffered. There was not much rampaging, if any.
The story in Douala is very different, although the radio has just announced that calm has returned to the economic capital. I’m not too sure of the details, but a political demonstration had been planned for late Saturday afternoon, to protest against a move to change the Constitution (specifically, the article that limits presidential terms). It seems that the demonstration was banned at the last minute, and although the demonstrators started leaving quietly, the police charged anyway (of course, the official story is the reverse, and who knows which is the correct version?). As often happens, I guess, bands of “wild youths” went on the rampage, and two young bystanders were killed, setting off more riots! Sunday, it seems, was fairly calm, but the rampage started again today, with “wild youths” taking advantage of the lack of taxis to attack a lot of places. It seems that there is a lot of damage to a number of state buildings, as well as a lot of breaking into stores and making off with useful items. We are now waiting for a pronouncement from four government ministers about solutions being offered (you’d think they’d have thought of this before raising the price of gasoline!).
At the time of writing, things seem to have calmed down everywhere, and life is due to go back to normal today.
In the last installment, you’ll remember, I was full of woe with respect to my toe-nails, and I’m sure that you’re all very concerned about them. You’ll be glad to know that less than an hour after I had posted the blog, my brother Neil, who lives in Ghana (practically next door, a mere 2000 km and four countries away) and suffers from the same problem, gave me the solution to my problem: using wire cutters! So life is good and I’m sure that you will all be delighted to know that the separation of over-long toe-nails from top of toes has been successfully accomplished.
Speaking of separations, after much thinking, many ruminations, cogitations, reflections, consultations and exchanges of e-mails, Marion and I have reached a decision that may surprise some of you. Hé, hé, don’t worry – I just couldn’t resist writing that! As you know, Marion had planned to join me here in Yaoundé, but it has turned out that her employers were not willing to give her a leave-of-absence for such a long period – they might have accepted one year, but certainly not two or three. As a consequence, and Marion being much more sensible than I am, we have decided that Marion should keep her job, and we will yo-yo between the two continents for the next little while. This is a sort of insurance – should I not have a job immediately after this one ends, then we can survive and should something happen to me (like being run over by an elephant) while I’m here, Marion won’t end up being husbandless and jobless (I didn’t dare ask her which would be worse!). The added advantages are that we keep the house in Fredericton, and I manage to avoid Canadian winters! We’ll see how this works out and then, perhaps, revisit the decision at a later date. At the moment, it looks like Marion will be able to come out to Yaoundé once a year, and I will be able to get to Canada once a year as well. Who knows, we may manage more than that!
There hasn’t been much of note happening lately. I mean, the sun rises and sets at almost exactly the same time each day, and the weather has been quite steady – warm and dry, although, by Cameroonian standards, the last few mornings have been quite chilly, with a heavy mist, sometimes lasting until early afternoon.
I had to give a sermon to the sentinels the other day, as a certain laxity had set in. People arriving late for work, leaving early, and, quite often, leaving in the middle of the day for quite a long time. So, I called an early morning meeting of the troops and instructed them in my expectations: arrive on time, leave on time, and no leaving without permission during the day. And no drinking alcohol during working hours, which was still happening. As I pointed out (in private, not during the sermon) to the one sentinel who really loves his little bags of Scotch, once he’s had his little nip, he falls asleep, in such a deep sleep that he doesn’t hear people knocking at the gate (ie me). In fact, it was this behaviour that got me riled up enough to set up the sermon meeting. One Sunday morning, I left the apartment to go and buy a loaf of bread at the bakery up the road. The sentinel was sleeping very heavily (and it wasn’t 6 a.m. and they’re not supposed to sleep on the job) that he didn’t hear me come down, unlock the gate and pull the bar open – all very noisy operations! I don’t think he realized that I’d gone, because when I came back, he’d woken up and gone to the snack bar next door to buy his little bag of Scotch. He didn’t see me coming back, so he was caught in the act, so to speak. Anyway, I’m hoping that the little sermon will do some good, very naïve of me, no doubt!. I did tell them that if I caught any of them in flagrante delicto that they would lose their job immediately. And yes, I had a witness for all this. Fortunately, as the apartment is next door to the Centre, I am able taken to coming home at odd hours to see what’s happening!
You’ll no doubt remember the fun I had with opening my bank account back in December? Well, I’ve been having fun with the bank ever since. I’m not sure that they’re having fun with me, however!
The bank that I’m with is known for being very careful in its financial transactions, which is a very good thing, but it does occasionally slow things down a bit. I think I told you that one of my duties is to administer some of the project funds, in particular funds needed to reimburse the Centre where I work for certain expenses. Once I’d opened my bank account, and some funds had been transferred from Canada, I’d paid a few bills. One day, I got a call from the bank asking me to come in and see the Head of Client Services. A bit bemused, I did so. Of course, you have to understand that going to the bank takes a while – first, call the taxi; second, wait for the taxi; third, go through incredible traffic (see blog on driving!) before arriving at the bank; fourth, wait at the bank until the person who called is free. Anyway, I duly showed up, did my mandatory waiting, and was finally invited into the office of the Head of Client Services. He looked at me very seriously, pulled a sheet of paper out from a folder and handed it to me. I was starting to think that I’d inadvertently done something wrong! The sheet of paper had a photocopy of a cheque that I’d made out about ten days earlier. “Did you write that cheque?” I was asked. “Yes,” I confessed. “Why?” “You’re sure that it’s your cheque?” “Absolutely sure. In fact, let me show you the cheque book stub.” Finally, satisfied that I was telling the truth, Mr. Moukoury explained that the reason they were double-checking (pardon the pun) was that the bank in which the cheque had been deposited had a history of doubtful dealings, and my bank wanted to make sure that it was ok to pay out the money. I expressed gratitude at such careful work and went back to the office. It was a surprising sort of visit, but I must admit that it certainly increased my respect for the bank’s administration (even if one is sometimes frustrated by the length of time it takes to get things done!).
This is a good time to take a break, my friends, as the banking story continues…
You have to understand that the local currency is expressed in francs, whose value is very small. For example, one thousand francs is equivalent to about $2.25, so purchases are often in the tens of thousands of francs (and many items are quite expensive). Those of you who have had the misfortune to try to decipher my handwriting also know that it is illegible at best. So, I try very hard to make the cheques that I write out very legible, which entails a lot of time practising on a piece of paper, since the sums have to be written out in full in a fairly constricted space. When one writes a cheque for three million, nine hundred thousand and four hundred and thirty francs, it has to fit in the space provided and not go over the edge. So, having practised, I then write out the amount, put in the amount in figures, identify to whom the cheque is made out and then sign and date it. None of this is very surprising, of course!
A few weeks ago (I have to tell you that I keep my stories for a while before sharing them, otherwise the blogs would be even longer than they are now!), I wrote a cheque out for the Centre. We’ll assume that it was for the sum I mentioned above, three million, nine hundred thousand and four hundred and thirty franc. This was the first cheque I’d written out for the Centre, so I felt very noble and proud at finally being able to embark upon one of my responsibilities. I duly gave the cheque to Laurentine, the secretary-bookkeeper, who verified that the information was correct, and off she went, at some point, to deposit the cheque (the Centre uses the same bank as I do). You need to know that it takes at least two days for a cheque to be processed (even within the same bank) and sometimes three days. So, it was a slightly agitated Laurentine who came to see me in my office a few days later, to say that the cheque had been bounced, with no reason given, and would I go and see what it was all about. To say that I was flabbergasted would be putting it mildly. Not to say embarrassed! Off I went to the bank (same steps as before!), and waited until the clerk who looks after bounced cheques was a) at her desk and b) ready to receive clients. I courteously explained who I was, and expressed surprise at the fact that the cheque had not been accepted. The clerk took the cheque out, looked at it, looked at me, looked at the cheque, and said, very gravely,: “There’s a mistake on the cheque.” I looked at the cheque and didn’t see it right away - and I, a French teacher and proof-reader! Yes, my friends, I’d forgotten the “s” at the end of the word “franc” (so it wasn’t a typo up above, héhé), and for that reason, the cheque bounced. Lordy…
Back I went to the office, made out another cheque, making sure that the “s” was visible and legible (lots of practice!), and gave the cheque to Laurentine, who verified it (she was highly amused at the reason for the bounce), and off she went to deposit the cheque. A few days later, she was back in the office, much more agitated, wig a bit askew (a lot of ladies wear wigs, some of them architectural wonders), to say that the new cheque had been bounced, and would I please go and see what had happened now? The first time, it had been funny, this time it was a bit more serious, especially as the Centre needed the money that kept on being bounced. So, this time, I went with Laurentine to the bank. Same story, in the sense of waiting times, but this time the reason for the bounce was the signature. “Your signature seems to have evolved” said the clerk, with nary a smile, “and it doesn’t look like the signature that we have on file” (scanned). I looked at the signature and said that yes, it was mine, and yes, it was probably slightly different from the one on file. I also pointed out that I had warned the bank that my signature varied (unheard of, I guess), depending on the pen I was using, the position I was in when writing the cheque and perhaps my mood. However, the clerk was not going to be amused, as this was serious business! Slightly impatient, I wrote out a third cheque, there and then, with the clerk as a witness, and gave it to Laurentine, who was standing next to me. The clerk looked at the cheque carefully, looked at me sorrowfully (at last, an expression on her face), shook her head slowly and said that the signature wasn’t quite right (one line extra, difficult to explain the difference).
Well, what to do? I thought, well, this can’t go on, so I suggested to Laurentine that I take out the money in cash, and then she could deposit it right away. This seemed to be a sensible solution to the predicament, although probably not to the liking of accountants the world over. Ah well… so I wrote a cheque out to myself (there are no withdrawal slips here, one has to use cheques), in front of the same clerk, who again refused the cheque, because the signature was different again. This was getting serious, to put it mildly! So, I went to see the Head of Client Services, Mr. Moukoury, and explained what was happening. Much cogitation and consultations with various bodies, shaking of heads, rolling of eyes and other dramatic elements. Finally, it was decided that I should fill out new signature forms. I pointed out that this did not guarantee that my signature would remain stable. I also pointed out that this was the first time I’d had this trouble in any country that I’d been in. Anyway, a final solution was found. First, I sign the cheque, then, under my signature, I write my name. I pointed out that my writing varied a lot also, but that I always made my “f” the same way. So, on the card, it is noted that the “f” is the only stable element of my signature, that if there are any questions, to refer them to Mr. Moukoury or to phone me. Once all this was done, I wrote out another cheque, which was then initialed by at least three people, so that I could withdraw the money owed to the Centre, so that I could give it to Laurentine.
The largest bill is the ten-thousand franc note, so after a few minutes (cheque having magically been accepted by the unsmiling clerk), I was handed a huge pile of bills, a large number of ten thousand franc notes, a large number of five-thousand franc notes, and some two-thousand franc notes. Actually getting the money also took time, since the clerk had to count it all, and then I had to count it all. Then I staggered over to Laurentine with this huge whack of notes, and gave them to her. She then filled out her deposit slip, counted the notes, and went to the teller, who had just given me the notes, who then proceeded to count them all again and deposit the money in the Centre’s account.
The whole operation, from beginning to end, took five hours!
You may be sure that I’m very careful about how I fill out the cheques now, and, fortunately, there have been no more bounced cheques! I must say, though, that it was quite pleasant going around with more than three million in one’s hands!
On that note (groan!), I shall leave you for now! Hope all is going well for you all!
Cheers!
David
Monday, February 4, 2008
Pictures
David, Laurence (our secretary) and her husband
Members of the executive, staff association - the two white guys are honorary advisors! The other white guy is Père Natalino, the director.
David dancing with Mme Calvin, wife of the do it all man.Greetings again!
I tried to incorporate these pictures in my text earlier, but I haven't got the hang of it... ah well!
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