Goodbye Moundou

I left Moundou last Wednesday. It was dark when my telephone alarm woke me up. After I showered I threw my PJs into my stuffed backpack and sat on my bed. The walls of my room were cleared of the letters I had hung there, the closet was empty, the floor was clean of books and nail clippings. It felt strangely sad and flat.

Pastor Sem picked me up and we took the road, the only paved road in Moundou, to N’djamena. I have left places before. They were places as far away as Edinburgh and Cuzco but I always knew that I would probably return someday. When I left Moundou, though, I felt like I might never return. It’s scary to say goodbye to someplace forever. As we passed Gibson’s Trade Fair Centre, the night market—barren in the morning, and the long lines of villagers walking into town to sell bananas, mats, and mangos, it seemed like something important but intangible was fading. Slowly gone like the sky in a sandstorm.

Now I’m in N’djamena waiting for the 20th and the plane back home. Goodbye Moundou. Goodnight Tchad.

Dad comes for a visit! Then goes. I get sick sick sicker.

Mr. David Vader came to Moundou on the 12th of June to visit his long-away son in Moundou, Tchad. They had an excellent time together and they shared everything from stories to indigestion. Dad got to see Dan’s school and spend time talking with his talkative students. Dan was very pleased and bvery happy. Everyone commented on how happy he was that his Dad was visiting.

Then Dad left and Dan got sick sick sicker. He went to see the Doctor.
“Give me some blood and some poop!” said the Doctor.
Dan obliged the doctor and the doctor prescribed him some very expensive medicine.
But the pills Dan took didn’t work so Dan went to see the doctor again.
He recieved more medicine but still he didn’t get better.
Finally the doctor took another poop sample and turned slightly green.
“There are things partying in your stomach it seems!”
So Dan was put on an IV drip for three days straight, to hydrate his body and kill those unwanted guests.
Another blood test revealed that Dan had typhoid too! So he took some Cipro to calm that stuff down.
Now Dan is much better so be happy, rejoice!

An Empty Blog Entry

I’ve not been motivated to write a blog entry for a long time. Nothing has changed today so please accept my unabashed lethargy.

Happenings:

THE WORLD CUP!

DAD VISITS FROM THE USA

We spend a night “on the farm” (There were supposedly monkeys but I didn’t see any)

Mama Eunice sends the dogs out into the streets at night so they become “plus sage”

Indiana (my dog, who was amoung those sent out) picks up maggots again.

The guard attempts to kill and eat Indiana.

I promise Indiana to a school professor in order to save her.

I make a lazy blog entry.

Milk

After the pharmacy and doctors cleaned me out of most of my cash (see future story on Dan’s sicknesses) I went to the store to buy some powdered milk. Anyone who has seen me eating knows that I am a dairy fiend. Milk, yogurt, cheese… these are diet staples. Well, for the past 9 months I really haven’t had the oppertunity to drink a glass of milk. I’ve had the occasional yogurt and once or twice I’ve had a pizza, but no milk. It had a devistating effect on morale, but I’ve pulled through.

So, I bought this bucket of NIDO powdered milk at the market at dusk last night. Normally I detest powdered milk, it tastes like calcium powder disolved in water, but this stuff knocked me into the next country (which is, incedentally, the Sudan). It was so delicious that I drank three big glasses of the stuff.

That was a mistake. My body is not used to dairy and it promptly decided that it could not digest milk. I was up a few times at night to make that long journey to the toilet.

But I won’t back down! My corporeal form will adapt or die! Milk is the ultimatum.

It’s a big big world

Dear World,

How are you? I know you feel sick a lot. There are many things going on around you that make me sick sometimes too. I’m not talking about ecological sickness or anything like that, but that can be nausiating too. I’m talking about the things I can’t understand, the people who hurt each other for no good reason, emotionally and physically. It just doesn’t make sense that anyone who respects themself in the least could hurt someone else.

Anyways, it has come to my attention recently that you are much larger than I previously thought. Take, for instance, Tchad. I’ve been living in Tchad for about 8 months now, but all of my painfully aquired knowledge is based in the town of Moundou in the south of Tchad. What’s with that? I’m still learning new things about the city, I notice something new almost every day, so how can I say that I’ve lived in Tchad, or Africa, or the World when I only know tiny pockets of people and places?

You’re a big place World, sometimes I need to be reminded how big so that I can see the diversity that makes you beautiful.

Your humble pilgrim,

Dan

New Rains and a Letter Drought

It rained for the first time in 6 months on the night of April 21st. The
storm was windy and the rain was thick. I am normally cheered by
thunderstorms but this one made me happier than any other storm that I can
remember. I think it was the complete absense of rain, pressure drops, that
husky sweeping sound, of that evaporation smell, that I was missing.
Everything smelled, looked, and felt like dust for 6 months. It was silent
except for the motos and trucks. The rain liberated the smell of the earth,
the wind returned to the trees, and the air is constantly changing from
humid to dry to electric rain again.

This climatic change has offset one of the more dissapointing realities of
living in Tchad: letters are not getting through. For three months now no
letters have made it through the system of bribes and tarrifs that make up
our postal system to arrive in Moundou. Fortunately the occasional package
still makes it. I think the US AIR written in giant letters is enough to make people think they’re important. So sorry if I haven’t written back!

Moundou is great when wet. Add water and watch the grass grow from sandy nothingness into a toad ridden metropolis. The cicadas are nice too.

Sans Fans

So about a month ago Katie and I decided to give up fans for lent. To the average North American this decision probably doesn’t mean much. Temperate summer climate, cold winters, and air conditioners have rendered fans unnecessary and obsolete. Needless to say, it’s different in Tchad. Lent crosses the peak of the the hot season in Tchad. Tempertures rose above 40C and we consumed water by the liter. There are no air conditioners. There was only heat and many sleepless nights.

The conversation leading up to our decision went something like this:

Katie: What should I give up for lent this year?
Dan: I usually don’t give anything up.
Katie: Ok, but what should I give up this year?
Dan: Fans, you should give up fans.
Katie: Ok.
Dan: But that was a joke.
Katie: You’re going to give them up too.
Dan: Dang.

Fortunately, the electricity was cut most of the time, so I didn’t have to worry much about my stength of will. But there were a few days where my host parents sat beneath a huge fan in their room set to top speed, while I spent the night sleepless in the heat of my concrete bedroom. Oh yeah, concrete absorbes the heat during the day and lets it out at night. This is all well and good if you are a reptile, but as a human I did not appreciate the sauna I slept in each night. Thank goodness it’s over. The hot season is almost over too, so three cheers for that.

News from the Middle of Africa

It is times like this that I am reminded of one famous line from a short chapter of Ray Bradbury’s “Something Wicked this Way Comes.” I think it captures the essence of my past few weeks in Tchad. It goes something like this:

Nothing much happened the rest of the night.

Now, to you North-Americaners, this may be an untrue statement. I overhauled my bicycle, passed out at the doctor’s office when he took blood (and was caught before I hit the floor by a certain Canadian bystander), recieved visitors from the capitol city, experienced a sun-blotting dust storm, and bought a giant sack of fried bean pastries from a woman by the bike repair man.

I assure you, all of this seems mere habit by now and no one should be excited or concerned by it. Or maybe you should. One of the headlines on BBC news is “Math genius urged to take prize.” Really, if he does not want the prize, don’t force him to take it. It’s not like he’ll have contributed any more or less to mathematics without it.

We have been giving final exams at school this week. I’m thinking about nominating one of my students for an English prize to see if she will accept it.

“_”

I don’t have enough internet time to write an entry today so I’ll just say “hooplah!” and leave it at that.

Have fun watching the snow melt North America! Hooplah.

Analysis… 4 March 2009

WARNING: Heat wave incoming.
Estimated Median Temperature… 40°C
Chance of wind failure… 100%
Searching database for “Daniel Vader”… found.
Analyzing subject Daniel Vader… Cold Climate Human
Estimating chance of survival… 28%
Suggestions… relocation, adapataion, climate controlled clothing, heat coma…

WARNING: Core computer temperture increasing… starting emergency shutdown.