MONKEY TALES #13
(10/16/03)
MONKEY TALES #25
(3/13/04)
MONKEY TALES #24
(3/8/04)
MONKEY TALES #23
(2/12/04)
MONKEY TALES #22
(2/5/04)
MONKEY TALES #21
(1/31/04)
MONKEY TALES #20
(12/22/03)
MONKEY TALES #19
(12/13/03)
MONKEY TALES #18
(12/6/03)
MONKEY TALES #17
(12/1/03)
MONKEY TALES #16
(11/22/03)
MONKEY TALES #15
(11/13/03)
MONKEY TALES #14
(10/24/03)
MONKEY TALES #12
(10/11/03)
MONKEY TALES #11
(10/4/03)
MONKEY TALES #10
(9/27/03)
MONKEY TALES #9
(9/19/03)
MONKEY TALES #8.5
(9/14/03)
MONKEY TALES #8
(9/13/03)
MONKEY TALES #7
(8/21/03)
MONKEY TALES #6
(8/14/03)
MONKEY TALES #5
(8/8/03)
MONKEY TALES #4
(7/29/03)
MONKEY TALES #3
(7/24/03)
MONKEY TALES #2
(6/29/03)
MONKEY TALES #1
(7/17/03)
"YO!"
(6/27/03)
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So I know I said that I wouldn't
be emailing, but our weekend plans fell through and we managed to score
an app't for the girls (Minger and Bousco) at the vet today, so once again
I find myself in Franceville. Hot does not begin to describe the temperature
outside, the dogs are eating sardines and rice outside the internet cafe,
and I'm trying to SILENTLY curse the Cubs concerning their depressing
loss against the Marlins...<sigh>...Onwards, mes amis...
1. I Recently discovered my new fave insult, African style of course!
If any of you know the McFail family (too) intimately, you may have noticed
that one of our favorite insults is calling one another a "Joad",
in reference to the un-cultured, dirty, loud family in John Steinbeck's
classic, "The Grapes of Wrath". Well, this week I was riding
my bike with Minger tucked under my arm (she was knackered due to a long
walk), when all of a sudden kids came swarming up the hill to follow behind
the American, riding her bike, carrying the dog (I swear, we are the biggest
freak-show ever, especially the way we treat our animals like children...completely
foreign concept to the Africans). Anyway, a mama came out of the house
and screeched at the kids, "Ahhh! Qu'est ce que vous faisez? Vous
etes villageoise!" (What are you doing? You're such villagers!).
I almost fell off I was laughing so hard, mostly because I had inadvertantly
stumbled across the Gabo-equivalent of "Joad". Even Leigh Ann
has started using the phrase in her classroom when her kids are out of
control and it goes over quite well (they love hearing the white girls
say it). Maybe only my family will truly appreciate the splendor of this
story, but I had to share with all.
2. Also have an interesting cab story from this morning. We took one of
the taxi buses (supposed to seat 12, usually seats 20+) to go to the bank,
so in typical fashion there were five of us crammed in a row, and I had
the fortune to be seated next to a drunk guy in his mid-20's. He starts
trying to drague (hit on) us immediately, and I decided to be nice, while
Leigh Ann was the meanie (we switch roles every time just for kicks).
His English wasn't bad and he quickly moved into the routine we're used
to by now...(are you married, how old are you, do you have a boyfriend
here, etc.). I politely evaded and talked around his questions at first,
but then he started getting touchy feely and Leigh became irate. Then
he said that we must be racist because we didn't have African (Black)
boyfriends and we must think that we are so much better than the Gabonese.
I said, "actually, my husband at home is Black, so you're wrong"
(all these white lies lately...I think I'm certainly going to burn). That
shut him up till he launched into this soliloqy about how we were afraid
African men wouldn't practice fidelity (they won't) and would give us
diseases (high probability). We agreed and THEN he shocked us both by
stating matter of factly, "Well, even SIDA (AIDS) isn't bad because
you can live for 15 years or more before you die. I wouldn't mind catching
it from sex because I could still live for some time." By this point
we were beyond trying to point out his grossly distorted logic, and the
guy was drunk, so what's the point. We simply told him he was a fool,
cared nothing for his health, and good luck with the rest of his life
when he catches AIDS...all of the other passengers were listening at this
point, and by the end they were cracking up at the guy and making African
noises of agreement impossible to duplicate in writing. Ponder that story
for a while
3. Hospital work continues and I realize each day that some of the events
I have a chance to witness are things I'd only be able to see at home
if I were in a pre-med program. One of my fave nurses, a Senegalese guy
named Balestie, decided I needed a break from maternity and that I should
come watch them give shots (for malaria, fevers, etc.) The patients must
buy their own syringes and medication, which come in small glass vials
that the nurses snap the top off of before injecting, all of which is
done without gloves. Anyway, there were these poor babies who needed shots,
and just watching these 3-inch needles pierce and fully penetrate their
little thighs was more than I could bear (not to mention their ceaseless
wailing). The nurses said I should learn to give shots, so I can serve
patients here and also that way I can keep medicine in the fridge when
I return home to the states and inject my friends and family when they
need it. I explained that giving injections is "interdit" (forbidden)
with PC and would result in an immediate ticket home if someone found
out. It's very hard for the Gabonese to grasp that an American sent to
work in a hospital could be just a volunteer and not someone with a medical
background. Anywya, I returned to maternity a few hours later to watch
baby weighings, since apparently I'M doing them next week. Stevie weighed
the first one, in addition to taking head and chest measurements. Then
all of a sudden, she whipped the baby up by one ankle, hung him upside
down, and measured from head to toe. I just stood there staring in shock,
while the kid screamed bloody murder and the mother looked indifferent.
She did it to all of them and it worked out fine, tho I explained that
I'm going to lay them down when I do it. She laughed. Then right before
I left, a young girl came in with her child, close to a year old, and
when we took her personal info, we learned that she was 19 and this was
her 3rd child. Wonder if I'll ever get used to it.
4. If you're ever bored on a lazy weekend, why not wash your car the Gabo
way? To start, simply open all the doors (or at least the ones that DO
open) and the trunk. Take a soapy bucket of water and rub down the outside
vigorously with an old shirt, splashing what's left in the bucket all
over the interior of the car. Turn on a high-powered hose and commence
spraying the living daylights out of the car both inside and out, usually
drenching more passer-bys than the intended target. Repeat as necessary.
Allow to air dry.
5. General note on mail...Everything still takes 3 weeks to a month to
reach me, tho I've recently figured out why. Your letters leave the US
and travel to France, then on to Port Gentil (Gabon's biggest, and only,
port), then Libreville, then Franceville. And that's assuming that the
snail-eating, wine-guzzling French postal workers aren't on strike. Now
you know why news from home may take a while and my African stories reach
you a month later. Just keep it up and know that I'm eternally grateful.
6. John, the male portion of the older married couple, was recently diagnosed
with a hernia and while not too serious, PC decided to Med Evac (medically
evacuate) him and his wife Toni (since they're technically a unit) to
Washington D.C. for surgery. Since Leigh and I heard, we've been devising
ways to have the same thing happen to us so we can fly back to the US,
stay in a posh hotel, and receive a disgusting living allowance for 45
days, courtesy of Dubya and gov't. It's not that we're miserable or anything,
just that it would be a nice little respite. See how warped our thinking
has become!
Alright, time to get the girles some shots and a de-worming medicine they
can take in one pill. Festive. I don't know when I'll email next, so until
then, best of luck in school, work, life, and play. Wish me luck with
my hernia acquisition!
Sweat galore-
Leah Ann(e)
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