Finally, on to Lobito

One way to try and get a big 18-wheeler out of a pit of mud...

(Part 3 0f 3)

My colleagues and I left for Luanda around 8 am on Saturday. I’ve give a lot of credit to the Chinese- the road to Luanda is paved and smooth as a baby’s bottom, making it a pleasant trip- at least until the turnoff to Lobito. They haven’t finished paving the road so cars are forced to take a secondary dirt road. That wouldn’t be too comfortable during the dry season, so you can imagine what it would be like during the rainy season.

We got stuck for about an hour as all confusão broke loose. There was a major traffic jam thanks to some big trucks, taxis and buses that got stuck in the mud. When the one taxi that was causing the major delay came loose, there was a bigger problem with the jerks who had decided that everyone else just didn’t know how to drive and had tried to circumvent the wait by driving in the on-coming lane of traffic. So although there was no longer a taxi stuck in the mud, there were 4 other cars blocking its passage. It didn’t help that the drivers of these four cars were no where to be seen. When they finally reappeared, they got into a shouting match with the other drivers. They refused to go back to the end of the line of cars because they didn’t want to wait. Finally, the mob of people that quickly formed around the four cars was enough to convince them to back up and let everyone go about their way. I finally got home around 4 pm. Phew.

Watch out for the tala!

I was in my supervisor’s office this afternoon, and he received a phone call from his daughter. I didn’t want to eavesdrop, but it was a little hard. “It already burst? But now it’s growing back? Okay, but put the antibiotic on.” Sounded a little gross. He sighed and said, “Oh, Leslie. We Africans, we have such crazy ideas. Have you heard about the tala?” And then he proceeded to tell me about the tala.

The tala is some sort of witchcraft or curse that affects your foot. It will swell your foot and leg so much that you will not be able to put on shoes, walk. Even worse, you will eventually have to have it amputated! But how do you get the tala? The person who curses you with the tala will put it on a keyhole or something s/he knows you will touch. Not to worry, though, if you share a house with anyone- talas know their destination, and even if you tough the tainted object, it is not meant for you and it will ignore you.

Why would anyone put a tala on you? There’s your usual revenge- you are dating a jealous lover’s ex or you are suspected of hurting someone. But it can also be to show you your place- if you get a raise at work too soon after starting the job, or the boss openly compliments your work, then you are a target.

My supervisor said that his daughter was calling on behalf of her cousin. He woke up one morning with the tala, so he put aloe vera on it. It helped quite a bit, but then the blistered popped open, so they were concerned. My supervisor didn’t seem concerned for the cousin’s future.

I asked if the tala had a cure, either through traditional or modern medicine. “Leslie, this cannot be cured in any hospital!” He then proceeded to tell me the story of the wife of a mayor of one of the municipalities where my organization used to work. One day the woman woke up with the tala, although she didn’t know it was the tala. Over the course of two years, her foot swelled to such a size that she couldn’t wear any shoes and had great difficulty walking. She went to several doctors and hospitals, and no one could cure her. Finally a doctor in Benguela told her he would have to amputate her foot. She went to Luanda to get a second opinion, but the doctor told her the same thing.

She scheduled the surgery and bought the medicine (here you have to buy the medicine in advance), but the doctor cancelled at the last minute. After rescheduling the surgery for a few weeks in advance, she went back home to wait. Her maid begged her to go see her aunt, who was a traditional healer. She conceded, and visited the aunt. The aunt took one look and said, “This is very serious. You must go see this other healer.” So she went to see another, more elderly woman, an established healer.

The healer suspected that it was tala. She got a bottle of comproto, a locally produced alcohol, and rubbed it all over the foot. She then made a cut at the bottom of the foot, sucked some blood out and then spit it out on the wall. Looking at the results, she said, “You have tala. You will go home and be able to put on shoes and walk again. Tomorrow the person who put the tala on you will come and act happy for you, but secretly they will be angry.”

The woman went home and went for her shoes. Sure enough, she put them on without problems and began to walk. The next day, a neighbor with whom she had a minor squabble came by and said, “Oh, mana! How wonderful that you are cured!”

Coincidence?

MIss Landmine Angola 2008

My dear friend Cesar emailed me a link to a website. “Is this thing for real?” he asked. The website was for the Miss Landmine Angola 2008 beauty pageant. And yes, it is for real.

I heard a little about this last year and didn’t know what to think about it. On the one hand I was put off, as I usually am with beauty pageants. On the other hand, this was obviously different and the contestants are were your typical bimbos. After looking at the website, I think it’s an interesting way to bring awareness to the landmine issue.

This year the pageant will take place in April. The website has an option to vote for the candidates, each one representing a different province in Angola. Personally, I am torn between two candidates: Miss Benguela, my hometown candidate; and Miss Moxico, because she listed her ideal job as “boss”- obviously a woman who wants to be in charge!

(By the way, Angolans LOVE beauty pagaents! There's even a Mr. Angola pagaaent, which people take very seriously.)

Conversations I have had, Pt. 2

Scene: I share a direct line to my office with two other colleagues. Recently we all got fancy cordless phones. Mine has worked fine, but my colleague Ben was having trouble with his, so he called in two repair technicians to fix the problem. They tested the line in my office and it was fine; they determined the problem was with the actual phone. However, they pressed some button and the phone suddenly worked fine. They declared the problem solved and went away. Yesterday they reappeared.

Technician 1: Hi, we’re back to fix the phone.

Me: The phone has been working fine since you were last here. I just made a phone call a few minutes ago.

Technician 1: No, it’s still broken. You need to use the other one. (Referring to the fixed handset model I was using before.)

Technician 2: Yes, you see the computer is causing the problem.

Me: But there is no more problem. The phone works.

Technician 1: Yes, it’s the computer that’s causing the problem.

Me: How is the computer causing the problem?

Technician 1: Interference.

Me: But the phone works fine.

I turn the phone on speaker mode and dial my cell phone to show it works. The call is completed without problems.

Technician 1, to Technician 2: Well, I guess it works okay.

Technician 2: Yes, I guess they should just use their own telephones.

Technician 1: I suppose it’s okay. (Now to me) Okay, please sign this paper saying I fixed the phone again today.

I look at the paper. It is an invoice written by hand on a scrap of paper about 6”x6”.

Me: Well, I’m not the one who ordered your services, so I can’t sign it. Also, the phone was working just fine.

Technician 1: Yes, but you have to pay for our services today.

Me: You should probably see the person who called for your services. Who called you?

Technician 1: No one. We are just following up.

At this point I just send them to Ben down the hall.

Just another day at the office

Band of goats hanging out in our parking lot.

Bonus feature: Smoke from burning trash in empty lot next to school (out of range of picture). Said empty lot is rumored to be either: a) new compound for the Chinese workers who have been contracted to remodel the school next door; or b)storage space for all the materials the Chinese will use to remodel the school.

Suddenly, Texas Democrats matter!

Any article about Texas politics is bound to be interesting, but I especially like this one because it focuses on the role of women.


It talks about Sissy Farenthold, former member of the Texas House of Prepresentative. My senior year of high school, I won third place in an essay contest about reform of the United Nations. All three of us winners happened from the same high school and have the same teacher (the excellent Wendall Zartman), so we all went together to the dinner where we were awarded our scholarships (mine was $500).


As they presented us, they mentioned where we were planning on going to college. After the emcee mentioned that I would be going to Vassar, I felt a tap on my shoulder. A woman handed me a card with the name Sissy Farenthold and a phone number printed on it, with "Vassar Alumna" handwritten underneath it. "Call me if you need anything," she whispered.

I said thank you and went back to listening to the program. During the break, Mr Zartman rushed over to me and said, "Leslie, do you know who that was?!" Since the two years of Texas history I took in school ended somewhere around the turn of the 20th century, I didn't know who she was and that she was an important person to know. I took the card home and showed my parents. They encouraged me to call her up, but I was too afraid and didn't know what to say to her so I let it lie. Many years later I regret it.

Finally, there is this commentary in the NYT about the sudden importance of Texas Democrats. Here the author describes watching the New Hampshire contest:

Naturally, we were a little testy, staring at that all-white scenery, hearing state residents complain about too many town hall meetings, too much news coverage, too much attention from candidates. Enough of that. At least their votes counted. With March 4 a distant speck in the snowstorm, we knew our primary votes would never matter.

Glad to see she was wrong. But as a Texan living overseas, my vote still won't matter. I have yet to receive my early voting ballot. Oh well.

Land wrongs (not land rights)

At work this week we are having a team-building workshop. It's an interesting workshop, if nothing else because we have gotten the opportunity to get to know each other in a way that doesn't have anything to do with budget management or signing paperwork. In one get-to-know-you exercise, we had to talk about something in our past that has had influence in our present lives. I was really struck by the story of one colleague. I'll call him Carlos (not his real name).

Carlos has worked for us for about 10 years, rising through the ranks. He's about my age, around 32. He's about to get married and in preparation, last year he decided to buy some land to eventually build a house on.

Buying land here is a very tricky, complicated process. To avoid any scams, he decided to buy the land through the municipal land office. He went with them to look at the property, signed all the necessary paperwork and gave them all the money. (Around $30,000.) A few weeks after buying the land, he went to check it out and start plotting out where he was going to build the house. To his surprise, he saw a construction crew there, laying cement. He asked what they were doing, and he discovered that the municipality had sold the land to someone else.

He went to the municipality to find out what had happened. It turns out that someone in the municipality had forgotten to file a piece of minor paperwork, so they put the property back on the market and sold it. Carlos was obviously upset, so he demanded to speak to the person's superior and get some answers. Apparently this was totally unreasonable, so they put him in jail. For 4 days.

Carlos's brother is a police officer, so he was able to influence a little and get Carlos out after the four days. After shelling out all that money for land (money which just disappeared) he couldn't afford to hire a lawyer. Luckily, he was able to find a public advocate who decided to take up his case.

The municipality refused to acknowledge the mistake and tried to put the blame on him. He asked for his money back and they refused to give it to him. Finally, the municipality offered to find him a similar plot of land and give it to him.

The story is pretty outrageous. But what impressed me the most was Carlos's reaction. Rather than be bitter about everything, he managed to put a positive spin on it. "Now maybe they will change their behavior, because word has gotten out about what happened. They won't be able to do it to others anymore"

Conversations I have had

Sometimes I'll be chatting with a friend from the States about about a conversation I've had here in Angola, and the friend will stop me and say, "WHAT?!' These are just some of those conversations that, to me, have become normal, but outside of Angola are bizarre.

Scene: Me walking to my boss' house on a Saturday for a day of work. Passing by an empty lot where a lot of poor families live.
Street kids: Amiga! Amiga!
Me: Amigos! Amigos!
Kids look at each other, shocked that I spoke to them.
One kid: Give me 50 Kwanza, amiga! (US$0.75)
Me: No, sorry. Nothing on me.
Same kid: But amiga, I'm hungry!
Me: I'm hungry too!
Kid: But you're so much fatter than we are!

Scene: An Angolan friend and I, talking.
Me: You know there is a new Chinese restaurant in Benguela. We should go.
Friend: Yeah, but you have to be careful, because if you eat too much Chinese food you could end up like this! (Make politically-incorrect Chinese eyes using his hands.)

Scene: At a party where the song "We Are the World" is playing
Me: Wow, I can't believe everyone knows this song. Do they know the story behind it?
Angolan Friend: Yeah, they made it to stop the famine in Ethiopia.
Pause
Angolan Friend: We got really excited when this song came out, because we thought after saving Ethiopia they would come, stop the war and save us. They never came.
(Background: This friend was forced to join the army right out of high school and fought in the war.)

Scene: Me coming into work after a late night of working. My colleague, Ben, knocks on my door.
Ben: Princess! Good morning. Is everything alright?
Me: Oh, I'm a little tired, but okay.
Ben: I can tell tell. Even from far away.
Me: Yes, I have a lot of work.
Ben: Even from far away you look very bad.
Me: Uh, thanks.
Ben: Really, really bad!

The instant Nescafe jar is a perfect touch...

Like just about every other Valentine’s Day I’ve had, this year’s was depressing. I absolutely recognize the commercial aspect of this invented holiday, but in general I feel pretty lonely in Angola so it just gets heightened on a day dedicated to love, even if it ain’t so genuine. It didn’t help that radio stations were playing cheesy love songs all day- there’s only so much Micahel Bolton I can handle.

There must have been a mood going around the office, because Elisabeth, our HR director, came by my office with these flowers. I wondered if I was giving off the sad vibe until I saw she had done the same for everyone in the office.

So it wasn’t such a bad day after all.

Basil Mania!

This is just ONE of my basil plants! You can also see a germanium hiding behind it all.

One frustrating thing about Lobito is the lack of spices and herbs available in the stores and markets. I’ve amassed a decent collection of spices from my trips to South Africa and the US. (You don’t know how much you need chili powder until you don’t have it!) Cilantro is available at certain times of the year, so I’ve taken to buying it in bulk when it’s available and putting it in the freezer. It works out pretty well, especially for soups.

When I was at home in September I decided to buy some herb seeds and grow fresh herbs at home. Apart from a Chia pet I had in college, I’ve never really grown anything. Feeling very smart, I got some dirt from my friend Mark and dumped about ½ the packet of basil seeds into the small pot. Within a few days they sprouted and I got very excited.

This all happened when my friend Mark and his girlfriend Dominga were staying with me for a bit. Mark used to run our agriculture projects, so I was eager to show off my new box-gardening skills. He looked at it and said, “So, how many of those did you put in there? How far apart did you space the seeds?” My enthusiasm gave way to panic as I realized I probably should have read the instructions before planting.

He explained that I would have to transplant the shoots into new pots, since the plant would kill each other if left them as they were. So I went out and bought even more pots. Mark was kind enough to give me more of his compost dirt. (Dirt is unbelievably hard to come by here.) Soon I had 6 pots of basil sprouting. Now the situation is somewhat out of control. I have more basil than I know what to do with! I’ve given one pot away to Bernie and Christina to lighten the load.

The great thing about Mark’s dirt is that it had all these other seeds in it. So now, besides basil, I have some germaniums and even tomato plants. I can’t wait to have tomatoes with basil from my own kitchen!

So, any other ideas of how I can use all this basil? I’m open to any suggestions that don’t involve fancy ingredients like parmesan. (Yes, I thought of pesto but there is no parmesan around, and all the recipes I’ve seen call for it.)

E para os que falam português, como é que se diz “basil”? Não faço idéia.

Oh, the saga of visas

This has nothing to do with this post, but it's a nice picture, isn't it? This is Willie's favorite spot to sit now.

Next week two of our colleagues from our regional office in Zambia are supposed to come and give us a training on project monitoring and evaluation. I should say, were supposed to, since it has since been canceled. Why? Visa problems, of course!



This training has been in the works for several months now. Our colleagues submitted their applications in early December and began the wait. Now, keep in mind that these are lowly, single-entry 30 day visas, not these crazy 2 year ones you get in the States, or even, God forbid, a work visa!!!



One of the guys leading the training used to work here in Angola and happened to befriend someone who used to work at the Angolan embassy in Zambia. This was great because he could help (by "help" I really mean help, not helpwink*wink*) in getting travel visas, usually just making sure they were at the top of the pile. Well, unfortunately they replaced the ambassador in Zambia, meaning that all old employees were transfered and the new ambassador installed ones that are probably his cousins.



The trainers were supposed to arrive in Luanda today (Friday). As early as two weeks ago, the staff were promising our colleagues that their visas were almost ready, just keep coming back. On Monday we all began to worry. On Wednesday, our colleague (the one who had worked in Angola) went to the embassy and was told that their passports were lost. Oops! Come back again the next day.



The next day he went back. This time the same guy was there, only stinking drunk. He said, "They're still lost! Come back tomorrow!" ("Tomorrow" meaning Friday, the day they were supposed to leave for Luanda.) My colleague stuck his head in the little window, pointed in the corner and said, "Are those two American passports right there ours?" Sure enough, they were. Except no work had been done on them at all since dropping them off in December. Ooops! It was too late at this point for anything to be done and the training was cancelled.

Another year...

On January 15 I turned 31. This was the second birthday I had in Angola and admitted was much better than the first. A few friends treated me to cake and drinks at a local bar. Best of all were the special cakes that Weni and Kadja made for me.

Kadja

Weni

If I haven't been posting much, it's because of new internet restrictions at work. I rely on work almost exclusively for internet access. In the past it wasn't a problem but some of my colleagues have taken to downloading movies and, um, "graphic" materials, so Admin had to put a stop to it. Unfortunately that also put a stop to just about everything else, so I have either come in on the weekends, when the restrictions are lifted, or try from home with my very slow dial-up connection. (For the record, I do posting after I'm done for the day and it does violate any policies.) That and I've been very busy with work lately!

Sailing in Lobito Bay

I'd been bothering my friend Rui to take me sailing for quite some time, and on Sunday he finally obliged. Being surrounded by water, I'm surprised that it took over a year to get me on some sort of watercraft.

Rui has a small catamaran, a Hobie Cat. It was so nice to be on the water and see Lobito from another side. Honestly, it was one of the best days I've had here. Here are some of the highlights.

The Captain

We got up close and personal to some of the big container ships.

You'd never know that across the bay was a large city. Sadly, they are going to build an oil refinery on this side. Surely it will change the character and environment of the bay.

A rough life, I know...

Here’s a link to an article (in Portuguese) regarding plans to build the largest building in Angola. If all goes according to plans, it will be 70 stories tall (325 m) and cost US$800 MILLION. Apparently it will be in the shape of an “A” with a 400-room luxury hotel on one side and malls, restaurants, and luxury apartments on the other.

Even in this land of oil industry-propelled excesses, $800 million for a building seems a tad distasteful.

It will be called the Tower of Babel. Whoops! I mean Tower of Angola.

Angolan National Women's Team Wins African Handball Championship

Thursday night the Angolan national team won the African Handball Tournament. (Link in Portuguese. Link in English.) There wasn’t as much celebration as when the men’s national basketball team won the AfroBasket Tournament, but the cars of Lobito did come out honking to celebrate the women’s team.

This morning I heard interviews with some of the women on the team, and I was truly impressed. In addition to playing on the national team, one woman worked full time and up until the tournament, was studying at night. She said she was retiring from the sport to continue her studies. Another woman had given birth only 8 months ago and dedicated the win to her new son. I guess that’s why I was a little miffed to later see the women were referred to as meninas- girls- in the papers. It just sort of seems to undermine their accomplishments both on and off the court. But I know better than to get worked up over something like that!

As usual, whenever Angola wins anything, the President of the Rupublic of Angola José Eduardo dos Santos (who is never called anything but “the President of the Rupublic of Angola José Eduardo dos Santos”; not President dos Santos, and certainly not Mr. dos Santos) issued a statement congratulating them. What was interesting was that the MPLA, dos Santos’ party and the ruling part of Angola since independence, also issued a statement congratulating the team. I suspect this is the beginning of a propaganda campaign by the MPLA to put its name in the media as much as possible in preparation for parliamentary elections in September. If opposing parties like UNITA or FNLA issued similar statements, they sure didn’t make it onto the radio.

Identify this vegetable

I found these veggies at the market. I have no idea what they are called in English. Anyone have any ideas?

Inside it looks like an eggplant. They're only about 2.5" tall.

Unfortunately they sat in the sun too long and by the time I got home, they were already spoiled. But they still look good!

Awesome Structures in Angola: Part 4

After hitting the market we stopped for ice cream. There is a restaurant in Catuembela that makes good ice cream. Unfortunately, the day we went they only had two flavors, coconut and vanilla (which had artificial dried fruit in it). The two people who hadn’t tried it before were a little disappointed, but I’ve been here long enough that even Let Down Ice Cream is better than No Ice Cream. (Besides, as a Texan I know that there is not much better in life than Blue Bell, so I know not to have high expectations for anything made outside of Brenham.)

On the way back we passed this house. It’s located next to a roundabout, so I’m not entirely sure it was ever a house: perhaps a government building or something. Either way, it’s someone’s house now, as evidenced by the laundry hanging on the left-hand-side porch. I really like the metalwork on the large windows, but especially like the metalwork on the roof.

By the stream of the Catumbela market

On Saturday, my friends I went to the market in Catumbela which is about 20 mintues from Lobito. It has a better selection of fruits and vegetables and in general is much calmer and tranqüilo than the markets in Lobito. You don’t want to look too closely at things, though. My friend Deborah almost bought a cow hoof for soup until she saw that the butcher would chop it on a tarpaulin sheet placed directly on the muddy floor. I was buying some veggies and looked up behind the woman and saw this lovely green stream covered in flies. Not sure the emerald green colors comes across well enough in this picture, but it was truly unlike anything I’ve seen. If it weren’t so hazardous to the health of myself and the entire population of Catumbela, I’d even say it was pretty.

In the background you can see the charcoal section of the market. The production of charcoal as a livelihood was a new thing to me when I came to Angola. Basically, people set trees on fire so that they can harvest the remains as charcoal. A lot of Angolans can’t afford electricity (assuming it’s even available where they live, which is a big assumption) or even gas canisters to fuel gas stoves, so they must rely on charcoal for cooking. It’s cheap, but as you can imagine, not produced by the most environmentally friendly methods. A little over a year ago, when I was doing the Listening Project conversations, the people living in the most miserable of conditions all had one thing in common: charcoal. It provided practically nothing, but it was all they had. As a result of those conversations, I’ve always thought of charcoal as the work of the very poor and marginal of society. I guess their location next to the stream of emerald green water confirms this.

Info on Luanda shooting

A while ago I posted a link to a one sentence item from the NYT and how decidely uninformative it was. BBC to the rescue!

Shoot to kill

Film director Radical Ribeiro said he was filming in the crime-ridden Sambizanga area of the capital when an elite unit roared up in a pick-up truck and opened fire without warning.

Mr Ribeiro said he thought the police might have mistaken the actors, who were carrying unloaded firearms, for real armed robbers. "They went on shooting until I shouted out: 'Please don't shoot, this is a movie,'" he told the BBC's Portuguese Service.

He said the officers then stopped firing and raced off, without attending to the
fatally wounded actors.

The incident happened as the interior minister was chairing an extended committee to discuss the escalating crime-rate in Luanda.

Correspondents say Angola's disparate police forces are perceived as a law
unto themselves.

This is why I avoid police as much as possible.

Angolan Customer Service

As an American, I forget how good we have it in terms of customer service when I am at home. Two experiences this week have reminded me that Angola has a way to go in terms of good business practices.

Changing money: I get my salary in US dollars, so I often have to change money at stores. I have my preferred money changing place, but I often have to change money at ShopRite because I invariably spend way more there than I want to. ShopRite has a money changing booth, which I think doubles as a manager’s office. Tuesday I went there to change money and waited for the guy to see me standing there. He was counting out money; he finished his one stack, put it down, looked me in the eye, then turned to pick up another stack to count. Although there is only one reason I would be standing there, I thought he might not have understood that I wanted to change money. So I said, “Boa tarde, good afternoon.” He turned around, looked at me in the eye and went back to counting money. I was getting angry, so I said again, louder, “BOA TARDE.” He rolled his eyes and finally put down the money to change my dollars. I said to him, “Não me ouviou? You didn't hear me?” He looked at me as if I was crazy, changed the money and went back to what he was doing.

At Zulu: Zulu is supposedly the best restaurant in town. It definitely has the best location- right on the beach- but the food is average. I will give Zulu credit because of all the restaurants in town, it has the most professional and courteous waitstaff. But they still do some things that make you want to bang your head on that beachside table. I went for an after-work drink with my friend Anne and her two kids. I ordered a rum and Coke, which they pour right at your table. I guess it seems fancier that way. The waiter came over and poured the rum. As he did, a bunch of black junk that was not supposed to be there came floating up. I pointed it out to the waiter, who prompty used his ice tongs to try and fish out whatever it was. I told the waiter that the glass was dirt and as such, the rum was now dirty, so would he please bring me a new glass? He happily obliged and came back with a new glass. He then proceeded to pour the contents of the old glass- junk and all- into the new glass! I pointed out to him that the rum was still dirty and said, specifically this time, “Please pour me some new rum.” He then said he couldn’t, because the rum had already been poured and if he poured another shot, I would be charged for a double. I tried to explain to him that the rum was not consumable so it was his responsibility to bring me another one. He looked at me blankly and I said, “If you’re not sure I suggest you go ask your manager what to do.” He came back and said, “Okay, this time we won’t charge you for the second shot.” Gee, thanks!