February Fun Tims

Well, I’ve been here for 2 days short of 8 months, have conceded the fact that I am a terrible at posting regular updates on the blog, and frankly, I’m not going to feel bad about it anymore…I suspect that my target audience is just as bad at reading these irregular postings!
Nevertheless, a few thoughts, a few stories, and a few pictures

The Highlights:
1.the curious incident of the drunk guard, the bloddied DGM, and the night the presidential guard wrecked our party.
2.two accidents, two lanes, and two things that make Congolese impatient
3.How I nearly got beat up in the homosexual quarter of Paris
4.Michel Dupont, his bloated colon, and a similiarly curious event in Paris
6.The single biggest reason Vivaldy is no longer welcome at my house

T-Shirts of the week:
I’ll tell you what jimmy says—strange, somewhat non-sequitur (arent’ they all?)
FBI (Female Body Inspector)—spotted on a slightly more than rotund Bulgarian pilot at the UN restaurant/club
My Govenor can beat up your governor—spotted in town, not sure if it was reffering to the cross-eyed, fence straddling, republican/democrat Guvenator of California or Jesse “the Body” Ventura (Rep-Wis?)

Sound track—rocking out to wolf parade and ladyhawk—and CBC radio three podcast #62—summer roadtrip mix tap.

See below for all the wild and wonderful vignettes mentioned above.
No time, no problem…. Stay safe, stay engaged, and be sure to remain gainfully employed
Those of you who may be heading to Central African Republic, Chechnya, or Kashmir in the next month or so---may see you there.
More later

Peace
C

1. So ACTED threw a party, not that unusual, but they failed to ensure that those drinking beer weren’t responsible for bouncing at the gate. Lots of people, lots of booze, a little emotion—M. and B. were leaving for ever—and no shortage of large, road blocking white land cruisers…So, mr. Big—somehow connected or in charge of a big gov’t agency—decided that he wanted to take his family home, and to his surprise, the gate to his compound was blocked by at least one of these big trucks…patience reigned in the instance, and the guards of the ACTED house went 3 times to sort out the situation…BUT failed to realize that they should’ve found the boss, had him turn off the music, identify the double parker, and move on…instead, the guy and his family waited for an hour, during which time his patience wained, and eventually, he walked into the compound and found himself in confrontation with a less-than-sober guard. In the space of 2 minutes, Mr Big—and patient—wound up smashed in the face with the empty beer bottle the guard happened to be carrying (not a little Canadian ‘stubby’ but a big nasty 750ml Primus bottle)…more over, the poor sop, bloddied from the bludgeoning, was carried out an tossed onto one of the white trucks blocking his gate…Ironic, no? Little surprise, then, that Mr. Big decided to solicite the assistance of his friends presidential guard. Guns drawn, Mr. Big’s friend, the Big Mr, Big’s big buddies came into the compound, black fatigues and pink barrets and dragged out the (now sorry) guard that had been so stupid as to think that smashing someone in the face with a beer bottle was a great way to resolve a dispute…this week’s Darwin award goes to...

2. The rains in Congo eat roads, bore giant potholes in the most durable surfaces (even bitumen)…this rainy season, one of the main roads—a boulevard, two broad lanes separated by grass-covered partition—has been chewed up so bad that the dubai-special taxis can no longer manage to navigate the potholes…but this is only on one side of the boulevard. For whatever reason the other half of the road is in great condition. So, every suicidal taxi-driver, truck driver, and mo-tard (French for motorcyclist) have taken to driving on the nice side of the street, on coming traffic or no… this week alone, I’ve witness two accidents, and a third near-miss…it reminded me of what an old hand had once told me—Congolese are only in a rush when in line, or behind the wheel of a car!
The curiosity in all this is that the traffic cops—who’s sole purpose in life/profession is to collect taxes on the road—have failed to realize the revenue potential of this restriction in movement…I keep telling them to move their check point/tax collection racket to the other side of the street, but they wont listen…

3. Paris—I would recommend that the next time you happen to be in paris that you keep you eyes wide open for any indication that you’ve passed from one neighborhood to another as simply crossing a street can put you in the middle of a totally different community. I found myself in the gay district of paris, freezing to death, sporting a kaffya to ward off the wind, crossed a street and was smack dab in the middle of the jewish quarter…Gay district, jewish quarter, what was certain was that I was confronted by not one but 3 or 4, 500 pound gorillas concerned about my choice of scarf… Lesson—don’t stare at your feet whilst walking in paris, be sure to know who’s neighborhood your cruising, and do your best not to offend the cultural sensitivities of the local security guards.

4. Paris (also)—I stepped out of the metro station at Les Halles…and walked in to Michel Dupont, my old financial controller here in congo, now stationed with his wife in tchad…he’d just been evacuated from wherever he was, underwent emergency surgery for what I understood to be a problem of relating to an overly giant colon (he’s quebequois)…Congo, Tchad, Paris…the world is truly not as big and scary as some might still believe

5. Vivaldi, our handcapped, love-starved, overwhelmingly vocal, scardy-cat is about to find himself a new home. He and his sister stanlette have been kicked to the curb, or rather, to the new WarChild residence. I haven’t shed a tear, I have no second thoughts…the little monster sprayed my shoes with his cat funk. It took me nearly two weeks to figure out just why my office smelt of cat urine, but I figured it out….and now vivaldy has a new home.

Wolai tabarack fee,
Next week—a new feature, the Darwin award…tributes to those who demonstrate unrivaled resilience and ingenuity in their struggle for survival out here in the jungle…and those who demonstrate a remarkable disregard for those instincts that shore up our conscious inability to foresee a menace to our continued existence…