The third time around

Honestly, tell me – what are the odds of being sent to Chad three times in eight months? I shouldn’t think they’re very high.

Yet here I am once again, sitting on the verandah at Le Meridien, looking out over the lazy river and listening to the chatter of dozens of Chadians going about their morning business. I’m drinking a vile cup of coffee (ashtray contents?) and listening to a rooster crow, its forlorn call punctuating the steady gurgle of the pool filter. It’s all so familiar by now; I even know some of the hotel staff by name.

I recall saying in my last entry on Chad, sometime in February, that I hoped I’d be back someday. Notice the formulation: someday. It feels a little too soon to be back here again, especially without the friends I made last time I was here. I’ve thought of them a few times since February, but I find myself really missing them now.

I’m bracing myself for some pretty significant discomfort. When we took off in Paris, at about 3 pm NDJ time, the pilot announced calmly that it was currently a balmy 41 degrees Celsius in NDJ. It was 38 when we landed – at 9 pm. It will be even worse in Abeche. Apparently it reached 53 a few weeks ago. Yippee.

[Edit. I just got up for a second helping of ashtray-in-a-cup, and it’s all gone. Suddenly it doesn’t seem so vile anymore. Insert Zen moral re: appreciating what you’ve got here.]

Speaking of appreciating what you’ve got, one thing we haven’t got is an internet connection. Apparently “le network” is down in Chad. (There is but one network: Le Network.) So I have no idea when I’ll be able to upload this entry. Actually, I’m feeling pretty out of touch generally, since the Chadians religiously block my incoming and outgoing cell phone calls. It’s SMS only for this kid.

Maybe I’ll get up the guts to take some decent photos this time. It’s always hard to manage this, and not just because of the soldiers everywhere. I’m surrounded by development professionals and aid workers. I’m supposed to be one of them. I can’t go around snapping photos like a tourist. This behaviour would mark me out as a noob, or worse. Especially to the Chadians, who’ve perhaps entertained seven genuine tourists since independence. They might think I was a spy, or that I’d just lost my mind. But there’s a lot to see, things that are beyond my ability to describe. I just can’t convey the chaos of NDJ. The pitted dirt roads, garbage, the goats, the crumbling mud brick buildings, the ancient scooters, the market stalls selling someone’s old shoes, the colourfully robed women with giant pails of goods on their heads, the cell phone billboards, the salons de coiffeur… it’s just overwhelming.

More later, inshallah – it’s all dependent on Le Network.