Sylvia's Journal

We had our first day of easing into the pace of work here – courtesy visits to the ones in charge and getting the team together to discuss what they want from our visit. We integrated their ideas with ours and will provide them with an agenda tomorrow that we will hold lightly to respond to needs that surface.

We started them on conversations with each other about what they have been able to accomplish in this difficult work context and what they are struggling with. I watched to learn something about the team dynamics and noticed they are not listening to each other. I had already learned about this through our ICRC colleague, but watched it close up today.

None of the rooms that we had hoped to have were available. It amazes me the things we take for granted, like meeting in a nice place with chairs for everyone. Not here, the only place available was the windowless stockroom with hardly any room to maneuver and not enough stools (forget about chairs) to accommodate everyone.

Later we met in the PT exercise room after having dragged the benches from the waiting room and an odd assortment of stools and chairs pulled from all over the rehab center. It’s a tile clad room and with everyone talking loudly over each other I had a hard time hearing everyone. I’ve got to have that hearing exam when I get back, as my hearing is definitely not what it used to be

At the end of the day, just before the sun disappeared behind the river we arrived at the beautiful terrace of the Grand Hotel. It’s the place to watch the sun set and enjoy beer, brochettes and frites (again). Why the architects who designed our hotel (also on the river) did not think a terrace overlooking the river would be a major competitive advantage is something that escapes me. The Grand Hotel, even though it’s apparently not a place one would want to spent the night, fills its enormous terrace with people who stay after the sun has disappeared to eat and drink. Our hotel has an ill positioned, unattractive and unused terrace that looks in the wrong direction. And even if it had been positioned in the right direction, the view would be obstructed by barbed wire, military folks and a kludged together pizzeria and barbecue place. There aren’t even tables and chairs for guests, unless you stand there for a while and they drag out one table with one chair for you.

We were joined by our colleague’s Flemish husband and their 9 year old daughter who speaks 5 languages. She is a citizen of the world if I ever knew one, at ease in cultures as different from each other as Sudan, Bolivia, (Flemish) Belgium, Catalonia and now Niger, all in her nine short years.

We sat on the same terrace where I sat 32 years ago in my second year at MSH, 1987. At that time we drank the conjoncture, (Niger) beer, watched thousands of bats fly out for their nightly feeding frenzy, and followed the camels and cars traversing the bridge to return home. Tonight, there was no conjoncture beer, much fewer bats (and many more mosquitos as a result), no camels and lots of cars. Things have changed a lot and some things not for the better.

I learned that the last brewery was taxed out of existence, not just putting all its workers out on the street but also putting the hundreds of little eating places where people would go for cheap beer and brochettes out of business as the imported beer is now out of reach of the people who frequent those places. It seems like another infuriating example of religious fanaticism with a very short horizon – maybe something on our horizon if our president has to step down?

Back at the hotel I could not get my room key out of the lock. I called the reception who sent a man up. As soon as he arrived the key came out. I quickly put it back in because I didn’t want to let him off the hook so easily. And indeed, he was not able to get it out. He told me, ‘just a moment,’ and went back down. I assumed he went to get something like graphite, but no, he came back with a foot long insecticide spray can. If he had intended to spray into the lock, he could not since it was occupied by the key we couldn’t get out. So he sprayed around the key, as if it was a lubricant. Of course it didn’t solve the problem, only added bug spray to the other fragrances wafting into my room from the tired and mildewed carpets in the hallway. At least I won’t have bugs in my room lock tonight, that’s comforting to know. Eventually the key came out but neither one of us knew the magic formula. I am pretty sure it wasn’t the bug spray. Just a lucky jiggle.