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Americanabé

The nurse who works in Ouaga also owns a fabulous hotel. We just got back from dinner there. She is married to a Burkinabé, that's what they call people from Burkina, I just love that: Bukinabé. Paulina's husband's family is from Belgium. He's lived here all his life, his parents, now passed, ran this hotel, where grew up, Hotel Richard. Paulina herself is from Chile: Chileanebé! She is a nurse at the embassy by day then comes home to nine dogs and this big old hotel inherited from her in-laws. The place is dreamy, a huge swimming pool, plus lion, ten kinds of antelope, red buffalo, and a wildlife park-full of other animal trophies hanging on the walls, african art everywhere, white table cloths and uniformed waiters serving you dinner, with two kinds of wine and a cheese course, then killing you with strawberry mousse or creme caramel for dessert.

We really want to see elephants while living in west Africa, and many people drive for hours to the wildlife parks, camp for days and never see them, elepant hide nor elephant hair. I thought: here is the guy to ask! Here is the guy who will save me from a safari where we only see guinea fowl, which I saw from the road on the way from Niger. "Oh, yes," he says, "the best time see elephants is now, fevrier, mars. I saw more than 100 when I was out today at Parc Something Somthing." My jaw: still on the floor.

Then, somehow, Richard started talking to me about the Cathars and the history of the holy grail and Mary Magdelene, and this conversation was waaaaaaaay beyond my DaVinci Code level of expertise and/or my level of French. I had to make him say the word "parchment," which should have been a give-away, three times.

Oy, it was a good time. That co-worker of Peter's, she knows how to throw a party. And now you know the good time of year to see the elephants in west Africa.

FESPACO

Our trip to Ouaga conincides with the 20th biannual Festival of Pan African Cinema of Ouagadougou-- the West African version of Cannes. I've never seen so many Europeans in my life, the place is full of them. And Americans! Walking down the streets of Ouaga!

This morning, sitting at the table next to us, while Camille slurped her mango, was an obvious french-style african-hollywood director: the shoes, the watch, everyone wanting to shake his hand, a skinny french woman at his table dripping with Jean Paul Gaultier.

Of course the front desk of the hotel doesn't have a schedule or a poster or anything, even though the hotel is packed with the aforementioned Europeans, Americans and director-types. We asked where we could find information and they pointed us to the streets of Ouaga in the most general way. We walked in the hot sun, kids complaining every step, motos wizzing by, deep open holes in the sidewalk, not finding anything except an african guy with a FESPACO badge looking for the same office we are. After talking to a couple of guys in front of the building where the office is not, (we had been directed to the same building) he confidently takes off down the street. We follow him for a few sweaty blocks. Some people are following us, and this is annoying me. I turn around to get a good look at them, and they look like us, except they have FESPACO badges. "Anglais ou Français?" I ask, and she is American, with a Dutch boyfriend, and a map and knows where the FESPACO press office is--it's the opposite direction from where are heading.

The press office is literally around the corner from our hotel. Being a film-maker myself, I feel I have every right to go in press office and am graciously handed a schedule and discriptions of all the movies, post cards and flyers.

We would love to be spending all day watching movies, but we have kids and therefore, a babysitting issue, so I read all discriptions of the movies and and try to find one I think kids could watch.

The beauty and the difficulty with the movies shown is that they are about Africa. I sort of forgot this crucial aspect of the festival. Therefore, the movie discriptions start like this: "a young former Sierra Leonean fighter stuggles to find his bearings between his rehabilation center and a national reconciliation tribunal..." or "After a jail sentence, a young man with a cruel past and an uncertain future is realeased..." Hmm, not so much good for kids. "Marion, a young prostitute from the outskirts of the city decides to move downtown..." Uh, no. "Mustapha has spent the past five years of his life in prison for drug trafficking..." "Making Off is set around a shooting scene and tells the tragedy of the three characters involved..." "Marjolie sleeps with a dignitary of the Presidency of the Republic, he dies in the course of the action..."

I finally found a short film I thought kids could handle, about a boy whose family lives at the garbage dump in Burundi. It was fun to go the theater, camera crews outside, everyone wearing a FESPACO badge. The directrice of the film came out and spoke to an audience that might as well have been the United Nations, followed by much applause.The theater was nicely air conditioned, but they had light trouble, are they on? Are they off? The film began. Camille immediatly hid her face in her lap and kept it there the whole time--she says she just didn't want to watch the movie-- and Stefan promptly fell asleep.

Peter and I liked it though.

Tonight we will go see another short film, this one about a guy who has collected bottles on the beach in Tunisia for 30 years. At FESPACO, the only kid-appropriate films are about, as Pippi Longstocking calls them, Thingfinders.

you might really like ouaga

Avocado and shrimp salad by the pool, under a mango tree, trying to figure out the West African Film Festival movie guide.

Mangos!

Another week where you just don't know how you're going to juggle all that is required before you leave on a trip. Meetings, seeing patients, preparing a course, and hosting for a visitor from Dakar. But Saturday came and somehow I got it all together. The driver picked us up as scheduled and we drove the 6 hours to Ouaga.

The landscape is definitely dryer. Just three months ago, we saw lots of greenery and watering holes, gardens surrounding villages. Now, with not a drop of rain since then, the vegetation is crispier, many of the watering holes have disappeared, and it seems more desert-like in scenery; not as picturesque. But the cattle and goat herders continue on there way across the desert sand towards what little water remains. The boys splash in shrinking ponds. The villages are replacing their thatched roofs--many of the huts looked refurbished, if you can refurbish a hut. Small trees and shrubs have hay thrown up covering the top branches to provide shade.

Our hotel is very nice (La Palmeraie - The Palms), much nicer than Hotel Splendid where we stayed last time. Hotel Splendid had a bigger room, but the couches were plastic leather. Breakfast there is served in a superchilled dining room with curtains drawn against the view of the parking lot.

La Palmerie is all on on one level, rooms surrounding little garden courtyards with gardenias and boganvilla. Furniture is iron, tile floors, white walls with african art. More like a resort. French doors, a big window that opens out onto the garden, breakfast on the terrace overlooking the pool, piles of mango, croissants, fresh fruit drinks including ginger and: high speed internet. Woo-hoo!

The mangos this morning were like none other we had ever eaten; sweet yet flavorful with soft flesh the color of a blood orange. There is no motivation to go out and explore, but we are.

orphanage notre dame

Fall in love with 9-year-old Marie Ange, like I have. She lives at the Orphanage Notre Dame, and is so lovely and reaches out so much, in spite of the fact that she is deaf. The Orphanage Notre Dame isn't so much an orphanage as it is a home for unwanted children. Most of the kids are not available for adoption, they have been taken in by a priest and a nun named Sister Brigette and will live there until they are grown.

Go through the big gate and you'll find a house with bunk beds--a donation from the American Women's Club--stuffed animals scattered around, newborn Naomi sleeping in a basinette, a big sunny kitchen with some workers spreading peanut butter on baguettes and twenty-seven kids who all want to be picked up and carried around.

There are three three-year-old boys who want to be pushed in the swings. One of them is Ousani who has no shoes that fit, he wears his loafers with the backs folded down. When the Orphanage can afford it, the bigger girls take english classes at the American school on the weekend, it's Mary Fatima's favorite activity. The eighteen-month old twins have something wrong with their legs and don't walk. Anna's mother is a crazy woman who lives down the street. The kids smell like soap, and they all need lotion on their skinny little arms and legs. They have a pet, a dog named Bambi.

The dolls based on the kids below are made and are almost ready for homes--all the profits will go to the American Women's Club, which supports Orphanage Notre Dame as well as other grass roots organizations like this in Niger. I'll be posting a website with pictures of the dolls soon. Meet Yasmine, Ibraham, Zara and Ousani.

what we do on the weekend

Saturday night, Dina and I got VIP tickets from Jennifer (our neighbor) to a sit down dinner and live African musical performance. We got dressed up and went with Jennifer, James, and another friend from the embassy. The event was outside and we were seated by a french couple that we have often seen dropping our kids off at La Fontaine. There was a lot of different dishes to try including smoked Capitan fish, cold cuts and salads, fish in tomato sauce, chicken in onions, and beef in a cream sauce, plus many deserts. The musician was from the Cameroon. He had a good voice and played guitar beautifully in African style but his music didn't move me. It didn't make you want to get up out of your seat and dance. He had a female vocalist backup singer, a percussionist, and a keyboard player which gave the band an electronic flute sound I found rather distracting. Another musician joined him for one song and they did a raggae number together which was by far the best one of the evening. But we were in good company and the wine was quite palatable!

This is a long weekend due to President's Day. Last night, our regional security officer and his family invited us out to a Japanese restaurant. I didn't even know one existed here. Some other friends joined us as well. It has an inner courtyard and tables around a large pagoda, a waterwheel and fountain which currently have no water flowing. The food was surprisingly good but the service was terrible. A courteous and attentive African dressed waitress served us but the dishes came out one at a time (as ordered) as though the chef was cooking them one by one from scratch, including the double orders. We arrived at 7PM and by 9, we still hadn't gotten our complete meal. The kids were tired and they have school today. It was a rough morning getting them up early. We had a nice evening out in good company but maybe lunch there would be better.

4 kinds of hot

Our charming next door neighbors, the Fulbrights, have started a blog. It's so well written that I'm angry, and I'm loathe to pass along the address, because then you'll know where I'm stealing all my jokes from. But it's too good to keep to myself. www.4kindsofhot.blogspot.com

Jennifer: What are you going to name the blog?
James: Four Kinds of Hot.
Jennifer: Meaning me?

happy candy hearts day

It's difficult to remember it's Valentine's Day when there isn't any of it out there in our head-covered, sand-in-your-shoes world. But we got some great packages to keep us in the spirit--thank you Aunt Valerie and Grammie! Now the kitchen floor is crunchy with hearts and sprinkles.

My new dress is made of african fabric, the tailor copied a Boden dress of mine that I love, now I candy heart the new one. It was perfect to wear while beating on Stefan with a wooden spoon before we started baking.

Highly recommended for a frosting with no butter: the Royal Frosting recipe in Joy of Cooking. It's halfway between a meringue and a marshmallow, shiny and perfect. Here's how to make it: 1 egg white, 1/4 teaspoon cream of tartar if you have it, 3/4 cup powdered sugar, 1/3 cup boiling water. Beat for eight minutes, don't give up hope, for seven minutes it looks like nothing, then it's fabulous.

If you were our neighbor we'd be knocking on your door with a cupcake!

dinalife

For me right now, it's dolls, dolls, dolls. And marketing materials for the upcoming dinner and auction for the American Women's Club. We found out we are staying at the Marriott Grand Hotel Flora when we go to Rome next month, woo-hoo! And the movie! I'm working on the movie.

This morning I went running at the stadium for the first time in three weeks. Someone on the Nigerien football team said to me "du courage."

It's always nice when Niger is in the Times.

Atlantic Shore gifts

Yesterday I drove Camille to her friends house for a play date. As we pulled up to the house, there was an old dilapidated truck parked in front and a friend was standing outside with her cook and housekeeper. A large woman with a big gap between her teeth was seated in a folding chair in front of the vehicle. Two large plastic barrels were out with a weight scale sitting on top of one of them. I tried to follow the language but couldn't. My friend was asking her housekeeper to interpret for her cook. They took the top off of one of the barrels and it was filled with shrimp on ice! She weighed out the remaining shrimp which came to 5 kilo. My friend claimed 3 and I nabbed the remaining 2 (at 4,000 CFA a kilo which is $8 for 2.2 pounds).

The next barrel also contained shrimp, but JUMBO! These looked like small lobster. We split a kilo (~1.1 pounds) at $5 each. I thought the deal was over and couldn't wait to race home and show Dina and Leopold. The transaction took about a half hour with negotiating on price and chit chatting. It turns out whenever she has a large catch, she drives up from Benin. If you saw the vehicle, you wouldn't believe it made it all the way from Benin. No telling how often or when she will come back again. She wrote my phone number into her black book but every page had phone numbers written so it's impossible to say whether she'll call or not.

I was just about to leave when she asked if I liked fish. I'm a Pisces for goodness sake! I've got 1/4 Latvian blood in me, 1/4 Greek, Russian, and my mother was born in China! I have no choice but to love fish. She pulled out a 4 pound bright orange snapper from the back of the truck, all clear-eyed with clean gills and scales, fresh as ripe strawberries from the morning pick! Oh mama! I could've kissed that woman (I didn't).

I was enthusiastic when I got home. Leopold came over to discuss the weekly menu and I pulled out my treasure, one by one, from the refrigerator. His eyes lit up. He cleaned the fish for me and we separated the shrimp into 1/2 pound baggies so that some could be frozen. The big ones he grilled on a low charcoal fire. Sadly, I was the only one who loved them. "Too strong tasting," was the general consensus. But not for this son-of-a-son-of-a-son-of-a sponge diver!