I have a new house

On Wednesday I moved house and while this was not without trauma, I love my new place which is like a gingerbread house with 2 bedrooms, in a large walled compound and has its own forage, which means that when there is electricity it has running water which I have had hooked up to the bathroom so I sort of have (barring water flying out of dodgy washers in all directions) a shower, a sink tap and a flushing toilet and I am probably about 1 of 5-10 people who have that in Bogo out of thousands so it is a mega privilege.

I am also excited because it is totally private and I can wander round in next to nothing or nothing if I want, I can have flowers and animals and veggies (the last 2 were things I really wanted to do while I was here) and I have a guardian de nuit, but I get to choose him.

The trauma was on the day I had planned to move house I couldn’t identify the number of the landlord who had promised to move furniture on my phone. I have half a dozen Amadou contacts, Bouba contacts, Mohammed contacts and haven’t always made a note on my phone of the context in which I know them and when I started ringing they couldn’t understand me on the phone, I couldn’t visualize who I was talking to and I just got really frustrated and upset. In the end I visited the big boss who identified the telephone number, but went off in his car even though he is technically responsible for my welfare, the landlord was uncontactable etc. I had a good weep at the frustration of it all then luckily the vso driver was in Bogo on an induction visit for a new programme manager and called in to check on me just as I was in tears. Anyway, he sorted it all out and I had a young man with something akin to a Sainsbury trolley load up all my stuff and make 4 journeys across town. Entire Bogo now knows I have moved and where to.

The other news is that I had a big workshop for 80 people planned for Saturday. This was for all councillors and commune staff. Organising food for 80 people when all they have in Bogo is onions, mangoes and meat is a challenge and I had people going to Dargola for chickens and Banksi for potatoes because my volunteer told me that the food at an earlier workshop was too ‘villageois’. Anyway the big boss only wanted to cancel it Friday because he had something else planned, but in a streak of boldness and made brash by the fact that my vso manager had rung me the night before offering me other placements if I wasn’t happy in Bogo I said ‘no, it’s tomorrow or nothing’ and the big mega boss, who they all crawl to, said OK even though he wasn’t going to be there. It did mean that less of the 80 turned up because he wasn’t there, but it went OK and is the last big workshop I have to organize for a few months so it is a big relief to get that out of the way before I get to travel south to meet FP.

 

The national volunteer H is still useless. She was uncontactable the Thursday and Friday before the workshop then came banging on my door at 8pm Friday night and was most put out that I wouldn’t let her in. I think they all have to learn that I have some professional standards even here in Africa. Basically I had to pay someone else to come and translate Saturday because I couldn’t be sure she was going to turn up.

 

I also said to my programme manager that I didn’t want to move. Anywhere in the extreme north I would have a problem with my French and while she said they would look for somewhere in the north west which is English speaking I’ve put in the first 3 months, now have a lovely new house and am beginning to make real contacts and feel committed to the place. Well, at least I feel that way today!

 

Today I also made my first trip to the doctor at the hospital as I have had green gunk coming out of my eyes all week. It was fine. I’ve got conjunctivitis which is probably exacerbated by dust and he has given me antibiotic eye wash and eye drops for them. I tried salt water, but it didn’t work.