I have scarcely left the inside of our house today, maybe 5 times to venture out into the scalding sunshine, a fact that would appall me if I were at home. Our airplane is grounded and I find the reasoning quite ironic. Last week, those in charge, and myself included, found ways and loopholes to make an airplane with no weather radar, no HF radio, malfunctioning fuel gages, and a undulating and sometimes violent right hand engine prop governor, stay in the skies and fly the never ending supply of VIPs around. I was apprehensive more than a couple of times and made some out there upset when I cancelled or delayed flights due to the equipment failures, but I'd rather be breathing than not. The combination of equipment that was inoperative seemed like the perfect recipe for disaster, had an inopportune situation presented itself.
Which brings me to the irony: Today we are grounded for something that I really, honestly, truly, could care less about. Our CVR (cockpit voice recorder) is broken, and it doesn't make a damn bit of difference to the operational safety of the aircraft. What it does mean though, is that if the aircraft were to go down in a glowing ball of flames, they wouldn't be able to hear all the abusive and insolent rantings and ravings I'd be sure to spit out before we hit the sand below, cursing them for not fixing the airplane when I'd asked. Second thought, maybe it is best they get it fixed...
So here I sit, inside my grey and white cement room that reeks of something dead. It just always makes me sooo hungry. A day or two ago I hit the wall, I couldn't take the smell any longer and ripped the room apart looking for the decaying culprit. Nothing. I theorized it was emanating from outside the room, from where the prehistoric air conditioner drips onto the shattered tiles below. With bleach, hot water, and a quizzical group of housecleaners observing, I attacked the rancid area and in turn was held to a counter attack. It seems that under all these broken, slimy, stinking tiles, was a colony of fire ants rivaling the size of Manhattan. I can now officially add to the list of native species in Chad that dislike Jesse. Evidently (take note) fire ants dislike hot, bleach water, and the one who is delivering it. The battle for N'djamena has begun, though I doubt the history books will include its recounts of Caucasians smashing exoskeleton equipped, 6 legged, 1/4 inch long assassins, all the while screaming like a girl, as they climb his legs.
But the story, as weak as it is, doesn't end there. These guys are smart, and viscous, and pugnacious. Irascible. No, they couldn't just let it go that I poured scalding, poisonous chemicals down onto their heads and then pulverized a bunch of their buddies. Nope. I've started a insectual jihad. The night after the victorious battle, I climbed into bed, air conditioner humming, mosquito net draped above, and turned off my flash light. Yeah, flashlight, what’s it to you? Aaaah....unconsciousness come to me....drifting off...driftin....HOLY SHIT!!!! what the hell is that????? I ejected myself from bed so fast it was almost amazing and whipped out my trusty flashlight. 'YOU BASTARDS!!!' was evidently what my South African housemates heard me shriek as they too were drifting off to happy, fun dream land. Instead I had three or four huge, red, bloodthirsty, man eating, carnivorous ants looking to finish me off. (ok, I may be exaggerating a bit...) A massacre ensued and I went back to be, though not as sure of the peaceful nights rest awaiting. I am considering moving.
Chevron and another oil company, Petronas, from Malaysia were booted from Chad's southern oil fields this week. Seems ol' Idris Deby isn't satisfied with their fiscal contributions to the state. The funny part, well one of them, is that he announced to the country and world that they had 24 hours to remove themselves from the nation before he actually decided to phone them and advise. All the interviews you read on BBC were comical due to "spokespeople from Chevron declined to comment sighting that they had no idea what BBC reporters were talking about, insisting the company was on excellent terms with Chadian authorities". Oops, someone didn't get the memo. The best part was the part Deby, himself, played though.
My friend Elizabeth and I went out for Chinese food here in N'djamena the night this was all going down. We could have hardly cared less about the lost profits of these petroleum giants as we sat chatting away eating something that I'm surprised, truly surprised, did not kill me. A few Muslim men sat around as well eating in this outlandish Chinese outpost and there was a substantial volume to the room's conversations, all the while a T.V. blared in the background. Elizabeth, who is program director for CCF here in Chad, and I yammered away....bla, bla, bla, ha, ha, bla...when I took notice of the fact that we were suddenly the only ones talking. I glanced sideways and noticed all eyes were glued to the television behind my back. Half thinking I was going to turn and see a French woman doing aerobics again, even though it was a stern, masculine voice I heard, I pivoted and saw that the previously half way vacant room was now filled and everyone listened intently to a news broadcaster. With nothing but a cardboard cut out of Chad behind him a man in a western suit sat at a news desk reading very solemnly...straight faced, no emotion, and everyone was hypnotized. After a few minutes we began to hear names...all traditional Muslim names (which greatly relieved me, I feared someone had found out a took another picture or two) and the men around mumbled and groaned.
We left the restaurant, but not before I had to fight my way out of the bathroom when a drunk soldier tried to get some cash out of me. I love Spanish now. Really. In China if someone came pressing you for money all you had to do was give them this confused look and start belching out meaningless phrases en espanol. Same holds true in Chad though you have to put some physical force behind it to get its true effect across. A quick shove against the wall while stuttering "Aye, Senorita! No me gusta los naranjas en mi cabeza!" produced its desired effect and I was on my way. Look it up GI Mahkmhud.
The next morning over coffee I saw online a list of some of the names I'd heard the night before. Apparently, according to the Man himself, some of his self appointed Ministers were helping Chevron and Petronas avoid taxes while lacing their own pockets. Personally, I think he's just making some waves to make news, to entertain the masses, to stir things up. That and there is talk he is aiming to allow Chinese energy corporations take over the infrastructure Chevron and Petronas had built, in a deal that would be more advantageous to increasing his Humvee collection. So Oil Minister Mahmat Hassan Nasser, Planning Minister Mahmat Ali Hassan and Livestock Minister Mockhtar Moussa, all got sacked. Poor Mr. Mockhtar, how confused he must be at this immediate moment. One moment he presided over the incredibly prestigious industry of bulls and sheep, lovingly supervising their every move, now he finds himself booted for...oil taxes scandals? Hmm, which piece doesn't fit the puzzle. I'm just glad it wasn't the Minister of Agriculture, who had bought Darcy and I a round of beers in an Abeche bar once in the past.
Alright, enough for now...though there so much more nothingness to tell all about. Back to boredom for me....I've already read all my books. I hope everyone is doing well out there...goodnight.
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