The first week of May turned out to be 5 days of premature reminiscing. Usually when one reminisces, one reviews in retrospect some fond and eventful memories of things long gone by. Not the case here. This week, I harked back to a not too long ago memory of exactly a year ago.
Every day, I kept going back to that first week of May last year when I came to Conakry for an orientation trip as the prime candidate for the directorship of the American International School of Conakry. Two weeks prior to my visit, I had gone through the interview process. From the outset, there were 12 candidates and I was shortlisted down to a final 3. After a rather difficult Skype interview (not because of the interview itself but because it was a Skype interview originating from a country that has an extremely lame excuse for internet), I was selected out of the three as the first choice and the one that would be brought to Conakry for the final face-to-face interview and orientation.
So last Sunday evening I reminisced about that same Sunday last year when I arrived at the Conakry airport. It had been a grueling 27 hour trip and I had no idea what to expect upon my arrival in Conakry. My past experiences at African airports (mind boggling chaos, corrupt customs bureaucracy, lost luggage, noisy yet friendly mayhem, and of course, the stifling heat that hits you as soon as you step off that plane onto the tarmac...) were not good ones and these I rather forget recollections heightened the inevitable anxiety that usually haunts me when I’m about to set out to unknown lands and unchartered waters.
I have never been very good at expecting the unexpected. I think the psychological term for my condition is ‘being anal’. Little did I know that Sunday evening of last year that I was about to step onto a continent and begin working in a country where analisticum retentionism (not really a psychological term but still sounds impressive) is perhaps the worst character trait that one could have, a bit like sending a diabetic to work in a Lindt chocolate factory. Here in Africa ‘the unexpected’ is as expected as the sunrise is in the morning, therefore, no place for a precisianistic, priggish conformist like myself. By the way, how do I know for sure that I am anal retentive? Because my sister in law said so. Let me explain.
On a brief visit to Vancouver one time, my beloved sister in law Micheline noticed that every evening, before retiring for the night, I diligently and meticulously placed my Nabisco Spoon Sized Shredded Wheat box and a banana next to my bowl on the kitchen table, so as to be sure that I’d be ready for breakfast the following morning. How anal is that?! Although I personally do not think placing my banana and my box of cereal on the kitchen table before going to bed would qualify me as being over-fastidious, Micheline, the Mulaire family’s rendition of Dr. Phil, assured me that this act alone was a display of true symptoms of acute analisticum retentionism. I was doing it to save time and cerebral effort the following morning when my brain usually doesn’t kick in before well into mid morning, and therefore, to err on the side of caution and as not to miss out on the most important meal of the day, I chose to set the stage the night before. But then, one cannot argue with Dr. Phil.
Anyways, who would have thought that one day this excessively scrupulous and meticulously attentive to detail nutcase (me) would be embarking on a new work assignment that would necessitate that the said nutcase (me) live in the worst place on the planet for anyone exhibiting traits held to be psychological consequences of toilet training. Boy was the said nutcase in for a treat!
So last Sunday evening I was going through a minute by minute replay of my first arrival here in Conakry. The airport brouhaha, the omnipresent military guys with their menacing not so subtle firepower, my exit of the airport through that long narrow walkway, dodging hundreds of extended hands of guys calling at you and wanting to exchange Francs to dollars at an outrageous exchange rate, meeting my predecessor Greg and our driver Bivan for the first time in the car-park, and the plethora of sights and sounds on the ride into town...men, women, children, goats, dogs, garbage, pollution, potholes, broken down cars, and the occasional ground to air missile launcher, all those wonderful things that one does not often see on or alongside the road on your way from the airport...at least not in Vancouver. I remember thinking ...well big guy, you’re not in Kansas anymore.
I was dropped off at the Riviera Hotel, where I had a late supper with Greg while he briefed me on the week’s schedule of events. Don’t remember much of our conversation, but I do remember having a hamburger, my first in Africa. I must have looked like an exhausted ‘deer in headlights’.
Monday of that week was my first encounter with AISC. The ride to school was colorful but uneventful. I had been in Africa before, therefore the traffic didn’t scare me too much, the people brushing their teeth and bathing in front of their houses did not faze me too much, and the flagrant dilapidation and apparent poverty did not shock me too much. What did throw me off a bit was the overabundant presence of the military, soldiers and hardware. A bit unnerving, to say the least.
I remember arriving at the blue gates of AISC and being relieved when they opened to reveal a small, green, cozy, gated campus. These were my first impressions. It was something about those gates...as soon as they closed them behind us, it appeared to shut off all the dilapidation and poverty that was outside. This is where the cozy comes in; one could not help but feel safe.
Greg immediately assembled the staff and students in the assembly area so that they could all meet the new director-candidate. The kids had prepared typical kids’ questions for me, like ‘Are you strict?’ and ‘Do you play soccer?’ Cute. Then, I met with the staff. They had also prepared questions. The staff of 10 was made up of 9 local hires (Africans) and 1 American lady. All of the questions were asked by the American lady, which I found odd at the time, especially knowing that she was the one leaving and being replaced by Madeleine.
The afternoon was spent in Greg’s office, him briefing me about the school and community. All seemed well, until we talked about school finances. With the coup d’état that had taken place at the outset of the school year, followed by the September 28 massacre of 148 people at the Conakry stadium, followed by the attempted assassination of the military president, followed by the evacuation by the US embassy of all non-essential staff and families, the school’s student body had drastically shrunk and subsequently, the school finances had taken a nose-dive and, subsequently again, the future looked as bleak as the recent past had been. We (or I), would be starting off next year with a $190,000 budget deficit.
Returned to the hotel in the late afternoon. It had been a great first day, except for the latter part of the afternoon when I came to realize that my biggest challenge if I accepted this job was to keep the school afloat, without money. No small task. Left Greg with a non-committal promise that I would ‘sleep’ on this budget and probably come up with a plan the following morning. Greg said, "Great chap (he’s Australian, they say things like that in Australia), we’ll talk about that over coffee tomorrow morning..."
To be continued.
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