Come to think of it, not much appears to faze us lately, especially this past month. The exhaustive heat, the grid-lock traffic, the harmattan dust, the poor internet, the garbage and grimness at every street corner, basically everything that we complained about last year... we still complain about this year, but to a lesser degree. Not that we have become all together nonchalant about much of the despair that surrounds us all the time, but perhaps we find it not as shocking as we used to. But then, some things we will never get used to and we will always find disturbing. For me, its the sight of the many handicapped people, children as well as adults, lining the side of the road, begging for money or food. Disturbing, disheartening, the sight of these poor people is often just plain surreal with the only thing coming to mind is ‘how can this be?’ I am particularly disturbed at the sight of the ‘legless’ man who seems to spend his days dragging himself up and down the off ramp of the bridge at the entrance into town. Madeleine and I walk by this poor crippled soul every time we make our way to and from the pool, handing him a few francs and wishing him a good day. Still can’t get over it though. Come to think of it, I hope I never will.
A turning point for me in my perspective about living in this most challenging place happened a few weeks ago on the ride back from the airport when we came back from Banjul. As anyone who has experienced this short 20 minute ride can attest, one is quickly and easily taken aback by the live, colorful, often discomforting, and chaotic (I seem to be using that word a lot when describing Conakry) spectacle that unfolds around you as you ride into town. As I rode back to our apartment that late afternoon, it dawned on me how ‘special‘ this place was, that this was my home, and realizing that my time in this ‘special‘ place was soon coming to an end. Egads! Could it be that all this garbage and despair is now part of my ‘comfort zone‘ clutter? Or was my sudden onset of melancholic feelings just the early stages of some sort of separation anxiety that I would experience during the few remaining weeks living here. I’m not sure, but I think it could be a bit of both. At this point in time, the only thing I am sure of is that this melancholy is intensifying as the countdown to our departure in June progresses.
We have just recently purchased a new school vehicle. This new acquisition appears to feed into my sullen feelings towards my imminent and soon to be departure from Conakry. As I now ride in our brand new air-conditioned-windows-rolled-up-radio-playing-non-stalling-at-every-intersection Nissan Quashia, I still get caught up in grid-lock traffic and I still silently curse the local drivers and their lack of driving skills, but now I am immersed in my own little world within the confines of my air-conditioned bubble. Contrary to when I was driving in our old car (no a-c, hence windows always rolled down, hence passengers exposed and vulnerable to anything and everything as if he/she was sitting on an opened flat bed truck), I am utterly detached from the display of wonders, the pollution, the noise, the buzzy motor bikes, and the chaos (there’s that word again) around me. I realize that even my trip every day to and from school is not what it used to be, that the separation between me and real life Conakry has been widened and that my departure from real life Conakry has already begun. In some way, this saddens me.
These past weeks, I have found myself appreciating more of the people and more of the things around me, people and things that I had perhaps taken for granted. I have taken the time to talk to more people, especially people that I know I will probably never ever see again. At school, I have taken more breaks out of my office and taken more time walking on campus, often just sitting under the mango tree, looking at our wonderful students playing on the grass field. One day, on my way back home, I even caught myself stopping and admiring the quaint performance of our neighbor scrubbing down his goat. I love goats, especially clean goats.
My usual impatience with things that aren’t right or that don’t work diminishes with every passing day. As a matter of fact, lately, the only times I’ve become impatient is when I was faced or confronted with impatience. I’ve especially become very impatient with people complaining about living here. As I slowly turn the first pages of this last chapter of my Conakry Adventure book, I can only anticipate an emotional and exciting ending.
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