Oasis for Expats - Book 1 - Published in 2009
First Choice Books, Victoria, BC ISBN 978-1-926747-78-1
When a group of Canadians find themselves working on a water project in a remote part of West Africa, they instinctively become a close social unit. A Club with a swimming pool and tennis court becomes their place to meet - their oasis. Here they can gripe about the heat and dust, the unreliable power supply and problems that plague the water project. It is also a place of refuge when civil unrest within the country threatens them.
The story unfolds through the eyes of four main
characters:
Larry Knight
- the Project Manager of the Canadian consulting
team
Balu - the
Assistant Regional Manager of DAWWA, the Damboni water
authority
Herta Switzer
- the wife of a Canadian drilling inspector on the
consulting team
Greg Erickson
- a Canadian hydro-geologist on the consulting team
Excerpts:
Balu (In his
ancestral town of Gwawada, the former centre of the
Wawa nation)
“Yes, father Baba, I have seen
their suffering when I drove here. But the Canadians
will soon be drilling seven-hundred and fifty boreholes
in the countryside.”
“Wah! Seven-hundred and
fifty?” The number takes a while to register. “That
sounds like very many, engineer son.”
“Not when you consider that we
have almost a quarter of a million people in the North
Region who are in dire need of water. That means every
borehole will have to serve over three-hundred
people.”
His father nods, slowly
digesting this information. “Our pump here gives water
for all of Gwawada. We have many thousand people
here.”
“Yes, father Baba, but these
new boreholes will be much smaller and have hand pumps,
not power driven pumps. It will take several minutes to
fill just one bucket.”
“Ah well, I am sure the people
will be happy to provide their labour if it gives them
clean water.”
“Yes, I hope so. But people
cannot really be happy until we have rain for the crops
to grow. The two year drought must end.”
“Ah, my son, I am glad you
mentioned that. There is going to be a rain dance
tonight. Will you come?” A flicker of a smile crosses
his lips. “That is, if you have any energy left after
your night of pleasure.”
Trust his father to be the
first to know about his exploit!
Larry (When first meeting Bill
McPherson, a British advisor to the DIRDA irrigation
authority)
Dorothy brings me a beer, then
sits down beside Bill. “Aye, laddie, we ha’ been
looking forward to yeer Project, because we hope ye
Canadians will weelcome us into yeer social circle.”
With wistful look she adds, “It was so much easier when
the dam was being built. Then there weere lots of
people to socialize with.”
At this point a black servant
in a white uniform appears and starts setting the
table. I almost break out in a laugh when I notice that
he is wearing white gloves. Trust the British to keep
up that colonial tradition. Like the Africans I saw on
the plane, his face is marked with lined scars.
“This is Tenga, our houseboy,”
Dorothy informs me. “Tenga, this is Mr. Knight from
Canada.” Tenga smiles and nods at me and I respond in
kind.
“Mr. Knight weell make many
boreholes for yeer people,” Bill tells Tenga.
At this news, Tenga’s eyes
light up and he shyly comes over and extends his hand
to me. “Oh, sir, that is very much wonderful! I welcome
you to Damboni.” I shake his hand, but then he suddenly
looks very self-conscious and quickly moves back to the
table with an apologetic glance at Dorothy.
Balu (Meeting with the Wawa Naba, the
traditional leader of the Wawa nation)
Balu is finally meeting with
the Wawa Naba on the matter of borehole nominations. He
has been putting it off, but he knows his father will
question him very hard the next time he visits his home
in Gwawada. He has just explained the rules that the
Canadian Consultants and the Regional Planner have
developed to make these nominations.
The Naba confers with his
spokesmen, who then address Balu. “The Naba asks why
they are saying that the water will only be for the
people? The cattle must drink, too.”
Balu shrugs, staring at the
floor. “The Canadians are insisting on that. The hand
pumps are for the people, the cattle are to use the
traditional river sources.”
The Naba and his spokesmen
again confer. “What happens if the traditional sources
dry up, like they have this year? We recently had a
problem at a village not far from your home of Gwawada,
where the Fulani herders started a fight because the
villagers did not want them to use their dugout at the
river. Several people were killed.”
“The Fulani are a big
problem,” Balu says with a snort, silently wishing he
could confer directly with the Naba instead of having
to communicate through the spokesmen. “They should have
stayed in Burkina Faso.”
As though sensing Balu’s
thoughts, the Naba replies directly. “Fortunately there
are not many of them in Damboni. But we must learn to
live with them, Balu, just as we live with the
Muslims.”
Larry (Checking out the houses that
have been set aside for the Canadians)
I open the door and
immediately smell a strange odour, rich in ammonia.
When I open the door to the living room, it almost
overwhelms me. My eyes start watering and I can hardly
breathe. I turn and see Balu right behind me.
“What is the smell, Balu?” I
ask, gagging as I speak.
“Ah, Darba, the Finance
Officer, lived here. He had chickens in the hall. We
must open the windows and let it air out.”
“But the smell is coming from
the living room.”
“Living room? We call a large
room a hall,” Balu says with a laugh.
I would be tempted to
laugh, too, if it weren’t for the fact that I’m now
saddled with a house that housed chickens. Whom can I
possibly give this place to?
“Any ideas on how to get rid
of the chicken smell?” I ask hopefully.
“Maybe we can wash the walls
and ceiling with a chlorine solution?”
I sigh. “Alright Balu, let’s
give that a try.”
Greg (Greg and Dave arrive in Niamey
and are driven to Damboni)
Bill pulls into a small
parking area off the highway and Larry pulls up behind
them. As Greg opens the door, the hot noonday heat
catches him by surprise. He can see from Dave’s
expression, he is surprised, too.
“Time to make some shade,”
Bill says. “Gee’ me a hand here, Greg, me lad.”.
Rolled up on the roof rack is
an awning he now pulls out. One edge is attached to the
van.
“Here is a hammer, some pegs
an’ two poles, Greg. Let me see wha’ kind of a boy
scout ye were.”
Within a few minutes they have
a shaded area of four by five metres. The effect is
quite amazing; as soon as they get under the awning,
the noonday heat is quite bearable. Dorothy meanwhile
has dug out some folding chairs and a table. “Aye, all
the comforts of home,” she says with a chuckle. “Sorry,
we only ha’ four chairs. Ye can sit on the cooler,
Greg.”
Dorothy slices up a fresh
baguette she bought in Niamey and soon they are all
contentedly munching on ham sandwiches. Naturally there
is also beer and pop in the cooler, along with pickled
olives, carrots and fruit.
“What is that!” Dave suddenly
shouts, pointing to the horizon.
“Well weell ye look at tha’.”
Bill face breaks into a smile. “This is yeer lucky day,
me lads and lasses. Looks like elephants heading this
way.”
Herta (In Calgary, she receives news
that Janet has been accepted at a missionary
school)
That evening, after they
celebrate with Janet at their favourite restaurant,
they study the lists of school rules and the dress code
that came with the letter. They are extensive and
detailed.
“Good grief,” Janet says with
a groan. “Church attendance every Sunday and no jeans
allowed? What kind of rules are those?”
Sam laughs and gives Janet a
hug. “Looks like they plan to make a lady out of
you!”
“More like a nun, it looks
like,” Janet retorts, looking downright glum.
Herta chuckles. “I’m sure you
will find the missionary kids no different from your
fellow students here. Kids are kids the world
over.”
Janet gives her mother a
rueful smile. “Yah, I guess you’re right Mom. And it
certainly will be great to be close to you guys, even
if I am two countries over. Besides, after all the hype
about my Africa trip at school, I couldn’t possibly go
to a European school instead.”
“That’s my girl,” Sam says
with a nod.
Greg (The African crew teaches Dave
Friesen the African hand shake)
Sami tutors Dave on the grasp,
the slide and the finger snap. “Well, that’s pretty
easy,” Dave says, after a few tries. “Okay, everybody
line up and let’s shake hands.”
Sami laughs with obvious
pleasure when they finish. “Of course, that is only one
style of African handshake. Joe Boy and Isaac, show
them some of the others.”
Joe Boy and Isaac smile
broadly and start greeting each other in all sorts of
handholds. They start with the sliding-snap style, then
grasp each others wrists, from which they slide into an
underhanded grip and on and on. In the background, the
other crew members are showing various other grips.
Dave shakes his head and looks
at Greg. “I guess we have as much to learn from them as
they have to learn from us!”
“Now let us show you how we
greet a desirable woman,” Sami says, still laughing.
“We add one move to it to show that we would like to
have sex with her.”
Dave shakes his head. “I’m not
sure I want to know about that one. See you tomorrow.”
He moves away and starts packing up the equipment.
Sami looks at Greg. “Did I say
something wrong?”
Greg gives him a reassuring
smile. “No, Sami - it’s just that Dave is a very
religious man. The topic of sex is not something he
likes to talk about. But you can show the handshake to
me.”
Balu (The Dambonians welcome the
Canadians with a durbar)
With the speeches over, Balu
can hear the rustling behind him as the staff edge
towards the pito table set up on the left hand side of
the workshop. Kworko holds up his hands and halts them,
ordering the waiters to serve the honoured guests and
Canadians first. Then the crowd surges to the table to
help themselves to as much pito as they can. In a
matter of ten minutes, the supply is entirely gone.
Balu, meanwhile moves over to
chat with the Canadians. He tries to get Pengi to come
with him, but she flatly refuses. “I no can speak
English.”
Balu introduces himself to the
various new Canadians that have just arrived. He
immediately likes Sam, but is not so sure about Burt.
The drillers, Jake and Woody, seem to treat him with a
fair degree of disdain. What surprises him most,
though, is that Sam’s wife, Herta, immediately starts
talking to him and asking all kinds of questions. He is
surprised because in Damboni the women usually defer to
the men and only speak if they are spoken to. He can
see that with this whole group of Canadian families now
on the DAWWA compound, things in Navrona are definitely
going to change.
Herta (After an evening at the
Club)
As they enter their house, Sam
looks at his watch. “Only fifteen minutes till the
power goes off. Get candles and matches ready.”
“No sweat, Pop,” Janet says,
then adds reflectively, “just look at that moonlight. I
rather like it when the power’s off. I’ve heard more
nature sounds in the past week than I ever heard in
Calgary.”
“Last night was more than
nature!” Sam exclaims. “I thought that drumming would
never end.”
“Dorothy tells us that there
must have been a funeral in Navrona. Then they have to
keep the drums going from sundown to sunup to ward away
the evil spirits and to let the soul leave in peace,”
Janet tells him.
“How the heck can a soul leave
peacefully with all that racket!” Sam scoffs.
“Hey, Pop, ease up. We’re in
Africa, right?” She gently punches him in on his arm.
He grabs her and hugs her.
“You’re absolutely right, my
princess! And I love it!”
“Well, I have to say this for
their drumming,” Herta says with a chuckle. “Every time
I thought I was going to go mad from one rhythm, they
changed it just enough to make it tolerable for a
while.
Greg (With Jeff Truman, an American
Peace Corps volunteer who is trying out solar
cookers)
“Well, these cookers work best
between 10:00 and 2:00, which is the traditional
African slow period. Most work’s done in the cool of
the morning and evening. Meals are also eaten at that
time. So the solar cooker doesn’t fit their traditional
life style.”
“Can’t they cook their food
during the 10:00 to 2:00 period and then eat it later
either reheated or cold?” Greg asks.
“Exactly what I said, dude. So
they asked how they’d store the food. They don’t have
refrigerators, so the flies’ll get at the food. They
say they have to eat the food as soon as it’s
cooked.”
The pot on the solar cooker
comes to a boil. Greg glances at his watch - a scant
eight minutes have passed. He follows Jeff into the
house and watches him making tea.
“What do you take in your tea,
Greg?”
“Just black please, and no
sugar.”
“That’s rad, dude. I need milk
and lots of sugar.”
“Yes, I noticed that the first
time I met you,” Greg says with a laugh. As Jeff hands
him a cup, Greg asks, “What about heating water for
washing clothes on the solar cookers?”
Jeff grimaces. “They don’t use hot water for
washing.”
“So the solar cookers are a
hard sell?”
“Looks like, dude!”
Larry (Complaining about DAWWA
employees that are being assigned to the Canadians)
“Kworko, one of our trainees
doesn’t seem to be working out too well.”
He looks a bit surprised. “Oh,
who might that be?”
“It’s Hadji. He comes to work
in his own car and is rather arrogant towards the other
trainees. He takes off whenever he feels like and just
isn’t the kind of person we need for our siting crews.
Besides, he wants to be boss, but refuses to learn the
basics.”
I see a pained look cross
Kworko’s face. “We must be careful with Hadji. His
father is a very important person. If he wants to be
boss, we must give him a boss position.”
Now it is my turn to look
surprised. “I’m sorry, Kworko, but that’s not how we
are going to operate our Project. Either Hadji accepts
a minor position and attends work regularly, or else
you’ll have to find other work for him.” It is my first
real confrontation with Kworko and I have no intention
of being manipulated.
“Well, Larry,” Kworko says
with a sigh, “let me see what I can do.”
Herta (With her nursing background,
she accompanies the Anglican mobile clinic)
The next patient is a young
pregnant woman. Herta is shocked, the girl can not be
more that fifteen or sixteen. Sister Christina checks
the record sheet, then asks the girl to accompany her
and Sister Annette to the “examining room.” She also
motions for Herta to accompany them. They enter the
small enclosure, the girl undresses and lies down on
the cot. Sister Christina puts on the stethoscope and
latex gloves and carries out her examination. Meanwhile
Sister Annette is talking to the girl and asking her
various questions.
“Excuse me for interrupting,”
Herta says, as she watches Sister Christina performing
the vaginal examination. “Is there something wrong with
the girl’s labia? Isn’t that scar tissue I see?”
“Ah,” Sister Christina says
with a nod, “welcome to Africa. What you are seeing is
the result of female circumcision. It is still ritually
carried out when a girl is between four and eight years
old. It varies from village to village, but generally
they try to remove as much of the clitoris and labia as
possible.”
“Oh my God!” Herta exclaims,
then blushes. “I’m sorry Sister Christina, but I find
this horrifying. Does the government actually condone
this practice?”
Balu (Balu is worried about the wheat
Canada has given to ease the famine in Damboni)
“First of all, the Governor
announced the arrival of the ship load of Canadian
wheat at yesterday’s ceremony. We already were aware of
this and know that the Canadian Government wants it
distributed in the North Region, where the famine is
the most severe. But you will notice the Governor said
the shipment was for Damboni, not specifically the
North Region.”
“Aren’t you splitting hairs?”
Larry asks. “Surely the government will honour Canada’s
request.”
Balu shakes his head. “We,
here in the North Region, are convinced that most of
the wheat will never reach us. Not unless the Canadian
High Commission seriously monitors the offloading and
overland shipment.”
“But surely they’ll be doing
that anyway.”
“They will think they are
doing it,” Balu says firmly. “Our big officials will
assure the High Commission that all is looked after,
there is no need for close inspection, and then wheat
will start disappearing and it will be too late to do
anything about it. I beg you to contact the High
Commission and stress that they must be extremely
vigilant.”
“I appreciate your concern,
but surely such a request would be better coming from
the Wawa Naba.”
Balu shakes his head. “With
all due respect, sir. I seriously believe we need a
white man to make this request.”
Greg (Sami has just had an accident
with one of the Toyotas)
“Were you wearing seat
belts?”
“I was, but you know Joe Boy
and Isaac.”
Greg nods. “How did you get
Joe Boy to the hospital?”
“Mr. Jake, the driller, was
just heading to camp and picked us up.”
“That was lucky. What happened
to the Toyota?”
“Mr. Jake said he would let
Mr. Ron know. He went there just now.”
“What happened to you, Sami?
Did the doctor look at you?”
“Yes, Doctor Abuji checked
Isaac and me and says we are fine. I just banged my
knee against the dashboard.”
“What did the doctor say about
Joe Boy?”
“He is checking him now. I
think you should go to the hospital.”
Herta (The Switzers and Burt, another
drilling inspector, on R&R in Niamey)
They spend Sunday morning
enjoying the pool area at the Les Jardins. About
halfway through the morning, they are surprised to see
Burt joining them.
“Holy crap, this sure beats
living in camp, eh Sam?” Burt says with a smirk.
“It sure does Burt. How’s your
R&R going?”
“Goddamn great, I spent
another evening chatting with Jim Stiles. Man, that
guy’s an operator. He’s making business arrangements to
import medical supplies into Chad.”
“So what’s he doing here in
Niamey? Why isn’t he in Chad?”
“Hell, it’s too dangerous to
go there. Qaddafi’s grabbed part of Chad and so there’s
all kinds of fighting there. Hell no, Jim’s making his
deals here in Niamey with representatives from
Chad.”
“So why’s he letting you in on
all this, Burt? What’s he got in mind for you? Don’t
get involved in anything stupid now,” Sam
admonishes.
Larry (Larry is treating Adele to
dinner at a seaside restaurant in capital of
Damboni)
The dinner turns out to be
very tasty. I’m delighted when Adele opts to eat with
her hands. I remember the fuss Karen made. Happily, I
join her, sucking my fingers with relish.
By 10:00 we have finished our
after-dinner coffees. Meanwhile the moon has moved to
high overhead.
“So, are we going to take the
plunge?” I ask, secretly wondering whether the words
might be misconstrued.
“Well, I guess I raised your
expectations, so I’d better follow through.” That, too,
has interesting innuendoes.
I get the bathing gear and
towels and we change in the hotel washrooms. Again I am
struck by how great she looks in her two piece suit. I
take her hand and we make our way to the beach. The
sand is cold now, but the water feels warm against the
night air. We wade to waist depth and then plunge in.
Can life get better than this?