kindness

Community:

I road my bike on Friday evening passed the primary school, along the curve of the only paved road in Kong. Turning in front of me was a large supply truck followed by line after line of mopeds. It was a parade of commerce with everyone clamoring behind to get their piece of the truck. As the truck pulled up next to the gas supplier, I cursed myself for having not pulled out money when I got down to my last few dollars.

In order to buy a new 12kg tank of gas you need about $40. I had $10 and change. Thus, I watched as others scampered to get their hands on these now rare blue bottles. It has been well over a month since any cooking gas has been lifted from a supply truck and placed gently to the ground. I have been waiting since day one of the shortage. Now, so close to putting my hands to the tank of my cooking independence, I find myself without the funds.

The next morning, I wake early, hoping to get a jump on the Sonapost to take out money and, perhaps, a tank of gas. Before taking the trek to the ‘post I go to check the availability at the gas supplier. With a nod and a grin, amongst a crowd, the supplier tells everyone there is plenty to go around. I blurt out the question on everyone’s mind, “how much?” It is $8 for a recharge which helps me none as I have no empty bottle to recharge. I ask the price of a new one.

“They don’t exist.”
“What do you mean? I can see that you have many bottles of gas here. Can you not sell me one?”
“Nope.”
”Really?!”
“Really.”
“Why not?”
“It is not mine to sell. I can only exchange an empty one for a full one in order to recharge them. If you want to buy a bottle, it will be several months more.”

My fist clenched at that moment. Rage tapped me on the shoulder, asking for his turn. I suppressed and left. As I dejectedly opened the door to my shared courtyard, my neighbor was riding his moped out.

“Good morning. How are things?”
“Very well. I slept nicely last night. And you?”
“I slept well enough. What are you up to this morning?”
”I was out talking to the gas supplier but no luck. I don’t have an empty bottle to fill so it will be many months more.”
“What? That can’t be. You know what; I have an empty bottle that I don’t use ever, would you like it?”

At this point, let me remind you that this is the second most under-developed nation in the world. Forty dollars, the price of a new bottle, is a lot of money. And here was my new neighbor, offering to give me his to use. Thus, I let my jaw drop in shock at this generosity and told him I would pay him for it. He would hear no such thing. It was empty and needed to be used. I could have it until I left in a year.

Thus, with kindness, an empty bottle and $10 cash I now have cooking gas and a smile.

On a different note:

Not exactly my primary project but still important, I went to Rambo over the weekend. There, I gave my kids workbooks filled with exercises and answers to help them pass the looming final exam to determine if they can move on to a full high school.

Once there, I was greeted with smiling faces, cold water (from the market), a bowl of peanuts and stories upon stories. Everyone was excited about the great cultivating season they have had and this years prospects. I sat with Husseini (who was my closest neighbor and friend) and played with his newest born, a boy named Mahmadou. We exchanged jokes and stories, laughing and carrying on while my leafed through the books I had brought.

One story struck me. It seems that the local president of the teachers and parents organization had been trying to find a way to take Husseini’s solar panel. (Just to note, when I left Rambo, I gave him my solar panel to use to charge cellphones in order to pay for schooling for his kids and also to use for the kids’ study light at night.) He related how he had showed him the receipt that we put together and the man still insisted that Husseini took it illegitimately. Not being able to do anything about it that night, I sat in my tent turning the situation over and over.

The next morning, Hussein and I took the tour around the quarter and the market. We greeted everyone I knew and were greeted back with bowls of peanuts and many wishes that I would stay in Rambo and not go back to Kong. Along the tour, we met up with the PTA president in a group of friends and family. I congratulated him on a new school year starting. Then proceeded to tell him how grateful I was and how proud he must be that the kids would be able to continue their studies at night without me since Husseini had so nicely used the solar panel that I gave him to help the kids. I made mention of how it pleased me considerately that he was now its owner and the kids would be free to study. It was uncharacteristically passive-aggressive of me and it felt good. It publicly boxed in the PTA president and legitimized Husseini’s position. Just to put the nail in the coffin, I went to greet the chief and gave him a similar praise of Husseini’s use of the panel. He was more than thrilled at the idea and gave Husseini his full endorsement. Oh, village politics.

Politics aside, the fields were full of ripe and ready corn, millet, black-eyed peas and peanuts aplenty. The rains have been plentiful and well timed to give a pretty decent harvest and a positive outlook for this coming year. I did my part to and took my tour of each field, saying hi to all those out working hard, stopping to help pick beans here and there.

Needless-to-say, I left Rambo satisfied and with too many peanuts and a belly full of black-eyed peas and corn. As luck had it, I had the occasion to relinquish two sacks of them as my bike tire and tube blew out forcing me to flag down a ride into town. And just as I awaited gas for so long, I now await a new tire. Looks like I can cook but I’ll be walking the 4k to school everyday and back. It wasn’t so bad today. Besides, I hear it is good for your health. (Of course, so was riding my bike.)













Work:

School has been going quite well. Today, we worked hard on greetings and presenting ourselves. My kids were enthusiastic about being let into the classroom only if they could correctly answer the questions “what is your name?” in understandable English. It was a sort of password into this weird white guy’s class. When they all perfectly expressed their given names, I rewarded them with a little hip hop from back home. Smiles all around.

My principal and I also did the security rounds, meaning we went to all the high commissioner and police types to present the new volunteer, me. In the time between shaking the hands of welcoming officials, I had a chance to just chat with “my prov” (short for proviseur, aka principal, in French). In short, it is good to be working with someone that appreciates hard work and who puts in more than his share of time and energy.