1/11/06

It's certainly been an eventful week. Last Wednesday I'm wandering the streets of Brussels, shopping, riding subways, taking hot showers, using the Internet, enjoying vegetables, chocolate, pretzels, and 1000 other things nearly impossible to find in Chad. Fast-forward a week, and I'm back in Gounou-Gaya, where the only 'vegetables' are onions, garlic, and hot peppers, hot showers are no problem- if you leave a bucket of water in the sun, the Internet is a mystery, and the only subways you might find are tunnels in the gigantic termite mounds outside town.

Being in the developed world for a few weeks was a pleasant shock at first- it wasn't until a few days or so into my trip when I had a chance to stop and think, and realize just how far behind Chad really is, to be honest. Buying postcards of cathedrals and towers to show Ertchey and Liva, and realizing that they were built 6, 7, 800 years ago, while thinking of the vast expanse of mud huts that makes up Gaya, it tough not to feel like, "my God, this place is so far behind, that it will never develop." In spite of this, I enjoy the time I'm in Europe, and rather than be unhappy at the prospect of coming back to Chad, I actually find myself looking forward to it. Sure, I'm not thrilled to be coming back to no electricity, no running water, and 35º 'cool' days, but seeing Marc and Valaddi, Liva, Ertchey, and the four little girls brings a smile to my face.

Before I come back though, I take the opportunity to stock up, and find gifts for the 'family.' After catching the first Thalys train from Brussels to Paris on Thursday, I spend the morning racing around the city, doing the grand supermarché tour: Champion, Ed, Leader Price (2x), and more. I'm busy, grabbing everything I can before my flight. In my rush, I forget to leave my purchases at the front of one of the stores, and get stopped by a security guard, a huge African man. He tears through my bags, and although I haven't actually stolen anything, still gives me a lecture.

"I'm sorry, I know," I say. "I should've left my stuff up front- I'm in a bit of a rush today is all- I'm flying to Chad this evening."

"Chad?"

"Chad."

His look and tone instantly changes.

"Why not Mali?" he says gruffly, but with a smile. "I'm from Mali."

"Sorry," I tell him. "I work for Peace Corps, and they decide where I go."

"Of course, I understand," he says. As I leave, he pats me on the shoulder. "Bon voyage, mon ami." Have a good trip, my friend.

When I'm done raiding the spice and dry goods' sections of the majority of Paris' grocery stores, I pick up a few gifts. Two imitation Swiss Army Knives- one for Marc, one for Ertchey, a blue rubber ball on a string for Hophyra, two matching pink backpacks (€3 each!) for Tanga and Ka-Idi, a new headscarf for Valaddi, and a miniature toolset for Liva. I hop the train for the Roissy/Charles de Gaulle, and six and a half hours later, Air France 882 touches down in N'Djamena, with me along for the ride. I spend a few days in the capital, which helps make the transition a little easier, and on Monday morning jump in with Paul the missionary and family (who happened to be in N'Djamena on business) for the trip "home." We pull into the Szobody's driveway around 4:00, and I'm swarmed by the crowd of children as I take my bags off the Land Cruiser. I haul my stuff across the road, and as I set the bags down, Dakassia races towards me (as fast as a two year old can), and clamps onto my leg, giggling hysterically. Sure, it's a lot for one week, but when you're around people you care about, it's not so bad...

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