Africa, first date – part II

That was twenty years ago.

It’s 6 in the morning and trying to find a hot coffee bar proves useless so we have to be satisfied with soluble coffee rubbed into a cup and one cigarette whose smoke rouse the curiosity of chameleon who was on watch during our sleep. In the courtyard two vans appears and guards who first frightened us. Each of the three comes from a different weapon, have different uniforms, but most fierce is in black uniform, and besides the usual already machine gun he carries a pistol and a machete that could behead easily anything and everyone if only looking funny. We are told that we are not allowed to use cameras so put it in the pocket of the bag, handy though, just in case. We squeeze with “weapons and luggage” how can each and hit the road. In front next to the driver sits the fearsome utter a word, scanning the faces in other cars. As air conditioning is a luxury, most of the cars have windows lowered in hope of some fresh air. We get out of Lagos and enter the beautifully built highway that connects Lagos to Cotonou. In less than an hour we get stuck in a traffic jam where old and dusty cars mixes with newer cars, pedestrians and people pushing carts.

Africa, first date – part I

That was twenty years ago.

After few good hours of flight from Sofia through Tripoli we land on Murtala Muhamed airport in Lagos. We look forward to all the equipment we brought and the boarding gate for the next flight to Cotonou. Bad luck, Bulgarian airline took our money but all flights from Lagos to Cotonou are canceled. Trying to get out of airport is an useless attempt, rules and guards with Kalashnikov on shoulder cut our enthusiasm. Dressed in shorts and sweaty shirts with all that equipment rather dubious in the eyes of airport staff we look like terrorists chased away their caves and going on pilgrimage to places more welcoming. Negotiation with the big guys proves unsuccessful. We are guided in the waiting room where can see the planes coming and going, coming and going while ridden here we sit. Success comes in many forms so after more than three hours we get phone number and call the embassy. Not long later consul comes and we can explain the situation to someone listening us. What he is saying is not filling our hearts of joy but only some hopes, it will be solved but …

Africa, prima intalnire – partea a IIa

E 6 dimineata, incercarea de a gasi o cafea calda la bar se dovedeste un esec asa ca ne multumim cu ness-ul frecat in ceasca si o tigara al carei fum intriga cameleonul ce ne-a pazit somnul. In curtea interioara apar cele doua microbuze si garzile de care mai intai ne speriem noi. Fiecare din cei trei provine de la alta arma, au uniforme diferite, insa cel mai fioros e in uniforma neagra si, pe langa obisnuitul deja pistol-mitraliera, poarta un pistolet si o maceta cu care ar putea descapatina cu usurinta orice si pe oricine i s-ar parea ca se uita urat. Ni se spune ca nu avem voie sa folosim aparatele foto asa ca il pun in buzunarul gentii, la indemana totusi, pentru orice eventualitate. Ne inghesuim cu “arme si bagaje” fiecare cum poate si pornim la drum. In fata, langa sofer, se aseaza fiorosul care nu scoate nici o vorba, scrutand mutrele celor din alte masini. Cum aerul conditionat e un lux, majoritatea circula cu ferestrele coborate in speranta unei guri de aer proaspat. Iesim din Lagos si intram pe autostrada frumos construita ce uneste Lagos de Cotonou. Nu trece o ora si ne blocam intr-un ambuteiaj in care masinile vechi si prafuite se amesteca cu pedestrii si carucioarele impinse de unu-doi oameni.                    

India twenty years ago

This is something I wrote almost twenty years ago when first saw India and was shocking. I am not hunting sensational but cannot stop me seeing people. India is changed and I am changed. Some things are same, some are changed, some vanished but I hope my Indian friends will still be my friends. My excuses to native speakers, my English might have some flaws.

Dedicated to Andrzej with whom shared good and bad two years in India, some ten years after that.

Is hot, is very hot, still summer in India. The agent, bit ragged, bit slimy if judging in European standards is waiting patient on the pier to see us finally disembarked. In our sweaty shirts we are pulling the bags, also not looking well after what they have seen in airports and planes cargo stores, trunks of cars better fitted for scrapyards and boats smelling everything but perfume. Happy to see us the agent is wiping hands on trousers, probably some lunch sauce, giving us right one. Education is the only one stopping me to refuse shaking it. Despite the aspect and the sauce he proves to be a nice guy and advise us to offer five dollars each for customs officer. Handing those fifteen dollars we can see him vanishing in the building different by the others only by the signboard saying “Office”.                                                                                                     

Africa, prima intalnire – partea I

Coboram dupa citeva ore bune de zbor de la Sofia prin Tripoli pe Murtala Muhamed, aeroportul din Lagos. Asteptam sa ne luam tot echipamentul adus si cautam poarta de imbarcare pentru urmatorul zbor spre Cotonou. Ghinion, compania aeriana bulgareasca ne-a luat banii dar toate zborurile din Lagos catre Cotonou sint anulate. Incercam sa iesim din aeroport insa regulile si gardienii cu kalasnikovul de gat ne taie avantul. Mai ales ca imbracati in pantaloni scurti si tricouri transpirate, cu echipamentul cam dubios in ochii personalului aeroportului, aratam ca niste teroristi alungati din pesterile lor si plecati in pelerinaj spre locuri mai primitoare. Incercam sa negociem, fara succes. Suntem indrumati in sala de asteptare de unde putem vedea cum avioanele vin si pleaca, vin si pleaca in timp ce noi stam tintuiti aici. Reusim dupa vreo trei ceasuri, sa obtinem numarul de telefon si sa sunam la ambasada. Nu peste mult timp apare consulul caruia ii explicam situatia. Ne spune ca se va rezolva dar…rabdare si tutun. Mai ales ca cei zece mii de dolari aflati in buzunar ar trebui declarati la iesirea din aeroport daca am respecta cu strictete legislatia locala. Nu e cazul sa fim prea civilizati, consulul ne sfatuieste sa tacem malc pentru ca am putea ramane fara ei, gardienii si politistii nu sunt totdeauna ce par sa arate uniformele.                                                                                                                                            

India acum 20 de ani

Textul de mai jos a fost scris acum aproape 20 de ani. De atunci am mai fost in India, chiar am stat doi ani. India s-a schimbat, si eu m-m schimbat si am prieteni buni acolo.

E cald, e foarte cald, este inca vara in India. Agentul, cam zdrentaros si cam slinos daca il judecam dupa standarde europene, asteapta rabdator pe cheu sa ne vada odata coboriti. Tragem transpirati de gentile noastre, nici ele prea aratoase acum dupa ce au vazut si ele destule prin cale de avioane, masini carora le-ar fi stat mai bine la cimitir si salupe putind a orice numai a deodorant nu. Cand ne vede agentul isi mai sterge inca o data mainile de pantaloni, probabil sosul de la prinz, si ne intinde dreapta pe care educatia ma impiedica sa o refuz. E totusi un tip de treaba si ne sfatuieste sa strangem cite cinci dolari pentru vames. Ii pinem in palma cei 15 dolari si il vedem cum dispare printre cosmeliile numite pompos Office. Asteptam, asteptam si iar asteptam, indienii au viteza lor si nu e bine sa-I grabesti, tot ce obtii e doar o intarziere mai mare. Stam si privim cum trei filipinezi au facut o greseala grava: nu si-au ascultat agentul si acum suporta consecintele, un control mai mult decat riguros al bagajelor.