First Impressions

I’m living in a compound. Mostly British, Pakistani and South Africans. And the South Africans are mostly black nurses. You can spot them a mile away, these big mamas. I greet them friendly and with enthusiasm. There were three walking behind me the other day, chatting in their own language. It sounded so familiar and made me feel quite homesick. 

The area we live in is one big sprawl. Its high in a mountainous region - dry and dusty and all monotone. Contrary to what I had imagined, it is not very pretty. I live in a compound where we are quite isolated. There should be around 100 people here, but you never really see anyone. Sometimes it looks like a ghost town. There are almost no cars in the compound. We rely on busses to get anywhere. They stop at the gate outside the compound. Although there is a schedule, busses come and go as they please. You can sit for hours just waiting. Never mind African time. The only thing that is punctual, is prayer-times. (and even that changes)

This morning we went to the local stores. Had to take a bus and waited for an hour coz the scheduled one didn’t show up. You simply get use to waiting. Went to the equivalent of our R5-shops (One Pound shops in the UK). You can buy jolly nice things - all made in China or India. Locals and foreigners frequent it. It's like shopping at Chinatown or the Oriental Plaza. Could become quite addictive. The kind of retail therapy that I can afford. Lucky me! The only restriction would be that everything has to be carried back. It takes some planning.

In one store I noticed bundles of firewood tied together with wire - exactly as my father would do it. I picture him at the fireplace outside where he constantly finds reason to light a fire. I pray that God will allow me time to share that one more time.

Some Retail Therapy

Went shopping. Pat has booked a taxi for four of us. We go to the closest up-market place, about half an hour’s drive away. Big shopping mall. Looks very modern. Could almost be home, except when you look at the people. All the women in their black outfits, fully covered, and the men in their white robes with red headscarves. It looks totally surreal. The women huddle together in groups and the men strut around as if they own the goddamn earth. We manage to get coffee and a cinnamon bun, and then its prayer-time. Shops close in an instant. Nothing to do but wait. Half an hour goes by. Shops open and we make it into the next store.  Enjoy browsing. No VAT. Makes a big difference. Everything seems affordable. Out one store and on our way to the next. Before we even get there, its prayer-time. Again! Shops close. This time for an hour. Fuck it! How the hell do they ever manage to get anything done! Finally manage to buy some cheap junk to brighten up my villa. The whole expedition has taken five hours. Once again, I'm exhausted. So much for retail therapy!

Of Hospitals and Doctors

Calls to prayer wake me at dawn. Today I have to get some paperwork done. Bit of a problem seeing that it's Eid. Also have to go for full medical check-ups. Zachary arrives to take me. He is on time.  I sit in the back and stare at the passing scenery, totally detached. We stop and start. In and out. Fill in, complete, sign. Zachary wastes no time. I trail behind him from one unit to the next. Very politicaly correct, but actually it's only because I can't match his stride. I was bloody healthy when I walked in there, but start having doubts. I don’t mind having blood taken from me, its getting injected with stuff that freaks me out. When I have to give a stool-monster, I lose it. I tell them I’m from South Africa and not some weird fuckin planet and in our country you go to hospital when you’re ill, not when you’re well, and this whole bloomin medical is unnecesary, stupid and upsetting, when all I want to do, is teach. The Fillipinos (HR dept) aren’t use to this kind of reaction and is extremely concerned about my well-being. They want Zachary to take me back to my villa to go and rest...

After two days I have to go back to check the results of the TB test. It's a mission. I can vaguely remember where I went. You can ask ten people for directions and nine will ignore you. I learn not to make eye-contact with the local nationals. They ignore me and I respond in kind. I have forgotten to take my immunization card and burst out crying. They quickly make me a new one. Two doctors argue about my results. They draw circles and lines and measure with rulers. I insist they explain very carefully. It should have grown or it shouldn't have? Is positive, good or bad? It turns out I'm fine (as I already knew) and only have to come back in a year.

Another day passes and I receive a note that I have to go for yet another vaccination. I choose a more accessable hospital.

I’m getting to know my way around the hospitals because. It seems I've had to go for every conceivable test and vaccination, irrespective of whether I had it done in my home-country. The hospital is built like a maze. You are not meant to find your way around it. I rush over there after school for my hepatitis vaccination. Keep my eyes down and dodge the locals. Ask no questions and run around till I’m almost back to where I started. Thank goodness for the Filipino at the desk. “I’m lost” (and not for the first time either). She tells the porter to assist me. “Oh, you want to go for vaccination?” No..Hello? I don’t want to go, I have to go.

Arriving at Final Destination

I sit glued to the monitor with flight details. It's the only way I will know where and when to board. I am the only Westerner. Once upon a time there was a boy named Isaac, and then there was his brother Ishmael. Two very different boys...

My final destination is high in the mountains and the temperature is 18◦. I arrived in the early hours of the morning, a small rural airport. No-one to meet me. It’s the start of Eid and everything comes to a grinding halt. Feel a bit tearful and lost. Then calmly decide to go outside and wait till I'm found again. Sit for over an hour reading my book – Infidel. It really is the name of the book. I keep the title covered with my hand so people won’t notice. I am surprisingly relaxed. "Are you Miss Erika?" Zachary, the Indian driver/meet-and-greet/PR/HR has finally arrived. I want to kiss him. Pure relief. Before I get in, I at least ask him: And who are you? Have a brief vision of getting abducted and disappearing off the face of the earth. He apologises for having gone to mosque first. (A muslim with a name straight from the Bible!)

My little villa is beautiful. It is a blessing and a comfort. It is in a western compound and most people living here are doctors, nurses or teachers and come from commonwealth countries. It is 100% better than my last place of residence. Spacious, fully furnished, and my predecessor left me loads of extras to make life easier, including TV and microwave. The nominal fee I paid her, won’t begin to cover it! I have a little garden and the Indian gatekeeper comes and tends to it – also for a nominal fee. It feels so colonial! Don't know if that's good or bad. There’s a small courtyard at the back with a vine and a bougainvilla.  Cats abound. Reminds me a bit of Greece. I don’t pay much attention to them, but it’s comforting having them around.

I'm exhausted and relieved to have survived day one.

Leaving Home

It is Thursday morning. Nothing spectacular about it. And yet, my world and my life is about to change irrevocably. I glance over the flat one more time, taking it all in. "This may well be it. If I walk out of here now, chances are I may never see it again." I go to school. Go straight to my classroom. Skip the morning meeting. Know I won't be able to handle it. Still have to complete my marks for end of term. Still have to write up athletic results. Return equipment. Clean desk. Pack up... Ann walks in. She's the only one who knows. My mind shuts down. I realise I can't even do simple calculations any more. I can't read. I can't think. Auto-pilot takes over. I walk to the computer centre to type my letter of resignation. "Dear Mrs N, I hereby tender my resignation with immediate effect. I regret not being able to follow regular procedure..." I hand it to Ann with clear instructions: "You will pass it on to Mrs N at 2 o'clock. Not a minute before." I turn and leave. Tears are streaming down my face. I've got to get out of here. The sorrow is unbearable. I touch people as I walk pass them. This is it, then. I hug my friends. They see it in my face: I will not be back. They know. And understand.

Roger meets me at the airport. He is taking my car. Nadia is waiting anxiously. She helps me check in. I go to the Internet cafe. Last minute transfers. E-mails. In the service of the master till the end. Waiting for boarding. I'm letting those I can, know. I get a flood of encouragement. By now I'm openly crying. Weeping. I have never felt such intense sorrow. Sitting on the plane, I continue to send and receive messages. The airhostess is getting impatient. My final message: The plane is taking off...

I'm vaguely aware of the other passengers. They are all Westerners returning to the Middle East for work. They wear casual clothes. Jeans. Strappy tops. Colourful and relaxed. I cry and sleep most of the time. Someone wakes me up for the landing. I open my eyes and everyone is wearing black. What's happened! I put on my abayah. Fuck it. It is almost midnite when we arrive. The temperature is 35 degrees. We go through customs. When they get to me, they stop for prayers. I wait for over an hour. It feels like nothing. I go to the rundown airport hotel and pass out. It's been a loo..oong day.