Somebody could have warned me that my ideas of taking a shower
will promptly and deeply change. I try remembering what I learned in
physics in primary school every time I wait for the stream to go from
shy with prostate problems to agressive. I know, I will get used to
it and one glorious day I won't get even slighlty irritated when I'm
standing there covered with shower gel, waiting for the electricity
and/or the water to come back, and I won't even notice that in terms
of water temperature my choices are Mordor or Iceland, and even that
is not a real choice because I don't get to control which applies
when and for how long.
I knew that many items of convenience won't be availble. Still, it's very different to hear about it, to believe, to imagine than to actually experience and learn that if there was no big bottles of water in the px yesterday, then there will be none tomorrow either, and in fact there will be none until the new stocks of supply arrive. And that we will know immediately, as the news spread fast: Shoppers got cheese! The super fast news don't necessarily tell you that a piece of parmesan cheese may cost you 20 dollars, and I'm only sharing it with you because it's a very valuable piece of information, that those same 20 dollars could buy you about 20 kilos of tomatoes on the market. Or 40 avocados. But don't think Delhaize size avocados, here theye are the size of a smaller squash. And sooooo good.
It's hard for me not to understand the language. Most locals I have to deal with speak French, but I just realized that I've never lived in a place where I didn't understand the local language at all. It's particularly tiring in cases when I think I'm being talked to or about, and have no clue whatsoever. Or when I hear the guards outside and cannot work out whether they are fighting or just having a conversation.
It's tiring to have my stomach shrink and in general all of me immediately be in a state of alert every time I have to leave the compound. It's not because I'm afraid that somebody will hurt me, but I'm always very nervous that I will run over somebody. There are impressive masses of people on the roads, they move by their own obscure rules, and sometimes I wonder whether they are not afraid of getting hurt or they actually want to die.
The very distinct presence of silence and noise, or rather the the presence or absence of noise is a very odd phenomenon, and depending on my mood it can be very interesting or extremely irritating. There is a curfew in place from midnight, and as a general rule there aren't many people outside. That creates a silence so deep and sharp that is almost scary sometimes. Then life starts again at 5 am, and with life come all noises from birds, roosters, guards, children, cars, the deaf neighbour, and it goes on until midnight. The default level of noise is a lot more elevated than what I'm used to and what I can happily accept. First I thought it was a question of manners or medical conditions (being deaf, ie)to shout on the phone and blast the radio, but I am becoming more and more convinced that it is a general behaviour. Our cleaner is generally a quiet type, but even he turns up the radio volume as if he was in competition with the deaf neighbour. Or maybe he really is in competition with the deaf neighbour. I usually try not to mention how the noise affect (bothers) me, but I've heard several, more seasoned migrant workers that this continent as a whole is noisy beyond the possible limits of getting used to. (Typical, and also tells a lot about how easy I am to read, that one day when the neighbour was blasting their music (they always do), I told my flatmate in a rather irritated tone „In my country they could never get away with that!”, to which he answered with a witty half-smile: „Which one of your countries?”)
I knew that many items of convenience won't be availble. Still, it's very different to hear about it, to believe, to imagine than to actually experience and learn that if there was no big bottles of water in the px yesterday, then there will be none tomorrow either, and in fact there will be none until the new stocks of supply arrive. And that we will know immediately, as the news spread fast: Shoppers got cheese! The super fast news don't necessarily tell you that a piece of parmesan cheese may cost you 20 dollars, and I'm only sharing it with you because it's a very valuable piece of information, that those same 20 dollars could buy you about 20 kilos of tomatoes on the market. Or 40 avocados. But don't think Delhaize size avocados, here theye are the size of a smaller squash. And sooooo good.
It's hard for me not to understand the language. Most locals I have to deal with speak French, but I just realized that I've never lived in a place where I didn't understand the local language at all. It's particularly tiring in cases when I think I'm being talked to or about, and have no clue whatsoever. Or when I hear the guards outside and cannot work out whether they are fighting or just having a conversation.
It's tiring to have my stomach shrink and in general all of me immediately be in a state of alert every time I have to leave the compound. It's not because I'm afraid that somebody will hurt me, but I'm always very nervous that I will run over somebody. There are impressive masses of people on the roads, they move by their own obscure rules, and sometimes I wonder whether they are not afraid of getting hurt or they actually want to die.
The very distinct presence of silence and noise, or rather the the presence or absence of noise is a very odd phenomenon, and depending on my mood it can be very interesting or extremely irritating. There is a curfew in place from midnight, and as a general rule there aren't many people outside. That creates a silence so deep and sharp that is almost scary sometimes. Then life starts again at 5 am, and with life come all noises from birds, roosters, guards, children, cars, the deaf neighbour, and it goes on until midnight. The default level of noise is a lot more elevated than what I'm used to and what I can happily accept. First I thought it was a question of manners or medical conditions (being deaf, ie)to shout on the phone and blast the radio, but I am becoming more and more convinced that it is a general behaviour. Our cleaner is generally a quiet type, but even he turns up the radio volume as if he was in competition with the deaf neighbour. Or maybe he really is in competition with the deaf neighbour. I usually try not to mention how the noise affect (bothers) me, but I've heard several, more seasoned migrant workers that this continent as a whole is noisy beyond the possible limits of getting used to. (Typical, and also tells a lot about how easy I am to read, that one day when the neighbour was blasting their music (they always do), I told my flatmate in a rather irritated tone „In my country they could never get away with that!”, to which he answered with a witty half-smile: „Which one of your countries?”)
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