I left the US on June 26th aboard a flight from SFO to CDG, not to return until 2014.
I was on my way to Bordeaux, for a first-mission training in the procedures and policies of Medecins Sans Frontiers, the highly reputed NGO focused on medical aid during crises.
After the training, I would head to Malawi, as Base Logistician to support the fight against the global HIV/AIDS pandemic.
I spent Friday night on the plane, preparing my French over dinner with the couple sitting next to me. The morning saw me negotiating my way through CDG, familiar from the show that I took on tour through France a couple years ago. I arrived successfully at the hotel, which was very near the Bastille, despite Paris' best attempts to hide every address and disorient all people. I'm not sure how Paris happened, but it is a good indicator of the differences in age and history between US and European cities. And they brag about the good city planning instituted with the wide boulevards... Dear Paris, meet Chicago.
Sunday saw me getting on a train to Bordeaux, with a wide tour of the various means of public transportation of France, from downtown Paris to peripheral suburban Bordeaux. After a few days of privacy, introspection and silence, I was plunged into a group of 10 French-speaking men and the instructor, ready to learn the intricate technicalities of electricity, water sanitation and other systems that I would be maintaining in the field. Oh my.
The schedule was intense, with 10 hours of instruction in French, punctuated by a 2-hour meal break filled with stereotypically intense arguments about anything from policy to rules to politics to weather. In French. Oh my.
With the help of a dictionary on my phone, a glazed look, a couple quick questions to sympathetic English-speaking French classmates and lots of concentration, I came away much the wiser. And much more confused.
Then back to Paris, for a briefing about what I was about to find in the field, then onward to Malawi. To my first mission with MSF.
And the mission is in English.
Whew.
After a day and a half of meetings, in a combination of French and English, I again headed to CDG and made my way to Malawi.
This included a one-hour layover in Amsterdam (my first time to Holland!) which consisted of a dash through customs (meeting some very un-forthcoming Dutch immigration officers) and a few superfluous security screenings (does this count as a visit to the country?). I boarded my Air Kenya flight to Nairobi to rocking music from the African diaspora, and settled in for another red-eye.
I was woken up for breakfast at 3am, a considerate two hours before we landed. That was the start to a very cranky day. At the Nairobi airport, I had enough time to sleepwalk to the bathroom, the waiting area then the gate (again with more superfluous security) and fall asleep.
I dreamed I was at the gate waiting. I've never had this happen before, and since I was both at the gate waiting and dreaming that I was at the gate waiting, my mind was at peace and I wasn't monitoring my surroundings for updates. My mind thought I was totally on it. I jolted awake in time to be disoriented, find a line of people waiting to board, find out the flight was delayed for 15 minutes, and with plenty of time for my stomach to drop and be certain I had missed my flight.
I hadn't, but my day got worse by one notch. Grumble, grumble.
After an uncertain wait (are you SURE my plane hasn't departed??), I boarded (the plane was also going to multiple destinations, so are you SURE this is my plane??) and, once assured everything was ok with my flight, my boarding pass and my destination, I fell asleep.
I woke to the wheels touching down in Malawi, and I set foot on the tarmac in Lilongwe.
Welcome home, to the Warm Heart of Africa.
I was on my way to Bordeaux, for a first-mission training in the procedures and policies of Medecins Sans Frontiers, the highly reputed NGO focused on medical aid during crises.
After the training, I would head to Malawi, as Base Logistician to support the fight against the global HIV/AIDS pandemic.
I spent Friday night on the plane, preparing my French over dinner with the couple sitting next to me. The morning saw me negotiating my way through CDG, familiar from the show that I took on tour through France a couple years ago. I arrived successfully at the hotel, which was very near the Bastille, despite Paris' best attempts to hide every address and disorient all people. I'm not sure how Paris happened, but it is a good indicator of the differences in age and history between US and European cities. And they brag about the good city planning instituted with the wide boulevards... Dear Paris, meet Chicago.
Sunday saw me getting on a train to Bordeaux, with a wide tour of the various means of public transportation of France, from downtown Paris to peripheral suburban Bordeaux. After a few days of privacy, introspection and silence, I was plunged into a group of 10 French-speaking men and the instructor, ready to learn the intricate technicalities of electricity, water sanitation and other systems that I would be maintaining in the field. Oh my.
The schedule was intense, with 10 hours of instruction in French, punctuated by a 2-hour meal break filled with stereotypically intense arguments about anything from policy to rules to politics to weather. In French. Oh my.
With the help of a dictionary on my phone, a glazed look, a couple quick questions to sympathetic English-speaking French classmates and lots of concentration, I came away much the wiser. And much more confused.
Then back to Paris, for a briefing about what I was about to find in the field, then onward to Malawi. To my first mission with MSF.
And the mission is in English.
Whew.
After a day and a half of meetings, in a combination of French and English, I again headed to CDG and made my way to Malawi.
This included a one-hour layover in Amsterdam (my first time to Holland!) which consisted of a dash through customs (meeting some very un-forthcoming Dutch immigration officers) and a few superfluous security screenings (does this count as a visit to the country?). I boarded my Air Kenya flight to Nairobi to rocking music from the African diaspora, and settled in for another red-eye.
I was woken up for breakfast at 3am, a considerate two hours before we landed. That was the start to a very cranky day. At the Nairobi airport, I had enough time to sleepwalk to the bathroom, the waiting area then the gate (again with more superfluous security) and fall asleep.
I dreamed I was at the gate waiting. I've never had this happen before, and since I was both at the gate waiting and dreaming that I was at the gate waiting, my mind was at peace and I wasn't monitoring my surroundings for updates. My mind thought I was totally on it. I jolted awake in time to be disoriented, find a line of people waiting to board, find out the flight was delayed for 15 minutes, and with plenty of time for my stomach to drop and be certain I had missed my flight.
I hadn't, but my day got worse by one notch. Grumble, grumble.
After an uncertain wait (are you SURE my plane hasn't departed??), I boarded (the plane was also going to multiple destinations, so are you SURE this is my plane??) and, once assured everything was ok with my flight, my boarding pass and my destination, I fell asleep.
I woke to the wheels touching down in Malawi, and I set foot on the tarmac in Lilongwe.
Welcome home, to the Warm Heart of Africa.
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