The Essence of Etiquette

Jeudi


I woke up really well rested this morning and ready to roll. Colin and I couldn’t wait to meet the Zachari’s daughter. Well as fortune would have it, he showed up about a half an hour before he said he would! The only problem was that I was taking my dreadfully cold wake-up shower so I wasn’t fully dressed and ready to go for a little bit. And when I was ready he had just found Este (his little girl) who had wandered off and gotten lost. But imagine my surprise when I saw a little whimpering 4 year-old with the cutest braids, instead of a 14 year old that I was expecting! Looks like I still need some work in the numbers category.

After introductions and thank-you’s, Zachari helped us pay for the hotel and was told by Felix to tell the owner to give us a good price, which he did. And we thought we were getting reimbursed by the monastery for some if not all of it, so it was a great price! Yeah, still waiting on the monks… We then proceeded to take a few pictures with Este and Zachari (look right) before catching a ride with Jean-Baptiste to the Cellule Monastique, our new home for the next 4 days.

JB gave us a key to the fortresslike compound that included a little hut-looking building surrounded by a garden, a large central house, a goldsmith shop, and a smaller apartment-like building, which is where our room was. It wasn’t too shabby of a room, much simpler than the hotel. There was one large bed with rock solid pillows a mosquito net, two chairs a desk and one light. Oh and it was a freaking sweatbox, even with the windows open.

Once we were all moved in, we headed to the embassy (we knew it was open thanks to our previous visit) so that I could register in case of a civil crisis within the country. YOU’RE WELCOME MOM! We were able, thanks to the glory of the US Passports, skip the meandering line of visa applications and make it into the security room. We passed through and made it into the embassy where there was a surprising lack of order, but after receiving some attention I filled out my form and was on my merry way. That is, until I heard my phone ringing in the security room (we had to leave all bags, cameras, and phones behind). The security guard told me that I forgot to turn off my phone (yeah obviously since it was ringing, but in my defense he told Colin and I was nowhere near him when he said it). But I answered it because it was JB our guide for the day and I didn’t want to keep him waiting. Well I got yelled at for answering my phone inside the security room and told to go outside, which I was doing anyways. I gave the guard a polite smile, held up my phone and said in a very American accent “Yeah, I get it.” I mean, I am sorry for being ignorant at times, but you would think that an American in an American embassy would get a little more respect. I am sorry that I forgot to turn off my phone, but seriously take a chill pill dude. What is a poor volunteer in a third world country going to do to his own embassy with a $20 cell-phone in a security room nonetheless? I am sure that had the embassy been staffed with marines and not some outsourced (in the true spirit of American business) to some Togolese security agency, I would have had a much more light-hearted chat with the guards.
Moving right along and skipping the more minute details of the day, Colin and I were invited to dine at the house of a friend of the monastery’s. Now think of the African-American general in the Hunt for the Red October and that is exactly who this guy is! Crazy. Some of the monks, Colin and myself took part in cocktail hour and chatted for a little while. During which the olderman’s son and daughter (older and both fluent in English) talked with Colin (mostly in English) and I (mostly in French) about their experiences learning English in a foreign land. It was pretty cool to see the results of some hard work in the language department, albeit they had been in New York and London respectively for the better part of 12 years!
After swapping tales of language frustration, we made our way to the dinner table. Now back at SJU during the two-week BVC retreat we had an etiquette dinner where, to the chagrin of Br. Paul I instinctively questioned (some jokingly and others more seriously and thoughtfully) just about every rule that he made. One that I did not question was that of waiting for the host to sit down before one seats himself* down. Well I couldn’t tell, but I would assume that most of the monks and novices at that dinner probably thought that when given that sort of situation I would be the one of the group of BV’s to screw up. I don’t know how they got that Idea. For the most part the kid sitting at the table with the mohawk had been very well behaved over the course of those two weeks! Sorry to disappoint, but it was Colin (sorry dude) who attempted to rewrite the rulebook. But have no fear, SuperG is here! Yes, I saved him from making that grave mistake, by at first whispering and practically talking in a normal voice loud enough for the entire table to hear me, “pas encore, pas encore!” He was halfway seated by the time he caught on to me…and the rest of the table awkwardly staring at him with a few of the monks chuckling at the two floundering white kids who could barely communicate with them let alone one another!
Interestingly enough, at dinner I managed to find out that patron of the monastery somehow managed to be presented with the key to the city of Lincoln! Go figure, he had lost it over the course of the past 20 odd years since it was given to him, but somehow in his tribally decorated, grandiose house I don’t think it bothered him too much. Also this guy, at the end of the meal said to his wife, “Donne-moi mon petit oiseau.” I almost burst out laughing when to my surprise she handed him a little plastic bird that picked up toothpicks with its beak! It was priceless.