Author: mc7858attitude

TIRED


During the last 5 days I lost my temper 4 times with 4 (and more) different people.
That’s not usual for me, I am probably tired. Coming here directly from Ivory Coast was a bit too much and here, after some weeks looking for the job I was supposed to do I am now into many things, all of them completely disorganised.

The point is that going away for some days is not simple, especially if I want to conciliate it with my wife.

To change perspective a bit, I am translating the business presentation of my ties enterprise, see below the first part:

From 1989, in several countries, Cravates d’Afrique started producing ties with the pagnes or the fabrics available on the local market.

The activity started in Burkina Faso where, with Thomas Sankara, the Faso Fani (Faso’s fabrics) became a symbol for the values of the Incorruptible men’s country, and a media for communication of development programmes.

Then it continued with the collection Mandela for President, realised with the propaganda materials of African National Congress,

With the collection Routes d’Asie, that had a first phase with the Cambodian silk, bought in Phnum Srock village directly from the producers, and a second phase with Bangladesh fabrics.

The collection Malawian Tea followed, utilising the indigo materials bought travelling from Lilongwe to Blantyre. The drawing of those cloths recalls the marks left from a tea sachet.

And the collection Congolaize, realised with the pagnes from Kinshasa.

In Ivory Coast Cravates d’Afrique managed to organise the activity in a more structured way.

A stone among the lentils

Today at lunch we had lentils with rice (strange meal for me, I prefer pasta e lenticchie) and I found a little stone in my plate.

This had not happened from a lot of time, and it represented a nice souvenir.

Before (before what?) we often had stones among the lentils, and we prepared the ‘bottles’ with tomato sauce and on the streets of my hometown village there were more donkeys than cars.

And there was less stuff, less expenses; we did order something in a bar just when we needed the toilet, and at the restaurant we didn’t order fruits.

National hymn

Yesterday there was a meeting with all the political parties.

The first point on the programme was the national hymn. I was expecting a tape but all people started singing together, nicely, gracefully, it was enjoyable.

Also the meeting was not bad, people were asking for tolerance when disruptions were about to start and the tone of the interventions was quite considered.

It brought to my mind another national chant, at the University of Cape Town in 1994, before the election of Mandela, Nkosi Sikelele Afrika, a moving song, an intense moment.

The poors are back

Younger, there was a prayer which upset me.

It was the cry of someone saying that he tried to be good, and to help people in need, but the poors were more and more, pretending more and more. Space, attention, money, time.

Is it possible to be altruistic until a certain limit? Or it is just a good or bad stance ?

In Kinshasa the poors come next to where the wealthy people live.

Their main weapon is their insistence. Psychological pressure, using their life, their problems as propaganda devices; they might have been trained by some advertising guru.

What to do?

Waiting for the moon


Since some days we were looking to the sky wondering if the following day we had to go to the office.

It is the conclusion of Ramadan, which is marked by the appearance of the new moon.

The opinions were divided, many hoping to have the celebration on Wednesday and others rather keen on Thursday.

Eventually, it was Thursday, today, and along the street you can see bunches of children smartly dressed visiting new places.

Depending on the moon to schedule meetings and activities was a nice feeling, an ancient one.

Madoubugie arrested

On the 5th of August I was presenting Madoubugie, artist of waxing, engaged in the operation Cravates d’Afrique.

Now he his in jail, accused of theft. His friends denounce that he was framed, as he is not from here, he’s a stranger.

Difficult to know. We went to the police station but everybody were at a funeral, for a colleague of them. We will try again.

Srpsko Goradze, 16th September 1996

It is cold outside the little room of the local election commission, where the counting of ballots has been going on for several hours.

The office of the commission is at the outskirt of the Serb fraction of the town, which used to be the ‘industrial’ district; you may perceive the ‘national’ border at the end of the road.

It has been difficult to gain the confidence of the Serbian election agents, on one side because they mistrust any representative of the international community, on the other side because we associate them with the massacres we watched on TV.

Just some days earlier, the driver assigned to our team by the OSCE was bragging about having thrown many Bosnians into the Drina river (later on we found out that he was a Radical Party’s candidate for the municipal elections, luckily postponed).

In any case, slowly and cautiously we’ve began communicating with the commission members. Communication then evolved into dialogue and eventually into collaboration.

Election day, the 14 of September, was tense and moving. Bosnians were coming back for the first time from Goradze town, escorted by the IFOR militaries, to vote at their home place. No problems were detected. Maybe also because the Portuguese tanks were patrolling along the road.

The driver says with emotion that it was long time ago when he last saw one of ‘the others’, even if they live just few kilometres away. We did not distinguish the ones from the others.

Now everybody is tired. All the Serbs smoke. One cigarette after another, with no interruption. But the atmosphere is fine, some pleasantry, some food and rakia going around.

The counting is going on calmly. Regulations for Bosnia elections are very complex: people living in Srpsko Goradze before the war could come back to vote or vote where they live now, in Bosnia or abroad. But their votes should be counted here, together with the ‘fresh’ ones.

OSCE is running this exercise, in this case we are not observers but supervisors, taking part to the election activities.

The bags with the abroad ballot papers finally arrive. We throw them on the table. Many of them come out in stacks, with the same vote, traced by the same hand.

The atmosphere is less happy now.