Credit Card Adventures

Ah, the joys of trying to use a credit card in another country! Our main credit card company is pretty security conscious (a good thing) and will put a block on our card if it’s used at an airport or in another country without advance notification (not always a good thing since we’ve found ourselves left holding the bag, literally, at an airport at least once when we wanted to pay for excess baggage). So I observed due diligence and notified them that we would be traveling to and using the card in France between these dates. So far so good.

Our first day here in Paris, we needed some basic supplies. Fortunately, we’re staying in an area that has lots of little marchés (like convenience stores but also with fresh fruits and vegetables). Believe it or not, most of these have their doors wide open and are not heated! The owner or cashier is wrapped up like we are with coat, hat, and gloves against the cold. This is definitely not a job I’d like to be doing at this time of the year! But I digress...

After picking a selection of goods in one of these shops, the cashier rang them up and I presented him with my credit card. He inserted it into the machine and waited a bit. “You need to put in your PIN,” he told me. “No I don’t,” I said, “It’s a credit card, not a debit card.” “Well, it’s not working,” he finally said and pulled it out. I urged him to try again. Same result. Well that’s just great, I thought. But it had worked when I bought subway tickets at the airport...

So I pulled out another credit card. Same thing. A third card... this time it worked. Whew!

Refusing to believe that the card had been blocked, I tried it again at the next store. Again it looked like it wasn’t going to go through. “You need to put in your PIN,” said the cashier. “There is no PIN. This is a credit card,” I replied. And because the little screen still said “Wait”, we waited. And suddenly the machine began spitting out a receipt and the screen said “Approved”! The trick seemed to be to wait a little longer than for a local French credit card. After all, the signal has to go all the way to Canada and back for approval, right?

Armed with this knowledge, I was ready for the next time. We were in a Monoprix, a small department and grocery store, buying hats, gloves, and thick socks. The lady rang up the bill and I inserted my credit card into the machine. “You have to put in your PIN,” she said. “No I don’t,” I replied. “This is a credit card, not a debit card.” She shook her head. “But it’s not going through,” she insisted. I looked her in the eye and said, “It says ‘Wait’ so let’s wait.” A few seconds later: “You need to put in the PIN,” she repeated. “Is it asking for a PIN or is it asking for us to wait?” I asked. She shook her head again. And suddenly the machine began spitting out a receipt and the screen said “Approved”!

I withdrew the card, signed the receipt, and took the bag with my purchases. As I left, I smiled at the cashier.  “Madame," I said, "I know my card!”

Home Sweet Home... Sort of

The agent for the apartment sat waiting for us at the kitchen table with the final paperwork. She turned out to be a pleasant enough person. We hadn’t been too impressed with her in e-mail correspondence. When she didn’t reply to our messages for information, we contacted the owner directly and discovered that she had gone on vacation! But now she was back and ready to look after the final details of our stay.

One of the things she told us was that when leaving, we had to leave the apartment as we had found it, ready for the next occupant. This meant a thorough cleaning and a washing of all bed sheets. Just what we wanted to do on our holiday, right? Besides, the fact that we needed to leave early in the morning in order to get to the airport on time would not permit us to wash and dry the sheets in time! No problem, said the agent. She could provide a cleaning lady who would do all that for us... for an additional charge... cash up front.

When leasing the apartment, we had to also pay a hefty security deposit. This is understandable when renting a place to complete strangers. You never know what kind of damage they may do. However, we were assured this would be returned to us if we left the apartment in good order. Now the agent informed us that the cost of the electricity we used during our stay would be deducted from the deposit and the rest returned to us. Wait a minute! We thought utilities were included! Well, they are... all except electricity. Guess how the apartment is heated? That’s right... by electric heaters.

So picture this: It’s winter in Paris. And we just came from Africa where it’s 20-30 degrees warmer. Temperatures that people here would consider cool are downright cold to us! In fact, we’ve been shivering since we arrived here! What kind of vacation is it going to be if we’re freezing most of the time in our lovely little apartment? And it would be kind of foolish for us to keep the heat turned down or off while sit huddled together and shivering in the apartment thinking, “This is good, this is fine cuz we’re saving a few bucks!”

But the apartment is cute. First there’s that neat spiral stairway to get up here. Then, once inside the door, we have a living & dining room combo with flat-screen TV, DVD player, and Internet access. A fairly modern and attractive kitchen is located at the far end. A doorway there leads into a small bedroom with a comfortable bed, armoire, and faux fireplace. From there, a couple of steps lead up into a bathroom area with a large modern bathtub, a contemporary style sink, and... an electric toilet. This, I learned, does not mean the seat is heated (though I wish it was!). Because of the space restrictions, there is no tank. The bowl is refilled via an electric pump.

There is another bathroom / utility room near the front door. It contains a toilet, sink, shower cubicle, washer, and the hot water tank. I think it must have originally been a walk-in freezer. It is cold in there! There a heating unit up over the door (yup, it’s electric too), but it makes about as much difference as lighting a match in a cold barn. However, it is possible to have a nice hot shower.

The front door does not have a handle to open and close it. You need a key to open a serious-looking deadbolt. There is also a latch to hold the door closed when the deadbolt is not engaged. The first time we left the apartment, we made sure we had the key with us. Upon returning, however, I could unlock the deadbolt, but couldn’t get the door open! After repeated tries, I realized that the latch was still engaged. I had thought that it too would open with the key, but this did not seem to be the case! Perhaps we had forgotten to engage a catch on the inside to hold it back when we left the apartment...

Now we were in a pickle. We hadn’t even had possession of the apartment for a day and had already locked ourselves out! And we had no way to get hold of the agent. Her number was on a piece of paper in the apartment! Desperate, I tried the lock again. As I was doing so, Kathy began playing with a knob in the middle of the door. I had already tried that. It didn’t do anything. It was just for show. But suddenly there was a click and the door swung open!

What happened? It turns out that the latch is also opened by turning the key past the point where it opens the deadbolt. However, the door is a bit tight, causing the latch to be pressed against the frame with enough force to prevent the key from releasing it. But in playing with the knob, Kathy had inadvertently pulled the door towards her, releasing the pressure on the latch and enabling me to finish turning the key. And presto... the door opened!  Just think, we were that close to being refugees again!  Brrrrrrr!

Excuse me while I go and crank up the heat a few degrees!

Refugees in Paris

Getting from the last subway platform to street level was a workout. We walked up several flights of stairs lugging our luggage and were both huffing and puffing like the wolf in the story of the Three Little Pigs by the time we got to the top. But any warmth we gained from this exercise was swiftly nullified by the chilly temperatures on the street.

We looked around for a place to get out of the wind and were happy to see a resto-café nearby. But as I opened the door, the owner came forward to tell me that he was not yet open for business. What?!!! You must be kidding! But he wasn’t. It was only 10h30 and he didn’t open until noon. So, dragging our suitcases behind us, we wandered up and down various streets like a pair of refugees, looking for a café or restaurant to sit in and get out of the cold. Believe it or not, we found that not one was open for business before noon!

As we were standing on the sidewalk trying to figure out what to do next, Kathy remembered that we were supposed to phone the apartment agent an hour before we arrived in order to give her time to get there and let us in. Since it was now 11h00, it was time to call. I remembered seeing public telephones near the subway station, so taking the phone number, I headed back that way, leaving Kathy standing with our suitcases on a side street.

Unfortunately, the public phones would not take cash, only a phone card. So where do you buy a phone card around here? I asked at a nearby newspaper kiosk and was sent back down the street I had just come up, looking for a little variety store. Finding it, I bought the lowest value phone card they had ($10!) and headed back to the phone to make my call.

Happily for us, the agent was already at the apartment nearby! In fact, we could have come much earlier, but she had no way to get hold of us to let us know. Just our luck to be wandering around in the cold when we could have been warm inside our apartment several hours ago!

I hurried back to get Kathy and we wheeled our suitcases to the proper address. Punching in the code we’d been given, we pushed open the big courtyard door and entered the premises. Now, however, we were faced with another door and a panel of buzzer buttons, none of which listed the name of the apartment owner. So I began pushing them one at a time and asking for the agent. No luck. Nobody had ever heard of her.

Kathy, meanwhile, had walked further into the courtyard and discovered a second set of apartments! Here she found the name of the apartment owner we were looking for. Within seconds, the agent had buzzed us in and we found ourselves in a little vestibule. Our apartment was on the third floor and to get there, we had to climb a narrow, circular staircase which led, at each floor, to a little landing in front of a single apartment door. Another free workout :) I couldn’t help but wonder how they ever got furniture or appliances up there!

The door on the third floor landing stood slightly ajar. We pushed it open and it was with a great sense of relief that we finally found ourselves in the place we would call home for the next several weeks!

Let The Holiday Begin!

We’ve been looking forward to our vacation for months. But when we arrived at Charles De Gaulle airport in Paris yesterday morning at 6 a.m., we were feeling pretty fatigued. The weeks prior to our departure from Burkina had been incredibly long and busy. Our plane took off from Ouaga close to midnight and we weren’t served supper until well after that. And we didn’t get much sleep on the plane.

Since we couldn’t have possession of the little apartment we’d rented in Paris until noon, we looked for a place to hang out at the airport after collecting our luggage. We’ve never found the Paris airport particularly user-friendly and things hadn’t changed since the last time we were here :) Making our way to the place in Terminal 2 where we’d be catching the RER (subway) into Paris proper, we found an area with tables and chairs where we could sit down. But it was on the ground floor with doors to the platforms at both ends, which meant the wind came whistling through every time someone went in or out. It didn’t take us long to figure out that this was not the place to have a nap!

So we went up several floors into the terminal again, and found some empty seats in an arrivals area where we could at least park our luggage and sit for a while. At a nearby weigh scale, a variety of Africans were weighing, unpacking, repacking, and re-weighing their bags. They had clothes, shoes, electronic equipment and more. It was far more than any one person would use, so they were likely bringing back presents for the family, or planning to run a little business back home.

Despite the nearby noise and entertainment, we did eventually manage to doze off a bit. But even there, it eventually got too cold. So we made our way back down to the RER area where Kathy remembered seeing a little fast food place there where we could go inside and get warm again. However, when we got there, the only table available was near an open door where the cold wind from the platform area had no trouble reaching us. Even with our cafés crèmes, we soon became colder than ever!

It was still too early to get into our apartment, but we obviously couldn’t stay in the terminal anymore. Hoping we would find a warm place to wait a little longer in one of the subway stations, or in a café or restaurant near the apartment, I bought tickets and we walked out onto the open-air platform to catch the next train into the city. Fortunately, we did not have long to wait and it was with thankfulness that we hoisted our luggage into the nearest car and sat down. Out of the wind at last!

As it turned out, it was also fortunate that we got on what turned out to be the end (or beginning) of the train line. As we travelled along, we picked up an increasing number of people until we were both not only standing up to make more room, but people were sitting on our luggage! Everyone was so packed in that no one could move anymore! I’m talking sardine comfort here! I’ve never been in anything like it! There were so many people packed into our car that the doors would barely close, and more were trying to enter at every stop. Had I been jammed up against complete strangers like this anywhere else, both men and women, it would have been considered obscene! But at least I was finally getting warm :)

I was glad that our stop was a main transfer station. If not, there is no way that we would have gotten ourselves and our luggage out in time. Not without everyone else disembarking first! Thankfully, most people were looking to get off here too, so we were able to exit without any problem. And after another short trip on another line, we were finally at the Metro station close to our apartment.

But we weren’t in yet...

To Leave or Not to Leave...

With two presidents currently sworn into office in Ivory Coast, things do not bode well for the near future. The threat of armed conflict looms as neither the newly elected leader nor the incumbent president show any sign of backing down from their position. Closing the borders and airspace last weekend did not inspire confidence either. Expatriate members of our organization teaching at an institution in Abidjan have taken their Christmas holidays early and left the country shortly after the borders were reopened last week. However, the future leader of one of our language teams in Burkina is still in Abidjan with his family. He is in his final year of studies, but because he is a Burkinabè, he fears that he and his family will be targeted should violence flare up since this was the case for some Burkinabè living in Ivory Coast during the last conflict there earlier this decade.

So starting last week, after the borders were reopened, we began efforts to get him and his family home. Following some research into available flights on his end, he said that the earliest flight he could get was December 18th! So we did some research on our end and discovered that we could get him and his family a flight on 13th. However, he said he could catch a bus or train on the 11th. Not knowing how much time we have, we opted for the earliest option, bus or train. By either of those means, he should be home in Burkina before the next available flight would even leave Abidjan.

Then I got a phone call. All the buses are grounded for the weekend. Nothing is moving until Monday at the earliest. So I told him to check out the train. The earliest ride he could get there was on Tuesday. By now it was too late to get tickets on the Monday plane that was an option earlier. So I told him to get tickets for the train. It was more expensive than the bus, but probably faster and more secure, being less likely to be stopped at every checkpoint along the long road back to Burkina.

Only one problem. He didn’t have enough money. Forget a bank transfer. It would take too long. So I began researching possibilities with a money transfer agency like Western Union. Trying to find an agent located near the educational institution where he was a student (so he didn’t have to travel all over or across the city), was impossible. Western Union’s agent locator tool was useless to anyone like me who doesn’t know the city. Though the descriptions vary, the maps they provide show all the agents in a single location: downtown.

So I began e-mailing people who I knew had spent some time in Abidjan. By this method, I finally received a message from one of the professors at the institution (whom I did not know, but who had been copied on a message from someone I had written to). After some discussion, she offered to advance the money to the student from her own funds, and we could find a way to pay her back later. Wow, was I impressed! And thankful.

You know, when all is said and done, maybe nothing will happen in Ivory Coast after all. Maybe it will remain peaceful and we’ll be accused of having overreacted and wasted money in evacuating someone with his family when in the end, nothing happened. But that will be easy to say then. Hindsight is always 20/20. What counts is that we can’t say that now. At this moment, we don’t know what’s going to happen. We can only act on the information that we have before us. And the same people that might say I was overreacting if nothing happens will probably be the first to blame me if things go wrong. In the end, I think I’d rather be accused of overreacting than accused of negligence.

I’ll let you know how it all turns out :)

On the Advantages of Being Older

An older couple arrived last week from the States to help us out as Centre Host & Hostess for the next 6-8 months here on the SIL Centre in Ouaga. Yesterday afternoon, the husband and I sat on the front porch to talk about the experiences of the past week. They are, of course, feeling somewhat overwhelmed by all the new people they’ve met, the new responsibilities they’re learning, and the process of adjusting to a new living situation in a culture very different from their own. At one point in the conversation, he turned to me and asked, “Why would you let an older couple like us come to a place like this to fill the roles you’ve asked us to fill? We’re not so young anymore and the gas tank isn’t as full as it used to be when it comes to energy and stamina.”

I thought for a few seconds before replying. That’s about all it took! Three reasons came to mind almost immediately.

First of all, an older couple has valuable life experience. It’s true that some people grow old and wise... and some just grow old :) But I believe that most older people have learned some lessons in life that will serve them well in relating to others and working together to accomplish a task. Because of their experiences, some good and some hard, they’ve likely learned valuable skills in setting priorities, showing grace, being diplomatic, knowing when to yield and when to stand firm, and understanding different cultural & generational values and practices. Younger people bring energy, passion, and enthusiasm, but still have the hard road of experience to travel, for which there is no substitute.

Secondly, while most older people have less gas in the tank than they used to, they’ve learned techniques and strategies to compensate for their lack of energy and stamina so that they are able to achieve virtually the same results. Running increasingly low on brawn, many have correspondingly learned to use their brains to find ways to do things more efficiently, in ways that require less energy and effort. Whereas most younger folks would simply trust in brute energy, strength, and enthusiasm to run over a problem, older folks are forced to find ways over, under, or around it. Life experience can come in real handy here too.

And finally, older people can often be more motivated in their work and service. Why? Because they know they’ve only got so much time left and they want to make it count. For some, it’s their last chance to make an impact, to make a difference, to make their lives count for something besides keeping up with the Joneses and enjoying a comfortable retirement.

Yeah, I know there’s a downside. Older people tend to be less flexible and adaptable, more set in their ways. Some have simply grown old rather than old & wise, and can thus sometimes do more damage than good, especially in a cross-cultural situation like we have here. But in that case, our location here in Africa may be to our advantage. Only older people who have learned valuable life skills, have learned to compensate for their limitations and weaknesses, and want to spend some of their remaining time to make a difference in the world will have the necessary skills and motivation to get here. The rest will simply stay home. Something to think about, anyway :)

Death Among the Kasena

The elder brother of a Burkinabè colleague died a few weeks ago. A bunch of us from work went to pay our condolences to the family. Last week, my colleague came in to thank me for that. He said it made a big impression on the family that such high level people from the organization he worked for would personally come to offer condolences. Apparently this does not often happen.

I asked what would happen to the widow and her children. I well remember the time one of our employees died following a motorbike accident. He was from the Mossi ethnic community and his family immediately came and wanted to take possession of the man’s house, belongings, and children, and throw the wife out into the street! Had our administration not intervened, they would have succeeded. In Mossi culture (as far as I understand it), the wife is never truly a part of the husband’s family. She is always regarded as a stranger who has been allowed to come in as a wife and the mother of the children. But even the children ultimately belong to the husband and his family. However, my colleague, who was from the Kasena community, said that this was not their practice. The wife and children could continue to live in the family compound as if it was their own, but on one condition: the woman had to remain a widow.

What happens if she decides to remarry? Then she has to move out of the family compound, leaving everything behind except what she has purchased with her own money. The compound remains the property of the children.

I asked if this ever happens. Sometimes, said my colleague. However, she should never marry one of her dead husband’s brothers. He said that this is severely frowned upon and the unlucky man would not have long to live!

Another interesting feature of the Kasena is that anyone who had anything to do with the care of the person that died is required to wash himself or herself with water in which certain leaves had been boiled. This is done as a group (men & women separately) following the person’s death with the purpose of neutralizing the odour of sickness and death that has contaminated them. If this is not done, the one contaminated is also fated to die sooner or later. I decided that this was perhaps not the best time or place to point out that most people die sooner or later anyway! How could they know whether someone died because they were thus contaminated?

I guess we all have cultural customs and practices that make perfect sense to us but may seem bizarre or nonsensical to people of other cultures. Someday I’ll follow up on this one :)