Bissau, Guinea-Bissau -- For those of you who have been to Guinea-Bissau, you understand the importance of flexibility. You, like I, probably have learned that there is reason for the greatest pessimism in the execution of your plans. You travelers to the land of cashews have no doubt experienced the folly of feeling reassured when someone tells you while waiting to cross the Cacheu River that the ferry will soon be fixed. And if you are from what we oddly call “The West” of our spherical planet, you felt the pangs of inconvenience and mild disgust as you were expected to sit and wait for undetermined amounts of time with no Starbucks in sight. But for the few of you who still have not yet been to Guinea-Bissau, I will let you in on the secret – once your eyes become accustomed under the dark blanket of pessimism, you will find a tiny flashlight under there which will help you see that things generally work out, just not the way you expected them to. Who knows, you might even have a richer experience.
When I realized the ferry would probably never be fixed, I made an executive decision to leave the car parked up the road at a Catholic mission and cross via dugout canoe. To the locals, I suspect my entourage looked like visiting dignitaries from another universe. Rolling suitcases, front-loading baby-carriers, diaper bags and backpacks all piled into the canoe designed to hold 25 people but with probably twice that many aboard. It was in the moment we boarded that shaky craft that the rainy season decided to start. Not a drop had moistened Guinea-Bissau in the previous eight months and we were so blessed to feel the first drops of the year.
My assistant and I snuck in to explore the former U.S. Ambassador's residence in Bissau, unused since the U.S. closed its embassy during the civil war.
While my assistants mumbled about mundane things like pneumonia and overcrowded boats that run aground, I was busy greeting new fans. Everywhere I went people called out to me in Portuguese Creole “Menino Branco!” which I thought meant “adorable leader” but found out later more closely translates to “white boy.” Two public buses and one hour later we finally pulled into the capital, Bissau. I had envisioned my arrival in that great world capital like a queen mounted upon her graceful white Landcruiser steed, but my carriage ended up being more like a humble sway-backed ass, lame and blind in one eye.
Where the "l"...?
My first night in Bissau was spent in a hotel without air conditioning, hot water, or a crib. Cockroaches tiptoed over the breakfast buffet and the exterior still has bullet holes from the civil war in 1998. Not only did the management lack the basic necessities of a hotel, they didn’t even have the letters to spell “hotel.” I suspect the “l” in their sign is nothing more than an up-turned, ill-employed “r.” Being in a place like that, it is easy to feel put out for the conveniences that are lacking. I’m glad my next stop was Casa Emanuel, an orphanage run by two fellow Costa Rican women to remind me of how much I have.
My assistant and I spent the morning with the kids of Casa Emanuel, touring their dorms and school where I consulted with colleagues of all ages. In Africa, extended families usually take care of orphaned children, so adoption outside the family is very rare. When those extended family networks break down or don’t exist, orphans can expect to spend the rest of their childhood in an orphanage. Everything there is as pleasant as it can be, but I couldn’t help but notice the sad contrast to my own organization where I require an assistant to baby ratio of three to one.
Much of Bissau’s buildings are bombed out shells that haven’t yet crumbled to the ground. Many streets are so pockmarked with craters, one wonders if the same bombs that did in the likes of the National Palace were responsible. At night, street lights illuminate only about two city blocks. Institutions are almost non-existent, but cashews and the sweetest mangoes in the world are abundant. After spending half my life in the capital city of the United States, it is hard to believe that this place is classified in the same category. But Bissau is a gleaming modern metropolis compared to the Bijagos Archipelago just off-shore. You will read about that in my next letter.
Until then, peace to all.
Omi, Baby Adventure Traveler
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