Bemusing Bangui

August 1, 2010
Bangui

One of the first things I noticed was the Hollywood-esque cut out letters of the city’s name on a forested hill overlooking the city. The sign is electrified and beams prominently throughout the night as if to give the impression that Bangui was some sought after tourist destination rather than the impoverished run-down huddle of buildings that make up this country’s capitol city. “I used to think the sign was very impressive.” This from one of my new colleagues at an IRC dinner at the director’s house “Well, until I climbed the hill and realized the sign is no more than a giant rectangular light with bits of black tape arranged about the letters.”

This has been rather typical of my first few days in the Central African Republic (formerly known as the Central African Republic, FYI). Ranked 178th out of 179 countries by the Human Development index, I’d prepared myself for the difficulties of living in a post-conflict, landlocked Subsaharan country. That is, I didn’t expect much and yet I was immediately surprised by all that IS here. International Rescue Committee project materials are littered with stark black and white portraits of refugees in tattered clothing with clinging babies against a backdrop of burned-out villages…and so this becomes your imagery. This is what you expect to see but in fact, I was driven to the guesthouse I now call home to find my very own air-conditioned tiled room. Next door, a bathroom with running water, full kitchen and wireless internet service did its best to make me believe I was not in a conflict zone. Yesterday at the grocery store I bought French emmental grated cheese and a couple cans of ravioli. I was given a cell phone and computer before going out to dinner at a nice restaurant in town…

Now don’t get me wrong. I am now an expatriot working for a large international humanitarian assistance organization and the creature comforts I am able to enjoy on their tab are certainly not available to the average Central African (a term I finally learned after toying unsuccessfully with ‘Central African Republican’). But the point is: these things EXIST here, despite everything. Despite the war and the poverty, despite the dysfunctional government and the complete disinterest shown by the international community, the picture of this place is clearly not-so-black-and-white.

Let me back up: I spent the last two weeks traveling about Cameroon with Hypolite. We drank beers and ate heartily and enjoyed the company of a wide array of Cameroonian friends. I had the opportunity to chat with a number of people who had either lived or worked in Bangui and their impressions of both the city and country as a whole were less than complimentary. “Fais attention avec les refuges” cautioned Tiki, my former Peace Corps program director, “ils sont tous bizarre la bas.” But then again, chatting last night with my compound’s security guard I was given the rundown on Cameroonians: “Les gens du Cameroun sont trôp dûr. Ils n’aiment pas les étrangers. Ils veulent te deranger seulement. Et en plus, ils ne sont pas solidaire comme nous ici en Centrafrique. Ici, tout le monde est gentil! C’est pas le cas la bas au Cameroun…” Interesting, said I.

There are bits of truth to all of this. Driving through the town, I immediately noticed the lack of stores, people, buildings, and above all else – bars. The tree-lined streets of Bangui are never clogged with cars or mottos because there just aren’t that many cars or mottos to muck things up. All roads not emanating directly from the center of town are unpaved and despite being in a capitol city, the days (and nights) are quiet (this in stark contrast to the raucousness of Yaoundé). Material goods are extremely expensive as everything must be shipped from Cameroon or imported from France and education levels are low. I was flabbergasted when an IRC chauffer pointed out the Presidential Palace en route to the office – doors wide open to the world, no guards in site. Biya is practically entombed by his elaborate security posse who very rarely allow him to venture into the public sphere.

And I haven’t even started in on the whities. There is already much to be said about my fellow expats and the new community in which I will be spending the next 12 months. I have been told that the cultural immersion experience so revered by Peace Corps afficianados is not only nonexistent but impossible to replicate given the socio-economic disparities between whites and blacks in CAR. It’s something I’d prepared myself for, and yet the stark contrast from my days lounging about in Mvangan makes me feel unsettled and uncomfortable. The pictures of me and Hypolite taped to my wall seem almost quaint and naïve in my current context and I wonder what kind of box I’d be written into if I were to publicize the existence my African boyfriend…

But all this I have time to ponder at the moment because work does not start until tomorrow. IRC is having trouble securing project funding and my housemate has been at work all weekend while I merely putter about. I’m looking forward to diving in, being busy and having the chance to travel north and west to the field sites which are the true heart of this organization’s work.