This is my morning. I manage a meditation before I head downstairs to breakfast. I am feeling good and a little ambitious so after the usual omelet and roll, I leave my book at the front desk and head out along the Marginal (sort of a boardwalk) for a walk. It’s pleasant and there are quite a few people out with the same idea. There are even a few with dogs (oh I miss NYC!) and one with a stroller! I turn around where the walk sort of ends and am feeling like a run, so off I go. It feels good to get the blood flowing and I manage a respectable pace and distance. Back at the hotel, the fixture of characters in the lobby don’t know what to make of the sweaty, sporty girl with the disheveled hair. I am buoyed by the endorphin high and manage a good yoga session.

I get a hold of Dr. Mayouya and we confirm our lunch that we had set on Friday. He and his friend Moises, another gentleman from Congo Brazaville, pick me up and we head off to the Swedish compound where he gives me a tour of his accommodations. When he gets out of the car, I realize that he’s a shorter, rounder version of Samuel Jackson! I didn’t notice this during the week because his attire was very bureaucratic. But today, he’s pimped out in a pin-striped short-sleeve suit accessorized with light sunglasses. During the ride to his relatives’, he drops a bomb on me – he’d like to train me to be the Representative-in-Charge, as he is phasing out of his duties here and begins preparations to take on his new post in Burkina Faso. He tells me that there is a chance that he may go before the new one arrives so I would have to take on such responsibilities. He hints at the various political sensitivities that comes with the role, and some of the perks, but I still can’t get past “representative-in-charge.” WHAT??? I just got here! I’m new, remember? I manage a reasonably calm response, despite the butterflies knocking around in my stomach. But I have a feeling that my life has just taken an important turn…

We are welcomed at the home of Dr. Mayouya’s sister-in-law and brother-in-law. They are so warm and welcoming and we start with an aperitif and a quick glance of the Nadal/Federer match (yay Federer!). We at the lovely table under a thatched-roof terrace, and proceed to have a three hour lunch of Congolese/Angolan cuisine. The starter was proscuitto with popo (papaya), which they grow in their own farm just outside of Luanda. The entrees were a codfish casserole (very tasty!!!) and a mixed meat stew. I went for the oxtail in the mix and they encouraged me to eat it with my fingers (to which I obliged). The conversation was interesting, about farming, the efficiency of the Ethiopians, and Angolan life in general, all in a mix of English and French. They were very interested as well about life in California (or at least Pedro was – the newly retired brother-in-law, who used to work with the UN and is now mad about farming), especially the wine region. At one point, Moises (who only speaks French) tells the story about how his daughter who, upon starting her period, phones him to ask him what she should do! He’s flattered and amazed at the same time, and I’m amazed and delighted that this is lunch conversation material. We finally wind down the meal with an offering of cake and lemongrass tea, and they send us off with a beautiful bird of paradise bloom and a popo in hand.

Before delivering me to my hotel, Dr. Mayouya kindly gives me a little tour of Luanda and I feel myself getting heavy in the back seat. It’s time to rest and I am happy to say my good evenings in front of the hotel.

That’s all for now. Good night, bon noyte, bonne nuit, buenas noches!!! Celina

I wake up with a start remembering that breakfast may not be available all day long. I make myself somewhat presentable and am just in time to take a small breakfast (I pay the price with cold eggs…). I feel very tired today, perhaps an accumulation of the exhaustion from the week. So, I do a mix of reading and napping until the phone rings from Kasia. She’s taken me under her wing and we go to the French market to pick up some imported treats. It’s actually the market for employees of TotalFinaElf, the French oil company. It’s small, but packed with enough delightful treats that I’m sure I’ll be back. They have Chimay, a decent selection of cheeses, very good meats and fish, and some frozen foods. I had to refrain since I would not be moving to the apartment until Tuesday when they would all be leaving. But I did take some proscuitto, spaghetti noodles, clementines, some frozen egg rolls that Kasia will babysit, and a small jar of Nutella!!! Yay!
She drops me off and back in the room, I can’t resist making a proscuitto sandwich and then having some Nutella for dessert. That somehow knocks me out and I wake up again just in time to prepare to go out with Kasia to an English catholic mass. No, I haven’t turned religious again, but I was curious about the catholic practices here. We go to la Iglesia de Sta. Carmen and join small congregation in a large, somewhat rundown church. You’ve been in them before, churches with previously white walls, which now hold the dust and grime of time very well, dried up vats where the holy water was once available for blessing, lighting that illuminates very little, altars crowded with face flowers. The parishioners are mostly black Angolans, with a sprinkling of whites and one Filipino family. I try to be introspective but am distracted by the guy doing the little ditties. He is a twin of Youssef, a Lebanese guy I dated briefly back in LA before I went off to the East Coast. I find it so amazing when, on the other side of the world, there are people who connect you to the places, faces, moments of your past. We (Filipinos? Or maybe just my family?) have this tradition of making three wishes when you enter a new church, and so I do this before we leave.

Kasia brings me back to the hotel and I am happy to try and get a little work done before we head out for a dinner with some more new friends. Ian and Kasia come for me and we head off to the Ilha (where it’s a-happenin’) to a place called Palm Beach for the birthday celebration of Maria Theresa, an Irish friend of theirs who is here as a volunteer with a catholic NGO. The table is long and full of expats, mostly from Europe. There’s a group of Spanish tech entrepreneurs, a few petrol company staff, a British girl with a consulting firm working for the Angolan government on customs reform, and two German girls normally based in a far-off province, working with another NGO. The place itself is a groovy, wall-to-wall-mirrored disco-like Indian restaurant, that serves a mean cappirinha (sp?). The food is excellent and we are even treated to a belly-dancing show, which is somehow more interesting to the women in the crowd. I am happy to be here, discussing various things with interesting people, but I can feel myself exhausting the socializing reserve. Once the meal if over, the birthday candle is blown out and the bill is paid (wow - $50 per!), I am wishing for my bed. I am grateful to Kasia for a full and productive day and will feel satisfied to close my eyes. Bon bon noyte!! x, Celina

The day seemed to go quickly, after a bit of a late start (Serafino was occupied with deliveries this morning, so Tomas came for me). I feel like a new woman, wearing another outfit from my newly arrived wardrobe! I am still not sitting in my office, as the internet connection is not working there. Instead, I am at another desk where I can plug in. Patience is the virtue supreme in Angola, and this minor detail doesn’t bother me. With Paulo (a national programme officer), we meet with Dr. Mayouya about the programmes for adolescents. It’s so interesting to see the power dynamic among the three of us. Paulo is clearly deferential to both of us – Dr. Mayouya as the big boss, and me as the international expert (if only he knew…). Dr. Mayouya sees Paulo as the do-er and me as the strategizer. Very interesting….

I pay a visit to Monika on the 6th floor, who I had met at the Embassy, and we make plans to have lunch around the corner. We head out 30 minutes later to a small, hidden place run by a little old Portuguese man with a toupee that makes him look like a white-haired Ken doll. The toasted chorizo sandwich was very good (I am DYING for a salad!!!) and the conversation with Monika was even better. She is quite convincing on two fronts – opening a bank account and buying a car (both of which I’ve been hemming and hawing about). She is so helpful, but more than that, she’s quickly become a good friend. AND, Birgs, she’s Austrian! I don’t know what it is with me and this country, but the streak continues! Monika tells me of her impending wedding in Vienna to Angus, the Brit who works for the US Embassy (didn’t know they hired non-American internationals!). We talk about the admirable quality of the American value system – that immigrants truly have the opportunity to achieve important things. While not perfect, merit is clearly an essential factor in one’s success. She pointed to Mr. Francisco Fernandez, a Cuban-American who now represents the US here in Angola. She pondered on the fact that this would never happen in Austria – to have an immigrant represent the country in some diplomatic capacity. It’s true that this aspect of the US philosophy is often overshadowed by the more visible hawkish, ethnocentric policies and image of the Americans in the international community today.

We head back just in time for the official end of the workday – 1:30p on Fridays. Apparently, this is the practice throughout Africa – to finish work early on Fridays. I welcome the sentiment but am just too swamped with documents to review and not quite ready to be disconnected from the world (no internet at the hotel over the weekend!) for three days. Eventually, Tomas comes for me and I finally head back to the hotel at 7p. Again I have dinner at the hotel before I am to be picked up by Ian and Kasia for the going away party of Tezmer, who is heading off to Khartoum (awesome!). The book is a good way of warding off unwanted attention, but tonight, it’s just Sergio, the waiter who makes a move. This time, he sends the other waiter to bring the bill, with another note inside. And this time I have to be more firm. (I’m really not very good at these sorts of things). Patience came in handy when Kasia and Ian arrived 1 hour after our agreed time. But I wasn’t too fussed as this allowed me to read my book (still interesting!). As we leave the hotel lobby, they recognize a fellow UN-er. His name is Carlise Hessic, and immediately, I too recognize him as the person on the email who is responsible for releasing my assignment grant (the money I desperately need to do anything, including rent a place). We chat for a while and I eventually make a plea for my plight. Seems like a nice enough man, but a bit worn out, since his family had gone back to New York six months ago and he is about to join them in ten days, as he is to retire.

We head off in their cute little jeep, which is stripped down, no A/C but just enough to get round town, and apparently to some weekend destinations a few hours’ drive away (this is exactly what I need – nothing fancy, just adequate and something I wouldn’t have to worry about being stolen). We arrive at the apartment that I will be staying in in a few days’ time and it is, as you might imagine a mix of people from around the world. There’s Jonathan, the operations officer for the US Embassy, Andrew from Montreal with UNICEF, a Swedish girl working here for the European Commission, Gabriella from here with UNICEF, her husband Joe who seems to be American and works for a company here, and eventually Monika (Austrian), Angus (Brit) and Ilda (Angolan-American) arrive with a smattering of others I didn’t meet. (To add to the mix, Kasia is Polish and Ian Scottish). It was nice to be introduced to a social group here, something that takes a bit of time anywhere. I got lots of adjusting advice from these weary and wise Luandan residents, but the bit of information I was most excited about was a contact (Martina?) who apparently plays beach volleyball each week!!! Yippeee!!!! If I can’t have a Chelsea Piers, at least I can partake in some volleyball action…

The night is long and I manage a nice buzz on the sangria that Andrew is very proud of. He’s the boyfriend of Tezmer and he’s also off for a holiday back home in Canada. When he returns, he will be trying to find a job in the Sudan to be together with Tez. Ahh, the life of UN couples (or international development couples anyway), trying to coordinate each other’s work contracts in the same location. I can see how some of them are addicted to this moving from one place to another. Kasia was lamenting about how she didn’t get a job in the Sudan, which she was dying for (this is when I understood this crowd to be a little different from my other circles of friends)… we finally head out at 2:30a and I am satisfied with my sociability on this night. xxCelina

This morning, it was a quick dash to grab a roll and stuff it with some scrambled eggs, shoot a glass of mango juice and jump into the waiting truck with Serafino. Each morning, he gets a new and improved Portuguese phrase from me and he points out the same five buildings that he seems to think would be of interest on the short ride to the office. Serafino reminds me of the cool, roundish men of the French Quarter jazz scene. He looks like a fellow with more than a few smooth moves on the dance floor, but mostly, he’s a kind soul, with a sparkle in his eyes (which I’m sure have seen more than their fair share of misery and sadness).

I sit down to the computer to get through emails quickly so I can be available to Dr. Mayouya as soon as he arrives. Today would be a good day, I could feel it. Dr. Mayouya has a strong presence and greets me like an adopted child. He’s requested for me to accompany him to a UN multi-agency meeting with donors, about the HIV/AIDS situation in Angola at 10a. My bag will have to wait. It was great to attend this meeting, having gotten used to the feeling of being so inappropriately dressed (this will ALL change today!) for such formal affairs. It’s interesting being a minority (I’m mean feeling it) – the only Asian woman around, and so far, the only American at UN Angola. I’m still a curiousity, and this too, I’m getting used to. After the meeting (these, by the way, are the same no matter where you are in the world), I head off to the airport with Tomas. Tomas is the driver who normally takes me home in the evenings. He’s a tall, large, Congolese man of the gentlest nature (although it’s somewhat comforting to witness his measured, familiar LA-like road rage). Together, we communicate in French (thanks Nicolas!) and manage just fine. When we arrive at the airport, the security was preparing for the passengers of the SAA flight just arriving. The rent-a-cop manning the gate would not allow us to enter, saying it would be crowded and chaotic and to come back later. He had the look of a ferret (which may not be such a nice thing to say, but I’m trying to be descriptive), and seemed to be being difficult for the sake of it. We stand around for a while, but my NY impatience got the better of me and we head off to run the second errand – to unlock my phone for the Angolan SIM card. This takes us around town, in traffic, asking various questions in various offices, but getting nowhere. Ahhh, the joys of the developing world. Tomas seems to have taken this on as a personal mission, pressing on long after I had given up. Unsuccessful, we make our way back to the airport where we stroll past the gate (the ferret guard is occupied with a large group of Chinese men) and get in line at the Lost and Found, with lots of other disgruntled passengers. Lines rarely mean anything here, so I follow Tomas past the cue and together we search through the piles of bags stacked up around the two TAAG workers manning computers, typing in details of lost luggage. It was like I had struck gold when I spotted my suitcase. The thing looked beaten up and tattered but I was surprised to see it relatively in tact. After a little fuss about signing a piece of paper or something, we head out and escape the airport, the ferret guard looking after us with some dismay.

We move on to one more place to check the phone situation with no luck. A site visit had been set up for this afternoon by Dr. Muzuza, and so Tomas whisks me over to the CASSH (or something like that), a referral health center for youth. We take a tour around and as we turn one corner, I was greeted by a large poster of the Dalai Lama with a Portuguese quote underneath. Talk about globalization! No matter where or when, I am ALWAYS comforted by the sight of this man… We sit down for a proper meeting and they start by describing the good, important work they are doing, providing health services to young people, running an information hotline, doing outreach with peer counselors in community centers across Luanda. And then, they started. They began complaining about how slowly the money comes from UNFPA and, if they had the choice, they wouldn’t work with us (I’m part of the agency now…). I tried in vain, to suggest that perhaps technical support in strategic and sustainable planning would be useful here. But quickly I realized that the NGO (or ONG as they say here) had the same –itis that most NGOs have – it’s the “gimme-itis.” As the meeting was in Portuguese, I’m sure I missed a lot of the details but I managed to get the sentiments. It was a good learning experience and I’m sure that I’ll be seeing more of these folks.

We head back to the office where I sit for a while with Dr. Mayouya. He is helpful in thinking through the logistics (everyone and everything seems to work a little bit more when he’s around…) and he gives me a phone for my SIM card.

It’s been a long day by the time I enter my room with suitcase. It’s like Christmas for me as I go through the contents. I can’t tell if there are things missing, which I guess is a good thing. I put on “new” clothes and decide to celebrate by taking my dinner in the restaurant downstairs. It was buffet-style, like breakfast, so I load up on the boiled veggies and some fish dish. The place is (once again) full of white men surely talking business. Tonight, I want to be quiet, eat my dinner and read my book. It’s Malcolm Gladwell’s Tipping Point and I’m immediately engrossed. It’s fun applying his notions to my work (and even my personal life!), so I don’t notice the man at the bar until the waiter comes over and tells me, in nervous Portuguese, that the man would like to buy me a drink. Things like this don’t happen to me, and I’m flustered. I graciously (or maybe not so graciously) decline the offer and bury my nose back into my book. I hear them laughing at the bar, which suits me just fine (maybe his ego was the one chuckling?) and I continue to read about the sudden rise of Hush Puppies. A few minutes later, another waiter brings me my bill and I see on top of it is a piece of paper which says You are beautifull (just like that). The waiter says, This is from me. He didn’t seem smarmy, so I thanked him (Obrigada!), signed the thing, and went on my way. What a night. I head back upstairs for a good sleep. And after a few more pages, this is exactly what I did.
Sleep well!!! xxCelina

This is becoming addicting, this narration of my life. Maybe it’s because I want to share it all with you. It’s just too rich for me to experience alone. Oh, Happy 4th of July by the way! Yes, Mr. Di Santos did remind me of the American holiday. This morning, I will try and finagle an invitation to the embassy for what I’m sure will be good times with the American expats here….

I finally made it to breakfast in the hotel restaurant. Not as difficult as I thought – didn’t need to talk to anyone; just got my omelet, roll and juice. I was done and in the lobby just in time for Serafino’s arrival – that’s right, I’ve finally learned Nestor’s name, and what a great name it is – Serafino!! Once we arrived at the office, we sent Tomas off to buy a SIM card for my phone (or a schip, as they say here). Could it be that easy? In the end, it wasn’t. When I received the SIM, my phone would not take it, so Rosita, the sweet receptionist, escorted me to the Unitel office to get to the bottom of the issue. In her best English, Rosita asks me if this is my first time in Africa. When I tell her Yes, she repeats for the rest of the walk I’m so sorry, as if I’d just been admitted to hell. I try to be upbeat, extolling the virtues of the coastal country. But she is insistent that life would be tough for me in Angola. Sure enough, the phone chip issue is not resolved and we pass by the Catholic church, dodging the “disrespectful” traffic to walk back to the office.

I tried today to load up pictures on the blog but as you can see, had little success. I will have to try another solution – Flickr maybe? It’s sort of a convenient technical difficulty, since my camera’s batteries have died and I can’t get a hold of more (I could have sworn that I packed some…). I will track some down asap so that I can share some of the vistas of Luanda…

I got two great pieces of news today – Onofre (Mr. Santos) would take me to the US Embassy celebration (which I couldn’t manage an invitation to despite my attempts at bullying the poor young foreign service officer on the other end of the line) AND my luggage was on its way to Luanda! Yipee!

I hurriedly race back to the hotel to get ready for the evening’s festivities. Was it going to be the loose khakis and wrinkled white linen blouse or the stained jeans and the standby black v-neck sweater? Hmmm, tough choice. In the end, I went with the latter (it was going to be a dark, evening affair, I decided), and accessorized with dangling earrings and a nice pashmina. After a message mix-up, Onofre comes for me at 7:30p and off we go to the embassy. It was easy enough to get past the welcoming tables, since he had an invitation in hand (the guy has friends…) and we are just in time to hear the tail-end of the Ambassador’s speech in Portuguese, which, I find out later, turns out to be her farewell address. A new acquaintance tells me that she’s at the end of her term and she’s decided to sit it out until the new administration comes in because she “is not in agreement with this current administration’s foreign policy.” Good for her! The embassy is impressive and very American. It’s HUGE, sits atop a ridge overlooking the center of town, is surrounded by a high fence topped with barbed wire, and by the looks of it, is brand new. And, it actually is, having been built in 2005, as I was informed by the 2nd in command, while we were standing in line for drinks. That’s the benefit of being new and naïve about who’s who here. His name is Mr. Fernandez, and he will be the Acting Ambassador tomorrow, as soon as Ambassador Efird makes her exit. He was kind enough to give me his card and explains to me that HIV/AIDS is a priority for his operation here in Angola, so he’d like me to meet his health team. Cool!

The courtyard is filled with various “friends of the Americans” – heads of local NGOs, UN people, other Ambassadors, some military folks, and some businessmen, to be sure. I see Angie, the UNICEF den mother, and she immediately scolds me for not seeing Linda, the woman who offered for me to stay in her flat while she’s on home leave. I apologize profusely (everything takes time in Luanda!) and she gives me her phone to speak to Linda pronto. She then introduces me to Angus, a Brit who is in charge of the malaria project for USAID. Angus is a good chap, about to be married to Monica, who’s the social butterfly flitting about in the crowd. I proceed to do the blah blah for the next 2 hours, but am enjoying just being in a somewhat familiar element. A few very interesting people strike me – the Angolan movie maker, who needs to get away because there’s nothing here for me at the moment; the beautiful boy of a mixed couple, he was stunning with his long lashes, as he was dozing off in his Angolan mother’s arms; and the guy from South Jersey (yup, Ed, from Exit 1 off the turnpike, he said) who is here with IRI (I’m not sure what it stands for but I do know that he’s a Republican and that he’s trying to “promote democracy” or something like that.). I’m glad I came (it was a close call with the phone mix up). One word about Mr. Onofre Santos. Lest any of you think he’s a romantic interest, this would not be further from the truth. He is quite avuncular (I LOVE that word) and reminds me of the many mentors in my life. I get dropped off for a good night’s sleep (probably a bit alcohol-induced, but I’ll take it!) and rest up for a big day: my first day with the big boss! Bon noyte, xxxCelina

Fourth day in Luanda, second day in the office, and I still can’t manage to get myself to the hotel restaurant. Don’t know what it is, but I’m surviving on what I’ve bought from the market last night. I had intentions of getting breakfast this morning, but didn’t make it down (but did get in my headstand). It’s such an interesting place, Angola. It’s definitely an African country, with a strong Latin flavor. The people are friendly and kind here, with a jolliness that seems incongruent with the country’s violent past. When I asked Gabriella how life was during the war (and she lived here through it), she sort of chuckled and said, Oh it was hard, but the fighting was mostly in the provinces. It was bad here in Luanda for about one week. Now, I’ve never lived in a country with a civil war going on, but I guess after the first 10 years or so, one gets sort of complacent about living with such violence (hard to comprehend). And yet, amidst this history, there is goodness all around. It is fascinating how no matter where one is in the world, one manages to pick out the good people in a crowd. It doesn’t even require an exchange of words, but simply a quick glance. On the ride to work, I spotted a young, black Angolan man, walking down the street. And in his eyes I could sense a deep goodness. It’s as simple as that.

Didn’t get much done today in terms of work, but in the end I did manage to do well for my adjustment into life here. I was on the computer most of the morning, tracking my luggage (there are only so many top/bottom combinations I can put together), sending out emails and getting this blog organized. I’ve got my father’s genes, working through meals and then feeling weak when I realize that I haven’t eaten by the afternoon. I shoved some more salami in my mouth before I went off for the next meeting. I got off on the 8^th floor for my security briefing, during which time Ancilio managed to scare the shit out of me. Well, not really, but I did want to hear every single thing he had to say. I was very glad to learn that TAAG, the airline of the plane that landed wrong (in the middle of the frickin’ runway!) is not on the approved UN list of carriers. Thank god. And get this – I am entitled to a security guard of my own. WHAT? Insane. Oh and believe me, I’m taking it! And as a single woman, I even get an extra guard while out and about. Wow.

I also met with Angie Kearney, the UNICEF Rep here in Angola. She’s like a lovely den mother and when she just scooped me up and paraded me in front of all the young ones in the office, I was nostalgic for Sue Williamson, for all you KSG-ers out there (how I miss her). She introduces me as the cousin-in-law of the former Head of Logistics in UNICEF Afghanistan, Paul MoliRambo (thanks Paul!!!), (husband to cousin Jessica and father of my godson, Alexander - by the way, HAPPY BIRTHDAY XANDER!!!!). In a matter of minutes, we worked out a possible apartment to stay in the short-term (will no doubt be better than the hotel!), got introduced to Ian and his new wife Casia, apparently a couple socially in the know (something about a party this weekend), and got a much needed welcome hug! When I came back to the office, the IT guy had successfully hooked up my little iBook to the internet (yay!).

And, all the way from Brussels, Nicolas was extremely helpful. He introduced me to his roommate, Ray, who is Angolan, and Ray promptly connects me to a number of contacts here in Luanda. His adoptive father seems to be someone who knows Angola well, and in fact, I will join him for dinner tonight (this will be my first REAL meal after the olemet). Amazing how the world works. Thanks Nic and Ray, who by the way, has the coolest name – Constantino! Off now to dinner. Bon appetit!!!! …..

Back just now from dinner at Coconuts, a beachside restaurant on the isthmus (cool word!) of Luanda, where all the restaurants are. The place is a large open terrace literally on the beach, complete with baby waves lapping up onto shore and packed with the more affluent Luanda crowd – mostly white men in their 50s, with a smattering of youngish black Angolan couples out on the town. And, I notice that the couples, mostly mestizo/mixed/happa (as we say in Hawaii), are beautiful, just gorgeous, every single one. Onofre Santos is a kind, kind man – a Portuguese Angolan, born and raised in Luanda but a true African, having lived and worked all over the Continent. He has managed to do well for himself as a freelancing consultant on electoral law. Now, during this dinner conversation, I had to conduct myself as a civilized lady, and it was easy to pay attention as Mr. Santos is such an interesting fellow, but in the meantime, it was all I could do to corral the cave woman inside, wanting to devour the beautiful grilled fish steak and boiled potatoes on my plate. The raw vegetables sitting on my plate taunted me, daring me to eat them, but that temptation I HAD to resist, lest I want to come down with something god-awful this early on. In the end, it was the loveliest evening I’ve spent in Angola so far, and it came just in time to avert a lifelong ban on salami and cheese sandwiches.

Now, it certainly did occur to me, as I was waiting for Mr. Santos in the lobby of the Hotel Universo, that I was going to get into the car of a perfect stranger (ahh, remember that TV show, you Americans?) and be whisked away to who knows where. But, this is the beauty of connectedness, relationship, ties. Nicolas is one of the kindest people I know, and his roommate Ray, while I’ve never met in person, seems to be just as kind. And it is this kindness that has created the space for me to have a nice dinner with Mr. Santos, who has now, in my estimation, become a friend, my first friend in Angola. Oh I can feel the eyes of the skeptics out there, and I don’t blame you, it’s why I love you (Pops, L, Ramona…). But I will tell you that you will have to build up a tolerance for my taking calculated risks, because this is what it’s all going to be about here. And, I want to continue to share these experiences with you, so I am asking you to stay open, ask questions, be gentle with your fears. Good night!! xxxCelina

p.s. Here is my first attempt at posting images…apparently unsuccessful…will try again tomorrow if anyone has suggestions!!!!
the-little-tv.pdf

Okay, now I’m starving and it’s not funny. I HAVE to eat something. I was excited when I woke up this morning, my first day of work. I was ready to go after a brief meditation, breathing exercise (thanks Joan!) and a solid headstand. That’s how I know how the day will go – was the headstand good? I drank the last of my water and dressed in what I arrived in (hope the bag comes today…). I waited downstairs and was happy to see the familiar face of Nestor (I realize now it’s not his name but I’m afraid it’s going to stick). I have to learn this language! I feel like a mute girl (and how some of you wish I was!). At the UN office, I was met by Isabelle, the woman who has been helping me get organized here. She introduces me to a whole lot of people, but of course I can’t remember a single name, except for the woman, Annabelle, who can make the photocopies for me (oh she’ll be busy! J). She shows me to my office – and it’s the first surprise of the day – it’s huge. It’s the corner office and it’s larger than any office I’ve ever had before. Granted, I’ve got lovely views of a crumbling hillside and a shanty area with more abandoned cars (or are they?) than people, but it suits me. I like it and will settle in just fine. It’s interesting how, when you don’t have the usual comforts that one takes for granted, what comforts you do manage to get you want to hold on for dear life. (Maybe this is how corruption works in these parts of the world where most have very little…) No internet just yet, but that will come. Ahh, and the honking cars and unidentified machine noise – all part of the deal. I’m glad to be here. Interestingly, there are no metal detectors at security (I would think that people carry guns here), but everyone seems casual. And, luckily, I don’t feel as unsafe as I thought I would. I’m more of a curiosity than anything else. The guess is that I’m from Latin America somewhere (does LA qualify?), but I politely give the I was born here but grew up there answer.

I am so depleted that I can’t even muster up enough energy for skepticism. I just take what I hear to be the truth. No thinking here. Just get me some bread! Isabelle tells me that there is no room in the nicer hotels and that they’re really expensive (~$300/night). For now, I’m not too fussed but I can imagine myself being fussed real soon.

It didn’t take long for the feng shui obsession to kick in - I went right into redecorating mode. I quickly discovered that I have an “ocean view”!!! now, it’s a sliver, but if this were a Manhattan apartment, (and it’s certainly bigger than my apartment in Manhattan was!) this would be a 15% markup at least! I promptly rearranged the desk so I could take advantage of said view.

Gabriella, an NPO (which I deduced is a National Program Officer) came in to meet with me. She works on Gender and HIV/AIDS and is very helpful. With her, I felt like I could tell her – shit! I’m starving! So, she promptly brought me to a café round the corner where I shoved a ham and cheese omelet, roll, orange/mango juice and tea w/ milk down my throat. It was the best damn omelet I’ve ever had (or at least it tasted that way). (I can imagine if one’s perpetual state is hunger, and here in Angola, this is probably not that uncommon, one simply can’t think straight, be polite, or make good decisions.) Back at the office, I sat down to my desk and read through documents, distracted only by the groovy songs playing through my computer and the pictures I now have scrolling through on my desktop. (You people are all so lovely!)

By the way, after I tucked myself into bed last night, I put on my headlamp and pulled out the card with words from Verena, Leonie and Claire. And, I was gushing, just gushing. Most often we find our friends when we’re on the same paths. But, when your paths diverge for a while, it’s those who are still there cheering you on and waiting for you ‘round the corner, who are the truest and dearest of friends. Thank you girls!!! I love you! Then, I pulled out Mike’s series of cards and the tears just kept on coming. How lucky can one be to have such dear people?

[Warning: Here’s a professional digression – does most sex in the world happen because of love? Even when it’s not rape or abuse, it’s probably not love. Now, I know you all are saying – we have sex for love. But we’ve also had sex for other reasons. And it’s for these reasons that we’ve got to figure something out. Because if the love isn’t there, then the things that follow are so much more complicated. So, why do we treat these consequences – unwanted pregnancies, HIV transmission, poor prenatal care, STIs, etc. -as anomalies? Since we are assuming that sex is going to happen (and we know, it does) why aren’t we planning for these things to happen (to go poorly) as a matter of course? Then, if it’s in fact love, and the two people support and care for each other, then hallelujah!, we can use resources for others. But, let’s not be surprised, instead, let’s be prepared.]

We left the office and headed for the hyper-market. It’s amazing this place – supposedly was the best in town, and well, let’s just say I got fixins for salami and elemental sandwiches, some water, some fruits (wow - $5 for six pieces!), yogurt and some juice. It cost me the same was if I had bought it at Whole Foods @ Union Square! I couldn’t have done it without Gabriella’s help. And, here, every transaction is done in cash, so they had a bit of trouble with my credit card, but they did it in the end. I’ll have to work that one out, because it was just assumed that I would show up with oodles of dollars (Americana???) After a scrumptious salami sandwich dinner, I diligently went through 2 Portuguese lessons (I can now say – I understand a little Portuguese, madam.). And here I am, being social. Well, not really. But I am in the hotel lobby trying out their wireless internet to work so that I can send this to y’all, with about 5 mostly white men who look like they’re ready for a good time out. This girl is going to bed. Looking forward to trying the hotel breakfast in the morning. Kisses, C

p.s. I’m not able to get on the internet here. Ahhh, the joys of connectivity (or lack thereof…) you’ll get this manaña…a demain…

So, it’s Sunday evening in my room 228 at the Grande Hotel Universo, Luanda, Angola, Africa. An early 20:16, as my trusty iBook tells me. It’s been a long four days since I left the States. I’m calm, still a bit weary, a bit hungry, but ready for tomorrow. And I feel a world away, although it’s mind-blowing how technology fools you into thinking you’re just around the corner or a cab ride away. It’s been a whirlwind since the day I got the email offer for the post. I believe that absurd is the word I used when (Uptown) Jeff first alerted me to their intention to send me to Angola. And yet, here I am. There’s something amazing about that, I think. How often I have said to anyone taking time off before starting something new, that this is the best sort of break. I promptly left my job (thanks to the “encouragement” of my boss) and began what I’m now calling the chilling out months. And now, I was somehow that Anyone, having the best sort of break I could imagine. Now, this would be a good time to tell you all that these emails will most likely be my means of keeping a journal, so if you choose to read on, you’ll have to forgive the switching from descriptive to analytical, from mundane to fantastical, from seeing to feeling. And since, I haven’t written anything, really, during the C.O.M. (oh forget it, that acronym just won’t work), you’ll have to forgive this too; this is going to be a long one, so sink into your favorite chair and have a read. You’ve now been warned.

California…knows how to party

The excitement of spending 2 weeks in California put me into my usual planning frenzy, booking dinners, visits, hikes, camping and climbing and squeezing in some In-n-Out burger pit-stops. But soon after I landed in SF, I came down with various stress-related ailments that forced a rewrite of the CA script pronto. So, no Yosemite (ouch), no Josh (big ouch) and no climbing anywhere (dammit!). Instead, it was eating, lounging, walking along the beach, and hanging out with my favorite family and friends. Now, that should probably have been the agenda from the beginning, so in a way, I was thankful for the dreaded shingles to break me out of my habit. I love California. There’s just something about it…like when I’m there, I know exactly what’s important and what isn’t. Maybe that’s what home does for us. It was so important to me that everyone was so supportive of this little adventure of mine. Pops even hooked me up with various gadgets, which have already come in handy (like a wind-up radio – how cool!). Thank you! So, the send-off was complete with a photo finish delivery to the airport by the sisters – true Gorre style (by the way, if anyone needs a typhoid vaccine, I left one in LA – anyone? anyone?).

I did it my way…

It was sort of strange coming back to NY, not knowing exactly when I would be leaving, but soon I settled into a routine that didn’t demand any deadlines, timelines, or a schedule, for that matter. Most important on the daily calendar was time at the Chelsea Piers gym. I’ve been known to spend hours there each day, doing yoga, playing sand volleyball, climbing, eating sushi, hot tubbing, or my favorite, reading out on the deck. Now, if you’ve never been, I may sound pathetic, but if you have, you must defend my honor! J Somehow, my coming to Africa justified this time as “getting strong and well-rested.” And, I’m happy to report that it worked! The less exciting details of life – medical procedures, packing, buying q-tips, finding a new sublettee, managed to get done too, thanks to lots of help from the usual suspects. But the real priorities were time with friends and the things that I’ve always wanted to do, but hadn’t managed until now. That’s another thing that coming to Africa is good for – you feel like you’re never coming back (even though, as I was often reminded – “Celina, it’s only a year!”). (Did anyone see Grease where the guy convinces the girl to do it, because they may die tomorrow? OK, not exactly like that but you get my drift). Nevertheless, I was happy to take the prompt and venture out – finally going rock climbing in the Gunks (thanks Ed!), trapezing next to the Hudson River (thanks Mike!), and playing real sand volleyball on the beach (yes I lived in CA and no I never played there). But, the best thing about the last 2 months was all the love and support and hugs, words of wisdom and tears and laughter, and good food, long car rides and chats that filled them. I have never had so much fun being unemployed in my life! And, as much as I’m going to miss everyone, I feel especially ready to be here because all of you are with me in those wonderful memories.

Almost lost in transition

So, my days in NY came careening at me, probably like the ground does when you’re sky diving (right, Mena?). And, as much as I tried to soften the blow, not cramming the schedule towards the end (while my friends suddenly realized – oh my god, she’s really leaving!), it was a hard landing – packing until the moment the car service came at 5:30am. I made the guy wait while I took my last NY shower to get the humid, dusty, packing grime off of me for the journey ahead. (I had spent the afternoon humping (climber talk for schlepping) about 15 loads of things down from my apartment on the 5^th floor). The 1^st thing the driver said to me was “I’ll have to charge you a $15 waiting fee, after 15 minutes.” I looked at the car’s clock, which said 5:46am. Are you kidding me? $15 for ONE extra minute? I pleaded a little bit and he is insistent, so he is then subjected to the rare Celina all-nighter, tired and emotional tantrum…I’m moving to Africa for one year to work on the AIDS problem and this is all I’m taking with me. I live on the fifth floor with no elevator and I brought all my heavy bags down and you’re going to charge me $15? I couldn’t believe it came out of me like a broken pipe –fast and furious. Whatever. I get to the airport and we part ways. Fast forward to my mini London holiday. John and I took the car back to his place where his girlfriend Cristina had made us a wonderful dinner. (Thank you John and Cris!) What a perfect way to spend an evening – chatting, sipping champagne, and listening to the wonderful CD that Ahrin (thank you!) made me of Portuguese/Angolan music, complete with the Angolan national anthem! I slept so well! Friday morning, I woke up to news of a plane crash in Angola – well-timed, I must say L…I will say now, I will do everything in my power to avoid this airline!! The rest of the afternoon went without incident. I met Claire, Rod and Claire’s dad at the airport, as they were arriving from LA (crazy coincidence). It was great to see one last friendly face before the final leg. And, Claire filled out the card that the other 2 girls of the 4-headed monster had written. (I was meant to open it when I arrived, but haven’t yet. I will do tonight just before I sleep). I made my way to the lounge and signed up for a massage at the spa – something I was so looking forward to. I quickly sat down to a computer to bust out some final emails and when I looked at the clock it was close to massage time. But, when I glanced at the TV screens with departure times, my flight was almost closing!!! WHAT? The computer clock was 1 hour off! Damn!!! I promptly sprinted through Heathrow, grateful that I hadn’t worn the original choice of the cute, high-heeled turquoise printed espadrilles… but I digress… as I barreled for the counter, they called Ms. Gorre? in that polite British accent. I had made it – yippee! – only to sit on the tarmac for an hour for various airplane heres and theres. I took advantage of the dinner and the movie (Music and Lyrics is the perfect airplane movie) before I laid out on the flat bed. Now, the next part, I knew, would be a bit dicey since I only had a 3-hour window to catch the flight from Jo’burg to Luanda, and we had been delayed for 1 hour at Heathrow. So, when we landed, I became annoying lady with the luggage cart. I got 3 of the 4 bags off the belt, and grew impatient for the last bag- the bag with my clothes in it. So, I went to the counter and, sure enough, the bag was last seen at 9:11pm at Heathrow – a full 2 hours after my flight had left. No time now for tantrum, so I collected the information and scurried off to the South African Airways counter. Now, there’s one clear way to know that I’ve got 3^rd world blood coursing through me. As rushed as I was, there was something comforting about the madness of the airport – the mobs instead of lines, the passengers kicking along their cardboard boxes, the wailing children contorted in every direction in their mother’s arms. Checking in was a breeze, because, luckily, this was going to be a flight in 1^st class (just happened that way). After another mini-panic at the backed up immigration counters (these guys were apparently on strike), I found my way to the boarding gate for Luanda. And, here, I quickly kicked into sociologist mode – wow – I thought, so this is who goes to Luanda. Firstly, it was about 95% men, some Chinese, some black, some Filipinos (yup), and mostly white. Behind me, I was entertained by the rough-skinned Crocodile Dundee character, who talked about his good times in Asia, eating, drinking, and the women, and how when his doctor said he had some bad news, his reaction was oh god it’s not AIDS is it? (it wasn’t). Secondly, there are quite a few rich people in Angola. The plane was a huge 747 full to the max, which flies daily from Jo’burg. Incidently, I was in seat 1A – first time in my life!

Touching down in Luanda

After circling over Luanda (maybe for the benefit of my virgin eyes) a few times, we finally land and eventually disembark onto the tarmac on into awaiting buses (I love arriving like this). The first thing I notice is the strangely familiar scent – it’s so distinctly developing country that for a split second I thought I had landed in Cebu! – that scent of musky, damp, richness. It was comforting. The second thing was that it was pleasant! A perfect 75°F and not humid! I could get used to this! We hurriedly filed into the immigration area where we collected our Yellow Fever verification from the Health Officer and then got into 3 lines – nationals, non-nationals, and diplomats. Oh my god – that’s me! I got into the line and behind me comes a gentleman who asked “are you carrying an LP?” I said, yes, and saw the surprise in his eyes. Did I look too young? Too naïve? It turns out, he’s got one too and works for another agency. vWe have a pleasant chat and he offers to be helpful if the driver doesn’t show up. I proceed to retrieve my bags with the driver, Nestor (?), who IS there (thank goodness) and we load into the white Landcruiser (after he makes a pit stop at the Duty Free for a bottle o’somethin’). Now for those of you who know me well, you know that I’ve wanted to work for the UN since I was 13. So, to load into a white UN Landcruiser, was a mini dream come true and I had a chuckle at myself as I strapped in. And, since I’m still not comfortable with Portuguese, there was a lot of pointing and nodding with Nestor during the 10-minute ride to the hotel. It’s incredible to me how poor countries have the same feel – lots of people spilling onto the streets, lots of dust, run-down buildings, chaotic traffic, armed guards scattered at storefronts, some carefree smiles, lots of inquisitive eyes. In an instant, I got it – why it makes sense for me to be here. There’s no difference to me whether I’m helping a Filipino child or an Angolan, because I care about them equally. Others might not feel the same way, but maybe I’m here because it’s my way to living this value, of shoring it up with good data, good experience. When I caught the eye of a child, I smiled wide, hoping that they would smile back, recognizing in me what I saw in them – a sameness, a link, a need to help one another. We arrive at the hotel and hump the bags (one last time) up to my room to drop them off. It’s as adequate as one needs – a single bed, a desk, an armoire, and fully-functioning bathroom and a little balcony. All fine. But I’m looking for another place the moment I get a chance! We race back into the car so Nestor can bring me to Emmanuela’s – she’s the UN Volunteer working with my team. We ride along the ocean front towards her place – and I scope out potential beach volleyball locations, but notice the scarcity of people out on such a beautiful day. Emmanuela is a BIG help and answers logistics questions that come at her like bullets from a semi-automatic. She stops me and says – your priority is to find a place to live; the other things will fall into place afterwards. She’s right. Her cute, secure, guarded place in the Italian compound gives me hope (the only thing is, she can live there because she’s Italian). But, not only am I not Italian, there is no American or Filipino compound. After I have exhausted her – she tells me that’s she is with malaria – she and her friend Nuria drive me back to the hotel (with 3 oranges and some water disinfectant pills in hand), where she instructs me to basically stay put until they come for me on Monday morning at 8:30am. And this is exactly what I do. The rest of the afternoon, I do strange things. Things I’ve not done in a long time. I tidy up, put all my wares in order, and proceed to organize my pictures and desktop on the computer. Huh? The TV set is on to keep me company, and I begin to make the place feel like home. I lay out my yoga mat and meditation rug and a UCLA blanket from home. It was an intense craving of the familiar that must have brought this on, I think. I slept deeply until 10pm, woke up to the ongoing CNN coverage of the Glasgow incident and again fell asleep until the morning. Today has been spent doing more of the same – arranging, washing clothes (I hope that last bag makes it to me!), setting up my little altar, sorting through things, doing yoga, and getting my bearings. In these first days, I’m still getting used to not using the water from the tap for brushing teeth – made the mistake already…looks so perfectly normal!Oh, and I plugged in my speaker, put in the iPod and cranked it up (Christin, you were SO right!). Music is the most amazing balm – it soothes everything, makes it all okay. Now, I’ve been eating the oranges and my huge bag of trail mix all day. Just didn’t feel like going out. It’s one of those days where, if I was at home, I’d’ve been in my pajamas loafing, puttering, and lounging. But, tomorrow, I’ll be ready. So, here I am. Now, if you’ve made it this far, let me know and I’ll buy you a drink the next time we meet!

Big big kisses, good night and I’ll write again soon! xxxCelina