segues

The Chadian French does not use segues. It took me two weeks to realize that. For awhile I thought my French comprehension was so poor I must have been missing some important transition language. But it’s true, the Chadian’s don’t use segues. At times they jump from one conversation to another and back again so fast, if you blink, you’d miss it.
Fitting then, that I jumped from snow to sand, from English to French, from wealth and development to poverty and trash, from single life to family living. No segues for me either. No nice time of transition, just a huge jump from one side of the ocean to the other. Something like the philosophy of sink or swim. I hope I’m swimming.
I walk out the door in the morning and remember to tie my piece of Chadian cloth, or sometimes a whole pannier (yard of fabric that you can wear as a wrap skirt), around my head before stepping into the heat of the Sahel. Pants are taboo and sunglasses a must. As I walk down the street I avoid both the puddles of sewage and plastic garbage bags and the drunk Chadian men who would like to take me home. I love to stare into the faces of the smiling children screaming “narsara, nasara” (white person) and smile sadly at their tired mothers. There is beauty here amongst the mess.
And it has been an adjustment. I’ve puked once and struggled many times while relearning my French vocab and grammar. My first class was almost a failure, but my second an all-round success. I’m learning to get to know my parent’s guards and their male Chadian friends. I’m missing female companions and am thankful I can bring some of the sisterhood I so enjoyed this fall into my sister’s life once more.

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