Jean

Monday 26 August 2013

"Bonjour Madame."

"Bonjour Jean.  Ça va?"

"Oui Madame."

My mornings in Gabon often started in such a manner as I climbed into my Rav 4 to meet the ladies for our hour long morning walk.

Joe and I's alarm would ring just after 6 am sending Joe off to the shower.  I'd eventually crawl out of bed, making my way into the dining room where I'd part the white, linen curtains ever so slightly to make sure we had a daytime guard.  Jean was pretty reliable and most days I'd see him bent over top of an old paint bucket wearing his purple and white tie-dyed pants as he washed his work uniform.  Eventually, he'd hang it on the small line alongside the pool before stringing the hose out the gate to wash Joe's truck.

By the time I left the house two hours later, Jean's blue collared shirt would have dried and he'd be dressed for the days work.  Despite buying him a couple of plastic, white garden chairs, he'd flip over the paint bucket-turned wash basin and sit on it outside the door.

My morning walk consisted of a regular route with several other ladies and it usually took just over an hour.  I liked to keep the pace up and by the end, we'd be drenched partly due to exercise but mostly due to 35 degree heat with an insane amount of humidity.  We'd say our 'Au revoirs' and I'd drive back to my home, this time finding Jean sat across the street with the woman who ran a small cigarette/phone credit/convenience store stand.  He'd see me come around the corner, hop up and lumber back across the street to meet me.

Half the time, there'd be someone parked in Joe's spot.  This used to annoy me as one of the main responsibilities of our guard was to guard our parking.  We even devised a makeshift gate which could be closed when we departed just to curb those that would ignore the 'No Parking' sign on the wall but the guards would leave the gate open in case they weren't there when we pulled up leaving it vulnerable to other drivers.  No amount of reasoning resulted in any change so I gave up.

"C'est qui?" I'd ask, pointing at the vehicle beside me.

"Oh, le monsieur là.  J'ai dit que c'est privé mais il n'ecoute pas."
(Oh, the man there.  I told him that it's private but he doesn't listen.)

I'd nod and remind him that once 'le monsieur' left, to close up the ribbons.

Most days, Jean would have something to rant about.  He'd complain about the adjacent store's night guard who would leave his garbage in front of our entrance.  He'd demand that I march over and confront 'le chef' and explain that his guard was useless.  Sometimes he'd complain about the men urinating on the wall or the school children that always walked out in front of vehicles.  Most of time, he vent about our night guard, Diallo.  "He sleeps all night long when he's supposed to be working and he always leaves early before I arrive in the morning.  He's really messy and the WC is a disaster."  I'd nod, occasionally telling him I'd have a talk with Diallo before climbing the stairs to take a shower.

Jean was somewhere between his early and mid-fifties.  In Gabon, this was considered very old.  After all, life expectancy for a male sat somewhere around 57.  He has a wife who would occasionally visit.  Jean would bring out the plastic chair for her and he'd sit on the overturned bucket where they'd watch the downtown going-ons in silence.  In all the guards we had, Jean was the most reliable.  He worked his 12 hour shifts, 6 days a week and was usually on time.  Near the end of our stay in Gabon, he was taking more and more time to travel to the hospital for treatment on his bad knee.  I hated those days because it meant a replacement guard would come (or not) and replacement guards tended to be miserable souls who showed up several hours late, slept all day long and left several hours early.

But Jean, he was kind.  He acted like a house manager.  He directed the gardeners and mosquito sprayers.  He cleaned the pool and informed me when the chlorine block needed replacing and he tended to the banana trees letting me know when they were ready to be cut.  He filled me in on neighbourhood gossip and every afternoon, he'd meet me at my car to carry my groceries upstairs, each time, slipping off his worn shoes below despite me telling him that he could wear them inside.  When something was wrong, the buzzer would start ringing incessantly and I'd know, Jean was worked up about something.  I'd peek out the door and he'd beckon me down so that I could nod away as he ranted about this or that.  Despite being a mostly gentle man, he had a fiery side to him but often after the rant, he'd feel better and the crisis would subside.

Having a full time guard stationed at your house 24 hours a day was a concept so foreign and uncomfortable to me when we first moved to Gabon.  They knew when and where I went and who came to the house, how often I grocery shopped and what time I woke up in the morning.  In the beginning, I didn't like the transparency.  At one point in our second year in Gabon, I became quite ill and lay confined in the house for almost 2 weeks as I battled whatever tropical bug was fighting me.  Jean caught on pretty quickly as I didn't follow my normal routines and soon, every morning he was greeting Joe with, "Et Madame?"  Joe would reply in his broken French, "Pas bonne," and Jean would look down and shake his head.  When I finally did surface, I could see a look of relief in his eyes as he hopped up and assisted me.

In the end, it was comforting to have him there, watching over us and keeping an eye on everything.  As we prepared to depart Gabon for good, we gifted him a hat from Joe's parents' golf course and a healthy bonus in hopes to make things a bit easier for him for the next few months.  I knew when we said goodbye, we'd never hear from each other again but I think of him often.  I wonder how the new family treated him and how is sore knee is faring.  I hoped he still had his health and I hoped he continued to watch out for those school children as they made their way to school.


23 comments:

  1. Awww, I love this story. I hope Jean's doing well too, and that the new family is kind to him. Amongst all of the crime and violence that riddles parts of Africa, I find that there are so many kind Africans like Jean to make up for them. They almost become like family :)

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  2. It must be sooo difficult getting used to having somebody stationed outside, but it seems you developed an interesting relationship :) It's horrible just wandering how people are, if they're alright, never knowing for sure... but this is a really special tribute to him - and so beautifully written!

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  3. really nice, well-written post, jay. it can be so hard to meet people on your travels and time abroad, see them every day, and they become a big part of your life... then it's time to leave. being a nostalgic nomad is my curse, perhaps.

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    1. Thank you Cynthia. A nostalgic nomad - yes, I can relate well.

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  4. this is the sweetest post. I'm not sure why exactly, but the end brought a tear or two.

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  5. A really beautiful story! Thanks for sharing.

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  6. Lovely story. That would've been very difficult for me to get used to as well. Wishing Jean the best!

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  7. Your post resonated in so many ways - we have had people in and out of our lives that meant so much at the time and yet we have no contact with now. Our cook, steward, small boy, a multitude of drivers.... We think about them often and cherish the memories of our distant friends.

    NB one of the interesting things I learned in my time in Africa - dousing the walls with ammonia is a sure fire way to prevent people using it as a urinal!

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    1. Ammonia - I hadn't heard of that but I'll most definitely keep it in mind should we find ourselves with a similar problem down the road!

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  8. So lovely! In Saudi we had "house-boys" and it was a similar relationship as you describe. I often think of those people and wonder where they are... it's a funny relationship as they are such a part of your life for so many years and then as we move on, it's just gone all of a sudden. Totally brought me back to my childhood and all those people I saw on a daily basis that I've never heard from since.

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  9. So many aspects of your post rang true with me Jay. It makes such a big difference having a local person you can trust and help you navigate your way in a new country. We had a wonderful 'house steward' when we arrived, and he made such a difference. But I've got to say, I'm still not used to having people around the house. And the urinating on the walls....my goodness it blows my mind where people will urinate! Seemingly everywhere!

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    1. We had a lot of trouble in our first year with our guards (hence the 4 break and enters/robberies) so we were quite skeptical of Jean in the beginning but I think we appreciated him even more in the end having experienced all that we had.

      I read a post once from a blogger in India putting pictures of Gods on their walls in 'pee locations' which really curbed the problem. No one wants to urinate on a God's face - clever solution to a disgusting problem.

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  10. That was so interesting! Thanks for sharing/ you wrote it beautifully!

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  11. This is lovely Jay! I have a guard like that where I'm living now. It makes all the difference in the world having someone you can trust. And the invaluable local gossip as well :)

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  12. What a nice post Jay, beautifully written :)

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  13. So beautifully written Jay, I really love posts like this...about people, about relationships, about what makes like our life abroad so real. Especially like the line "I knew when we said goodbye, we'd never hear from each other again but I think of him often." That just rings so true to me with people I have met along the way in life. Keep writing like this! x

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  14. This almost made me cry. It's really the people we meet along the way that leave the biggest impression on our hearts. The beautiful buildings and the well-balanced wine that we find in our travels are wonderful moments, but the memories always seem to bring us back to the people.

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    1. You're right Lana - the people that we make relationships with definitely count for more!

      {And to be honest, there weren't beautiful buildings in Gabon anyways ;-) }

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  15. What, you had to have a day guard? That is quite scary. But Jean seemed like a very nice guy, somewhat dimwitted - because he didn't close up the parking space, but nice. I love the way you wrote this Jay.

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  16. This is well-written and very touching. There are so many people we encounter for only a short time in our lives, but many of them stick with us through a specific familiarity or some other memory trigger- what a lovely example in your story of Jean.

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  17. What a beautiful post and blog! Thanks for stopping by my blog, it's been pleasure reading your posts!

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  18. Jean reminds me of the guards we had in Rwanda. Kindly older men (usually) whose lives would always brush past our own. Part of it, yet wholly separate at the same time. It was safe enough in Kigali that you didn't really need a guard, though protocol dictated it was necessary. There isn't a week that goes by when I don't stop to wonder how those men are. A lovely piece Jay, thanks.

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