An unexpected night
For many years I have had an intrigue with this country, before it hit the headlines I read books and looked at pictures, it has always been mysterious to me, exciting and adventure filled. I used to have a picture of the President above my desk at university from an article written about him. Just a few weeks ago I said to someone what an ambition of mine it is to meet him one day, not that I ever expect to do so. And so it was that I returned from the capital to my home city not expecting to find an invitation from the Governor inviting me to dinner at his house. When I use the word house I mean more palace, with traditional metre thick walls and high ceilings and yet panelled in plastic wood that gives it a Swiss chalet feel. So I called a friend and we went to dinner together certainly not expecting what we got. The roads were blocked off within a kilometre of the Governor’s house and we had to flash our invitations and vehicle passes four times on a hundred five hundred metre stretch, approaching the gate to the Governor’s road we met two diagonally parked Humvees and the weight of arms of the soldiers increased; from scraggy nationals with old arms, to modern heavy weaponry slung on built up shoulders of well trained nationals and supported by like foreigners. Upon entering the compound we were thoroughly searched – I began to wonder if I was going to get what I had not expected as I spoke to the woman searching me. I wrongly assumed that she work here and asked her where in the city she lived, to which she replied that she was not from here, so I asked how long she had been here to which she replied that she arrived that day and would leave the next. And I began to wonder if she was part of the President’s female security contingent. Having had phones and cameras confiscated we were all escorted to the house and seated on big uncomfortable arm chairs. Then the whispers began: ‘he’s arrived’, ‘he was meant to be here this morning but bad weather meant he didn’t travel’, ‘don’t worry he will definitely be here tonight and he will reschedule meetings for tomorrow’. Glad to hear even the President has the same trouble with the weather messing up his travel plans.
Bit by bit one or two more heavily armed national staff came in, obviously making up part of the President’s Close Protection Unit of which we have heard so much for so many years. Then as the door to the end of our room opened to the room with all the Tribal Elders in, there among them shaking hands was the President himself, unexpected and real. A small man rushed into our room and said “The President is coming” as if we all knew what to do, which we did, we all stood. He came in – slim, tall but slightly hunched in the shoulders, wearing charcoal grey traditional clothes and a modern jacket, his trademark traditional hat in his hand revealing a completely hairless, shiny, even head. There were few of us and he shook our hands one by one asking where we were from.
Having covered the room he then made his apologies, saying he would return but needed a moment longer with the Tribal Elders. We were giddy, most of us with silly grins on our faces, me for one. Not long later he returned to us all standing and he sat in one of the uncomfortable armchairs, commenting that in his office he did not have chairs like this because they took up too much room and you could not fit too many people on them. Some of us were standing and he chastised his older brother and Chief of Staff that were they not nationals of this country and should they not therefore give up their seats to the visitors, they shuffled up but kept their seats. The room went quiet and a little awkward and he started, recognising the slight awkwardness that he brought with his presence, “What shall I ask you?” he began, “How do you find it here?”, no one knew how to answer as it was directed at the whole room, so he ventured at the military contingent and asked them the same question. They stiffly and formally replied from their standing position, and he told them that in t/his country we do not use chairs and so to take a place on the floor next to his chair, and so they did. Then he went around the room asking for a quick introduction, me and my friend were second and third so he was still attentive and we had our direct introduction. Then he told some stories one about the difficulty of learning the local language and how his mother, not a native speaker of this tongue lived amongst this tribe for 30 years and still did not learn the language but taught those around her to speak hers! His older brother agreed this story. Then he recounted when he had taken a prisoner from the occupying force and wanted to register him formally with the humanitarian services as a prisoner of war. Ten years later, now President he was in the West and met a smartly dressed man who introduced himself as said prisoner of war, who thanked him for his magnanimous actions in the time of war and said that he had defected away from his regime after the war and resettled to a new life of new ideas.
As the host ushered us towards the meal the President insisted that us ladies went first and before him through the door. First in means you go to the bottom of the table but once in the room he stopped us and had us sit in the middle of the table just down from the leaders and his big brother. We ate a delicious traditional meal in a room of high ceilings with a renowned tribal leader on each wall. Hanging opposite the President, pointed out by his older brother, was their father, Tribal Leader and remembered hero, assassinated in the neighbouring country. The President took a tour of the room having eaten and strategically fitted it into his goodbye rounds, as he walked behind us we stood and he thanked us for coming and was swept out in a flurry of arms and Close Protection. The whole thing was so unexpected that I hardly believe it happened, there was no time to think on it before it was already happening and then so soon over and we were left to wonder at what just happened. Be careful what you pray for.
Bit by bit one or two more heavily armed national staff came in, obviously making up part of the President’s Close Protection Unit of which we have heard so much for so many years. Then as the door to the end of our room opened to the room with all the Tribal Elders in, there among them shaking hands was the President himself, unexpected and real. A small man rushed into our room and said “The President is coming” as if we all knew what to do, which we did, we all stood. He came in – slim, tall but slightly hunched in the shoulders, wearing charcoal grey traditional clothes and a modern jacket, his trademark traditional hat in his hand revealing a completely hairless, shiny, even head. There were few of us and he shook our hands one by one asking where we were from.
Having covered the room he then made his apologies, saying he would return but needed a moment longer with the Tribal Elders. We were giddy, most of us with silly grins on our faces, me for one. Not long later he returned to us all standing and he sat in one of the uncomfortable armchairs, commenting that in his office he did not have chairs like this because they took up too much room and you could not fit too many people on them. Some of us were standing and he chastised his older brother and Chief of Staff that were they not nationals of this country and should they not therefore give up their seats to the visitors, they shuffled up but kept their seats. The room went quiet and a little awkward and he started, recognising the slight awkwardness that he brought with his presence, “What shall I ask you?” he began, “How do you find it here?”, no one knew how to answer as it was directed at the whole room, so he ventured at the military contingent and asked them the same question. They stiffly and formally replied from their standing position, and he told them that in t/his country we do not use chairs and so to take a place on the floor next to his chair, and so they did. Then he went around the room asking for a quick introduction, me and my friend were second and third so he was still attentive and we had our direct introduction. Then he told some stories one about the difficulty of learning the local language and how his mother, not a native speaker of this tongue lived amongst this tribe for 30 years and still did not learn the language but taught those around her to speak hers! His older brother agreed this story. Then he recounted when he had taken a prisoner from the occupying force and wanted to register him formally with the humanitarian services as a prisoner of war. Ten years later, now President he was in the West and met a smartly dressed man who introduced himself as said prisoner of war, who thanked him for his magnanimous actions in the time of war and said that he had defected away from his regime after the war and resettled to a new life of new ideas.
As the host ushered us towards the meal the President insisted that us ladies went first and before him through the door. First in means you go to the bottom of the table but once in the room he stopped us and had us sit in the middle of the table just down from the leaders and his big brother. We ate a delicious traditional meal in a room of high ceilings with a renowned tribal leader on each wall. Hanging opposite the President, pointed out by his older brother, was their father, Tribal Leader and remembered hero, assassinated in the neighbouring country. The President took a tour of the room having eaten and strategically fitted it into his goodbye rounds, as he walked behind us we stood and he thanked us for coming and was swept out in a flurry of arms and Close Protection. The whole thing was so unexpected that I hardly believe it happened, there was no time to think on it before it was already happening and then so soon over and we were left to wonder at what just happened. Be careful what you pray for.
posted by Kate Bowen at 8:34 am
2 Comments:
too cool. how fun is that kind of stuff. touching history...seems way cooler in another country than ones own. at least for me. love the blog.
Thanks Mr. Herod, not least for the fact that you seem to be the only one who reads this, or perhaps the only one who knows how to register to comment! Hope you are well stateside.
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