And really not much else.
(But it's a very nice capital, in any case.)
Music: Devastating though it is to the strugging artists who produce it, I confess myself thrilled at once again finding in Malabo the street stalls stacked high with pirated cds of excellent local artists. Such street cds, readily available through most of East Africa, had been sadly lacking through both Congos and Gabon. I made sure to pick up a mix album of coupé de caillé and can't wait to buy more souk.
Food (best eaten): It's always when you're hungriest that restaurants suddenly disappear, and after half an hour of desperate searching I flagged down a passing gent and begged him to tell us where the food was. The resulting experience, rice, meaty sauce and a side of plantains, taken in a tiny local jont up some back stairs behind an alley, takes the cake for best meal in Malabo.
A close second would be either of the two meals we took at the European-cuisine Pizza Place. Though we usually do try to patronize local places as opposed to expat hang-outs, and it takes a lot for me to happily go back to the same restaurant, Malabo has a culinary gem in this casual joint. Magnificent if a bit meat-heavy.
Worst Eaten: Considering the heavy Chinese population in the capital, we really were expecting more from the simple meal we had at the money-changing hole-in-the-wall we were thrilled to find. (No ATMs in Malabo, banks won't change either, and you get yourself into pickles.) The financial transaction was well worth a bad meal, but if if they were to ask my advice those ladies would eschew cuisine entirely and set themselves up in banking.
Fun Talents Mastered: It took me a couple days in the orderly Gabonese capital before my somewhat crazed mud-induced crossness wore off, and during said period of elevated orneriness I discovered the amazing ability to stop cars in the street with a single scathing look. Though I don't think it would work in a frenetic city, here in sleepy Malabo I have perfected the art.
That said, I would definitely hesitate to walk out scowling in front of any car manned by Kampala-ites or Djiboutians. It is an expression the undertaker might have to struggle with a little.
Conversational Topics I've Learned to Avoid: David's taught me pretty well to steer clear of religious issues here in the planet's most fervently religious continent, and I've generally managed to sidestep such potential hotspots in talking to strangers. When a Muslim merchant showed me a statuette carved from the tusk of a giant forest hog, however, I made the mistake of blurting out excitedly, "Oooh! I've eaten that!!"
He immediately launched into a diatribe on how he doesn't understand "us" Christians who can stand to eat pork as it was, after all, "our" prophet who first forbade the practice.
Normally I just wait quietly and respectfully for such spurts of religious zeal to work themselves out, before gently turning the conversation back to those topics less likely to cause a world war, such as how much does this cost, or that trusted conversational inanity, the weather. This merchant would have none of that, however, demanding my active participation in his lecutre by frequently checking for agreement and quizzing me lawyer-like on the particulars of Bible verses. I was ultimately driven to confess that I am not, in fact, Christian... which instantly made matters ten thousand times worse as he railed at me for rejecting God.
Oh, dear.
By the time he was done I indeed learned a few things about the Bible I had never known (did you know pigs secretly host demonic spirits?), and a few more I most certainly will not forget about which meals not to discuss with Muslims.
Favorite Billboard: This would have to be the frequent, large adverts we saw wishing our beloved el Presidente Feliz Cumpleanos!!.... two months in advance.
Mark your calendars, everyone.. June 6th is almost here!
New Words Learned: Equitorial Guinnea is the first country since Ethiopia where neither of us speak the principal national language. Ironically, it's the most common second language for Americans to learn, too - Spanish. Though many of the youth do speak French, and we occasionally found some English among people used to dealing with oilmen, we were admittedly reduced to wild sign language and saying things like "dos chambros" and "el bed-o?" to communicate with the cute old man who ran our hostel. Considering that we can make ourselves understood in six languages, including the three most prevalent in Africa, the experience is a little disconcerting.. and humbling.
The linguistic experience was definitely wholeheartedly enjoyable, though. Spanish has now bypassed Russian and Arabic as the language I'm most eager to learn, and for one ignoble reason: facility. In one two-hour impromptu Spanish lesson from the bored clerk outside el director's locked office door, I learned to conjugate ten verbs, introduce myself, and comfortably use six lines of questioning. This is more than I gathered in two months in Japan. And if I learned Spanish, just think of all the entertaining personalities that would open up to me: Trujillo, Strasser, Noriega, Pinochet, Franco... the list goes on!
Most Alarming Security Breach: I carry a small, inconspicuous weapon with me for those awkward times when we have to walk down dark streets. While it's hardly a threat to the truly frightening of the criminal world, it is illegal in Britain and a few other places, and *certainly* isn't allowed through the security of any airport worth its salt. Indeed, even having it in my checked luggage has gotten me flagged for special questioning and searching in several places.
Putting my backpack onto the conveyor belt at Malabo International Airport, I cursed myself as I saw a familiar metallic glint from the side pocket. Crap, I thought, I forgot to move it to my checked baggage. Well, that's that. I began to make small talk casually with the guards, hoping they wouldn't take my weapon-smuggling attempt seriously, and planning out how to order another one. But after looking suspiciously through all my cds and asking how much money I had (not very much), they waved me right on through. Weapon and all!
And guess what?? This airport has direct flights to both Paris AND Houston... awesome!
Other highlights include wandering around the merkado central (found a replacement handkerchief, an umbrella against the ferocious power of the sun, and a new pair of not-yet-ripped pants) and lounging on the benches outside the stately cathedral in the evening, watching colored lights play on the impressive dome fountain against the quiet, dark backdrop of a city with no power.
Most Regretted Pictures Not Taken: Though it was highly tempting, ultimately I was persuaded not to bust out my camera in front of the soldiers to catch the shot of the capital's cathedral spires, lit in the early evening light, framed by silhouettes of dark palms against a gently rosy setting sun. Blast, though, do I regret that picture.
Unforeseen Firsts: A former PCV ( you know who you are) happened to tell me some horror stories of fly-by-night-literally airlines in Africa the day before my flight from Libreville to island Malabo on that esteemed air carrier Aero-Contracters Nigeria. (Surely you've heard of them!)
Normally a veteran scorner of those silly how-to-click-your-seatbelt pre-flight safety announcements, for the first time in my life I found myself following along on the safety card for how to maximize my 0.01% chance of survival in the event of a water landing.
Luckily, my acquired knowledge was unneeded, and after safely landing back on the mainland in Douala, Cameroon, I promptly forgot it.
Could I live here? Considering I couldn't even get the papers to leave the city and thus only saw the capital, this is sort of a hard question to answer. If I had to say, though, I think I'd sooner try another place where my movements and photographic impulses wouldn't be quite so restricted.
It's kind of like a high-class insane asylum: if you don't try to leave or take pictures, Malabo is a pretty pleasant place to be.
It's kind of like a high-class insane asylum: if you don't try to leave or take pictures, Malabo is a pretty pleasant place to be.
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