The Man in the Baby Blue Suit

One benefit of working with this particular organization is that, when justified by agency budget, you can take advantage of the squadron of blue-suited drivers in white jeeps in various stages of decay. Certain agencies have brand-new vehicles, others you can hear approaching from miles away. The state of these jeeps accurately reflects the financial or organizational state of each agency. Luckily, ours seems to be surviving well enough, and I was paired with Aliu, by far the most animated and well-connected driver of all. “Of course he knows everyone, he is a spy!” says my boss. Well if he is, he is a very nice spy, a very goofy looking, lanky African James Bond with personality as his only weapon.

Aliu is the man. Everywhere he goes, he shouts commentary to each person on the street, slapping shoulders, shaking hands, giving the thumb’s up, the wave, and a multitude of other gestures unique to his person that I can’t begin to explain. He also speaks so quickly that each comment comes out in a rapid jumble and by the time you have deciphered all that he has said, he has already moved on to the next topic. Aliu could easily be a radio personality. He has an opinion on everything, and likes to postulate about Guinean culture, politics, marriage habits (more on that later) and any other topic that emerges during the course of a trip to the bank or the Ministry of Such-and-Such. I benefited immensely from Aliu’s personality cult and his insights. Everywhere we went, he cut the line and no one complained. In the span of a couple hours, he had purchased me a cell phone, opened a bank account, submitted an application for foreign residency, among other errands. This would be an efficient run even in DC, but in Bissau, it was something akin to a miracle. In the cell phone store, for example, the line went out the door and there were people there who looked like they had been waiting their entire adult lives. Did I feel guilty for cutting the line? Well, of course, but there is no stopping Aliu. He is determined to do his job to the fullest, with the maximum enthusiasm possible, in the shortest span of time imaginable.

After I recuperated from my sickness, he confessed how upset he was that the nurse wouldn’t let him visit me in the infirmary. “ Just because YOU happened to choose ME as your INTIMATE friend, well then why can’t I visit you? People die in hospitals all the time, not just from their sickness, but from their MINDS because they don’t have people around them!” I assured him that the nurses had taken good care of me and within seconds, we had moved on to another topic. “Africa!” he said, “Ah, Africa. Africa can’t move forward until we change our ways. See this list I have here? This list is a list of things I must do for my family. My brother died, I have to care for his family. People say it is my right to take his wife but I said ‘no!’ I will never do that.” With the list from his family in one hand, and the list from the UN in the other, Aliu was constantly in motion.

On this particular day, we were taking care of technical reviews. Somehow I have mustered the strength to race behind Aliu like a very bedraggled, sweaty and sickly terrier, running in circles around the city. Stepping inside the narrow halls of the old building of the offices of the Ministry of Defense is like walking into someone’s shoe that has been sitting in the sun for 20 years. Why someone would decide to put down carpet in a tropical country I do not know. It must have looked very distinguished years ago. But now, like all infrastructure in poor Bissau, it stinks. Literally. Yet somehow, some way, people still work in these conditions, dressed in camouflage gear from head to toe, with black lace-up boots and black berets. The officer that led us up the stairs was so old and thin his uniform was nearly hanging off of him.

The Guinean military is an aging population, most being veterans from the war of independence against Portugal and still possessing a high rank in the hierarchy. According to a UN census, of nearly 4,500 members registered, more than 3,000 are officers, 1,800 of them holding the rank of major or above. Of the 4,500, only six are younger than 20, and there are hundreds older than 60. In addition, the military deals with a reality of no air-conditioning, no lights, no computers, no screens in the windows, and often no pay. Without a little greasing of the wheels, they probably wouldn’t survive. And neither would the government. And they don’t sweat. Me, on the other hand…well, I’m starting to smell like an old sock myself.

In general, the “fichas” (forms) were not ready: the person happens to be out for a 3 hour lunch, or traveled to Bafatá, or is having a meeting with a Minister of Something, or has decided to engage me in conversation long enough to distract me from my purpose. Aliu was in a great hurry to get back to take the Mine Commission people out to the fields to look at unexploded ordinance. I was also in a great hurry to get all the reviews in before 5 pm before the meeting. In our last visit, at the Association of Business Promotion, the man started to talk about how he had traveled to the United States. “Where?” “Virginia? Oh really, where in Virginia?” He surveyed the ceiling as if the answer was written there. “I don’t know…O.K, name me all the cities in Virginia and then I will try to remember..” By the time I reached “Richmond” Aliu was giving me such a pained look that I diverted the conversation back to its purpose. “Oh, the form?” he said casually, laughing and adjusting his watch, “Oh, but I haven’t looked at it. Don’t worry, I could perhaps get it to you by Monday”. By the time the words left his mouth Aliu was already flying down the stairs in his little blue suit.