Locked in My House and Other Boring Stuff

This was written over a month ago but I was unable to upload due to computer problems in Labe.


Most people get locked out of their house but I do not accept the status quo. Last Saturday morning I woke with a jolt and hit the ground running to the outside latrine. However, the front door gave me quite a challenge as I turned my key to unlock it and it just kept turning. Part of the lock broke off and the door remained ½ locked and ½ unlocked. I quickly grabbed the biggest knife I had and stuck it in the door and jimmied it around. After a few unsuccessful tried I saw no quick resolution so I sprinted to the indoor toilet which was finally cemented down so water does not escape around the sides during the flushing process BUT requires a whole bucket of water to flush. Western toilets should be banned from this country but that is another topic for a different day.

Feeling a bit relieved but smacked upside the head by the toxic fumes wafting from my toilet, I searched the house for a flathead screwdriver to remove the lock. I scrounged through the “utility hall” tripping over a machete, hoe, broom, left over wood and nails from the last project and many other useless things. At last I gave a big sigh and thanked the Swiss for that so useful little knife they make. The Swiss quickly feel from my good graces when I realized they only have Philips type screws in that beautiful country. Trying not to panic I grabbed my other biggest knife (compliments of the volunteer before me) and started surgery. I know I was on my own as the one neighbor who speaks French is in Dakar and I sure don’t know how to say “I am locked in my house, get help” in Pular. My Pular dictionary was also rendered useless within minutes for this situation. After about 30 minutes of moaning, groaning and yelling at myself for not getting water the night before, the lock finally broke completely and I was released. Lesson learned, I sauntered off to the market to buy the most expensive lock I could find. It put me back about 4USD ( a lot of money here).

A little exhausted from performing the “surgery” and still lacking a flat head screwdriver, I decided to have someone put my new lock on for me. The woman I call “super nene” (mother in Pular) is the great-grandmother of my 8 year old friend in my compound. The super part does not relate to her friendly manner but rather her sheer ability to live for over 120 years in this developing nation of Guinea. As expected when the pounding of the lock started, ½ bent over she shuffled to my house screaming at me in Pular. I probably am not her favorite person in Lelouma and nowhere near the top of the list. She has become a bit senile in her old age and does not realize that I do not speak or understand Pular especially when it is being screamed at me. I realized her old fear emerged that I might be putting nails in walls. To calm her, I showed her the lock that was removed and that it was broken. Still unsatisfied, I resorted to presenting the guy who was putting in the lock. It was at this moment he was using a hammer to pound in a screw. I let a few doubts pass about his ability to properly install the lock and sent my focus back to the woman shooting me the death glare and responded “no nails” in my best Pular. She shuffled away, the man quickly finished pounding my lock in and I sprinted off to the market to enjoy another Saturday.