Island Visit

After nearly a year living on the shores of Lake Chad, I finally got to go see one of the islands. A recap: Margaretta is the Swedish missionary/linguist who speaks and teaches people to read and write Boudouma, the language of the island people. Her mission director from Sweden came with his sister to check on Margaretta’s work. She invited me to go to an island with them and that’s how I ended up spending 24 hours with 3 translucent skinned, icy blue-eyed Swedes.

We left Bol at 1:30 or so, in perfect weather. I of course had my trusty umbrella and with the sun thus blocked, I was quite cool. The boat was big. I couldn’t tell you how big because I’m awful at estimating feet and such, but I can tell you that is was big, wood, and had an outboard motor. Adoum, who is a Boudouma man who helps Margaretta with her work, came along. When he’s not working with Margaretta, he sells medicine – for headaches, stomachaches, malaria – on the islands sometimes putting the meds on his head to swim between islands. Other passengers included two wide eyed, high cheek boned young Boudouma women and their brand new babies. The women had thin little braids over their foreheads, with safety pins stuck in their hair. And of course, there were the requisite turban-sporting fellas.

The lake was…a lake…though it was refreshing to be out under the wide blue sky. During the first 2 hours, the boat chugged along through the mats of floating grasses that cover the lake. The grasses parted as the boat went through. Here and there were clumps of papyrus, which the Boudouma made boats out of before the invention of wood. Haha. No really, Adoum said the papyrus boats were much heavier than wooden ones and so, went slower. Speaking of heavy and slow, I didn’t actually see a hippo, but I did see some suspicious bubbles, which in my hippological opinion, I’m certain had to be coming from either one end or the other of a hippo. As we headed into hour number 3, we came into a large stand of papyrus, which with its thin stalk and puff ball head looks like an illustration from a Dr. Seuss book, though this papyrus was a sedate green instead of psychedelic pink or purple. Finally and suddenly, the “grand lac” opened up before us. Nothin’ but water and islands between us and Nigeria.

The islands are basically sand bars. Adoum said that Fitina (where we visited) appeared only 30 years ago. As the lake dries up, more and more islands appear. People estimated about 1500 people live on Fitina, but I saw only 3 mud houses. All other building were built out of the bamboo-like reeds that grown along the shore, which gave the place a temporary, camp-site like feel. There are very very few schools on the islands, so families must send their kids to Bol for school. But most Boudouma grow up to be fishermen like their innumerable fathers before them. There are zero health centers on the islands, but a whole lot of malaria and AIDS (spread by cross-lake travelers). The closest health centers are Bol (35 km from Fitina) and Maiduguiri, Nigeria (50 something km).

Margaretta has spent a good amount of time on the islands, including 2 weeks on Fitina. We stayed with the family she’s stayed with on previous visits. After drinking the standard Chadian “Bonne arrive!” sugar tea (the Swedes seemed shocked by the amount of sugar, just as I was shocked when they whipped out caviar in a tube for a snack on the boat), we headed off to see the village chief. Blahblahblah, we do the normal chitin chattin, surrounded by the normal throng of staring children. When we got up to go, I could only find one of my flip-flops. There was one other lone right flip-flop, but not my orange rubber, perfectly worn-in flips flop. Turns out, Fitina is the home of a crazy man who goes around stealing one flip flop per pair, which he then hides. Damn. Adoum went off to buy me another pair, but bought them Chadian style, meaning that about an inch of my heel hangs off the back.

Last night and this morning brought more surprises. Heat efficiency is not among the bragging points of reed houses. It was cold in there! Then this morning I was informed that the family had no latrine and was directed to the edge of the village for nature’s daily call. You think it’s hard to take care of business in a public bathroom stall? Try it in a grassy field (not even behind a bush!) with pre-teen boys playing soccer a stone’s throw away. Oh, dear.

The return trip was pretty much as return trips often are – the same scenery, but going the other way. However, after much anticipation, I finally saw the fabled swimming cows of Lake Tchad! They were swimming between islands with their enorm-o heads and horns tilted back. And yes, I got photos to prove it.

I asked Adoun the meaning of “Bol” and it turns out that it means “white”. The real pronunciation is something like”Beul” but the French guy who wrote it down on his notepad so long ago didn’t get it quite right. Anyway, the Boudouma called the place white because when the lake returns to Bol after the rains, having receded during dry season, it brings with it white sand. Now I don’t know that Bol’s sand is any whiter than any place else, in fact, it’s kind of dusty gray. But that’s the explanation that Adoum the genuine Boudouma gave me, so that’s the one I’m buying (plus, no one else has ever been able to even attempt an explanation).