Life is a Journey: Live it (Part 126)

The other autobiography
„Now I see history with different eyes,“ said Tobias Wittmann, astonished. „I can imagine your African friends and readers must hate you for your story. But when thinking deeper into the underlying issue… they, being honest with themselves, must admit you exposed the truth.“

„To judge people is always a difficult endeavour. People can either take a shortcut and ignore facts and what could have happened if...,“ was my answer cut short.

Susanne Fröhlich stepped in and said: “The if-game… your sister Heidi Jürgensen is good at it… to play and in the end by her own will give up again, so failure is inevitable. No one to blame for except the person themselves… for pursuing a dream and performing on words spoken.“

Charles Darwin Jr. agreed by saying, “Very true. We all know that currently in Ghana, the rains have caused flooding. The disaster is not only from nature but also man-made. The indiscipline of Ghanaians is part of it... a great part of it, actually. Politicians rush to the podium to declare their solution to the problem. The annual ritual repeats itself over and over again. History books will be written about failed policies by both major parties. The if-game in their mouths fills legendary books. We white know democracy is not made for Africa unless… we white want to keep Africa under control.“

Susanne Fröhlich intervened and said: “You should not think that negatively about Africans.“

All eyes were on her and Charles Darwin Jr who answered: “The truth is never comfortable. Never!“

To ease the tension mounting, I diverted the discussion back to the European continent, recalling personal history: “In my early twenties, while studying at Hamburg University and hating it as you all know...“

„Yes, we remember!“ said Tobias Wilder. „But you made it in the end… no if-game… victory instead!“

I looked at him and nodded before continuing: “With the International Builders located in Worms, I travelled to France for the entire summer holidays, three months in all. They sent me to a camp near Cambry for three weeks. My next camp was in Britanny but one week later. I decided not to travel back to Hamburg for that one week but take a train to my next assignment site in Saint-Étienne-en-Cogles, a very small town near Fougéres a regional capital. I arrived late afternoon and went to the site of the newly built Youth Club in the heart of the village. It was closed. With me, I had an information sheet with the camp address and the address of the local doctor who would be responsible for us volunteers while being on the site for six weeks. We were supposed to sleep on the naked floor in our sleeping bags brought with us from home.

The local doctor lived across the church in a closed alley with grey stone houses. I rang the doorbell, and a woman opened the door. With my best English, I introduced myself to her, she smiled and let me in. She showed me a room upstairs and asked me to stay for one week, waiting for my fellow volunteers to arrive to start the work. That knocking at the door led to a very close friendship that has lasted until today. I was the guest at the house of Dr Christian Rousseau and his lovely wife, Monique Rousseau. Their son, Yes Rousseau, and daughter, Gäelle Rousseau, were teenagers at the time we met. Right from the first moment we met, an unbreakable bond connected us. Over the dinner table, I thought of the many times the Germans and the French had fought each other, not only during the two World Wars. And there I was in the home of my French friends for life. It was not an encounter of strangers when we met, but it seemed we had known each other for years, all the while. There was an ease in the air which sometimes gets broken as they do not speak German, nor do I speak French. Their English is not advanced, typical for typical French people, but Christian Rousseau, as the local General Practitioner, is far more advanced in English compared to his wife. Monique is the one communicating with us, Alberta and me, most of the time, as Christian Rousseau is busy with his many activities. In the past, before retirement, as a doctor for two small farming communities, he was constantly asked to leave his office and see farmers on their farms for treatment and consultation. He had his practise in his house, and Monique was his wife and secretary. She received phone calls from patients and organised her husband's day.

Part of his job was that while sitting around the dinner table, an emergency call came in, and he had to go to look after a sick patient. His dinner often got cold and was kept warm in the oven or reheated in the microwave. His colleague lived in Saint-Brice-en-Cogles, and they took turns to be on stand-by for any possible emergency. After I left the village, they built a house in the newly developed area of Bellevue in Saint-Étienne-en-Cogles. Their house got the number one, of course. Opposite the house, the village had built a spacious parking area for patients, and the family home had the doctor's office attached to it. Patients came through a separate door into the consultation room, which had a door to access the family home. Monique kept strict discipline not to disturb her husband while he was working and organised his schedule in the kitchen, living room, or outside in the garden, carrying the mobile phone with her at any time.

Behind the family house, they had built a shed which hosted their eight cages for rabbits. They laughed at me when I tried to explain to them that he was a doctor and killing rabbits for a good meal. The garden provided vegetables all year round. In the cellar, Christian Rousseau stored French wine. His wife would often complain about his selection, wishing for more expensive and better French wine. Mostly red wine stood on the table each day; there was no main course without it. When we sit around the fireplace in the house, Christian Rousseau serves red wine as standard. Monique prepares snacks, and the evening is paradise in France. We chat until the wine makes us sleepy.

After one week of waiting for my fellow volunteers to arrive, Christian gave me his bike to ride around the countryside. I loved it as Brittany is flat, easy, and enjoyable for any bike rider. The Mont-Saint-Michel, the old medieval towns of Dinard and Saint-Malo, are not far from Saint-Étienne-en-Cogles. In Reins, Christian and Monique owned an apartment which their son Yes used to occupy. Before he got married, he lived in it alone. He is a photographer taking art photos. For Africans to know that the son of a medical doctor is a photographer is an absolute disgrace and a no-go. For whites, it is mostly important to know their children are happy with whatever they do, while with blacks, status counts more than personal happiness.

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