Never been too good a time Keeper

Well actually I'm not particularly deficient in that area. Having realised that I'm either always far too early for things or 5 minutes late, I generally tend to opt for the former option. This état d'ésprit is not one that is held particularly dear in these parts. So it seems. I have already been well warned that things generally don't start on time here, so taking this into account I turned up to the meeting a good half hour late. It was a ceremony to mark the handing over to the President of the Republic (Laurent Gbagbo) of the Commission Nationale des Droits de l'Homme en Côte d'Ivoire (CNDCI) of their first official report on the situation of human rights in Côte d'Ivoire. Of course, the President did not come in person (as I naively imagined) but sent some minion from one ministry or another. But before we even got that far, let me mention that I sat for an entire hour and a half waiting for proceedings to commence. I was ushered into a fabulously outdated conference room, having been greeted by a fanfare and shaken hands with about 10 men whose identity remains a mystery. And vice versa - I didn't think it was appropriate to divulge my lowly status at that point, nor could I bring myself to try and pass myself off as an official representative of the Delegation. Which I suppose I was de facto. I found my seat (well I was shown my seat beside the representative of the UN in Côte d'Ivoire) with a voice inside my head screaming "fraud" "impostor". An hour and a half in my electric orange cinema seat, admiring the Buck Rogers-esque light fittings, and many false starts initiated by the fanfare outside, who incidentally, were in competition with 'atmospheric' music inside the conference room varying from prog rock to sleazy jazz saxophone medleys of 'when I fall in love' and the Lion King song. It was a grand affair, with about 50 members of the Commission, some in tribal attire, most in suits. It's still a mystery to me how people don't die of heat stroke on those things! For my part, I was holding on for dear life in this molten air conditioning-free environment. One of the men was wearing this impressive toga arrangement that was bedazzled with glittery jewels and an 80s-esque knotted headband. Any man comfortable enough with his virility to wear glitter deserves respect, I say. Other observations included the man in front of me and his phone, which featured a screen saver depicting Jesus Christ. I noted that this was the traditional western depiction of Jesus in all his Aryan glory, which was rather interesting. Finally, my musings were interrupted by the MC who proceeded to introduce, by name and function, each and every one of the Commissioners. Did I mention there were about 50? I soon realised that I had made a fatal error in judgement in not taking heed of the word 'ceremony' on the invitation. For what followed was the most bizarre concoction of serious subject matter with the sublime and preposterous. Having said about 2 words about the CNDCI and the report (well 2 words in a round about manner that amounted to 10 minutes speaking time), the MC introduced a performer who emerged from the back of the auditorium, decked out in a leopard print tunic and Nigerian pimp shoes - the very pointy kind. He's called Bomou Mamadou and is a self-appointed 'maitre de la parole', who basically speaks poetry in a scary Joey Starr voice. http://www.bomou.com/bomou.htm I believe these types of poetry 'slam' as they are called, are very popular with young people in France. Personally, the very concept makes me shudder with cringe and induces waves of childish giggles from the very pit of my stomach. So the angry words just kept falling out of his mouth, accompanied by an eerie musical baseline, and he told us his thoughts. Yes, he certainly did. And there were many thoughts. On many subjects. The audience seemed to like it and at one point I felt like I was trapped in an evangelical service with an overly enthusiastic preacher, with the crowd 'um-hmming' along to the salient points. That or a Chris Rock gig, I wasn't quite sure. And then again, a shift to the serious subject matter, where the director of the Commission told us about serious shortages and the many obstacles they faced. But still not a lot on the actual human rights. I was hoping I would at least make it to the PowerPoint presentation on the report before dissolving into a pool of h20, but no, again with the musical interludes. I'm sorry if I sound critical here, but my lord, the famous artiste Betika appeared and actually MIMED THE WORDS to her song (which sounded like it was being played on a mini ghetto blaster) and just sort of sauntered around and gesticulated. An actual PLAYBACK. It was just too much. My will to live was fast diminishing, when finally came the presentation. This consisted of a man going through each parsimonious slide with the phrases 'rights of children', 'rights of women', 'right against cruel and inhuman treatment' etc (1 per slide) adding after each slide 'this information can be found in the report' or 'again, more information on this in the report'. What a rip off! An hour and a half over-time and they decide to scrimp and save on the presentation instead of all the other ridiculousness! Well feeling rather crestfallen and very hot, I finally went away, report in hand. I'm told that its often the only way of actually getting these reports so at least that's something. But to be honest, after an initial glance at the damn thing, I'm not even sure it was worth it, comedy factor aside. A lesson learned.