From a Privileged Civil Servant to a Volunteer Teacher in a Taxi So I Would Not Puke

I was on the staff roster assigned to service the UN Climate Change Conference scheduled from 28 November to 11 December 2011 in Durban. My accommodation was initially at a three-star hotel that had received attention for not having the usual standards for staff. Nevertheless, it did not discourage me from framing my mind positively. After all, I am African and have had my share of experiences, and therefore nothing would intimidate me. On our arrival, I felt dissatisfied and intimidated. To my disappointment, I had failed to be positive. But what was it or why I felt that way? Had I not grown up in a similar environment? Was my African origin now in jeopardy? Looking back, I know it was the switch from the noiseless Germany to the bustling sounds of my motherland. Having been away for too long, I was facing a normality challenge. I am grateful to one colleague who helped me reset by welcoming me with these words: "Do you want to know the good things about this hotel?" Before I replied, she continued, "The staff are really friendly and helpful, the breakfast is great, and the shower head is bigger than what I have at home."

Calm and ready to be a happy camper in my new home for the next two weeks, I stared out of my room window. I held my breath at the beautiful view of Durban by night that lay in front of me. Reflectively, I tried to focus on the bigger picture. The infamous hotel was located in a bustling neighborhood: buses honking their vuvuzela-like horns, a beach down the road, a local ladies' salon with Kiswahili-speaking Maasai men as hairdressers, and an unmistakable pidgin accent was heard in the lobby. A four-star hotel would not have given me this authentic taste of Africa.

Reporting to work, a natural disaster awaited that caused disruption and frustration. A massive thunderstorm struck hours before the opening of the conference, causing flooding and widespread damage, including the death of eight people. Our lead shepherdess reminded us all to be grateful. Indeed, amidst the complaints, we were failing to see the efforts made to host us. Along the staff corridors, a lady was busy drying up the flooded floor. Nearby was a thick orange cable. She could have been electrocuted while working to make us comfortable. Local staff stayed late to assist us in performing our jobs. Any one of them could have been a victim of late-night crime. A cleaner was working tirelessly in the toilets for our pleasant experience. He or she might be one who could not afford a meal. This developing country creatively worked with what it had by turning a garage into offices. Yes, we would rather be comfortably back in Germany, but my hat is off to South Africa for working with what it had!

A day later, we were given the option to move to a more preferable neighborhood. I took the offer. I would have walked because it is the only way motion sickness doesn't make me vomit, but with a large suitcase it was impractical. I am an introvert who prefers silence and observation. However, I am forced to talk a lot if on a short ride to avoid taking the drowsing medication against the sickness. Sitting at the front helps, but I wouldn't want a stranger see me fighting the spells of motion sickness, which include forced belching and pinching myself. In a taxi, the conversation with the driver went like this:

"What is COP 17?" he asked.

"It is a UN Climate Change Conference. This is the 17th conference being held," I replied.

"Sorry, my sister, if I sound stupid, but I thought it was something to do with cops and police," he shyly added.

"You are not stupid," I said reassuringly. "Anyone who has no idea about the United Nations climate change conferences might not understand what that abbreviation stands for."

This made me wonder if all Durbanites knew what was happening in their city. As if he read my mind, he spoke. "This COP 17 came like a sudden rain on us. We have had to change our usual way of life because of it. It was only the other day that I read about it and knew the previous COP 16 was held in Cancun."

Voluntarily, I wore the hat of an educator and began my teaching or remedy against motion sickness. "The COP meeting could be described as a family of ten children. When there is a problem, the parents gather their children to discuss it and find a solution. In the COP scenario, the children are the different countries belonging to the family, also known as parties. The mother who looks after the domestic affairs and facilitates the day-to-day activities of her children is the UN Climate Change Secretariat based in Bonn, Germany. On the other hand, the father is based at the headquarters in New York, known as the UN. Each year, the children meet, and the number appearing beside the COP marks the number of times the meeting has taken place. The location of the meeting is determined by the offer made by one child to host it in their home. So this time, South Africa has kindly agreed to host us."

He was grateful for the lesson and shared another example of a lack of knowledge among his people. "Yesterday I drove two people in my taxi. The two passengers wondered if the conference was about climate change, how come the weather had remained cloudy and rainy for the whole week? They think this meeting is about people who came here to change the climate."

I was puzzled. How could the climate change message reach anyone who literally translated these two words as those two passengers did? I saw two worlds apart: One required a conscious attitude of gratitude by the privileged civil servants, while the other is the host country communities in need of climate change education. Each of these two worlds had what the other needed. I hope by now time has done its deed and unified the two worlds.

Meanwhile, I am no longer on the staff roster, but the lessons are deeply ingrained in me.