Now in London, in a very nice room that I can barely move around in, though I've left my heart in Algiers. We had a minor earthquake last night. I'd like to think that we all shuddered at the thought of me leaving.
It was a very lovely morning of taking last minute photographs and saying good bye to everyone. Père G escorted me down to the taxi. That he was the the last person I saw was extra special.
I flipped through the British Airways glossy mag, and came upon a feature article on famous Brits. Like the writer of Casino Royale, who developed great PR for the UK as well as the character of James Bond.
Père G is like James Bond's twin, or Bond in an afterlife. Both snappily dressed celibates. Rather than running after a villian for the purposes of slaughter, G is conversely all about bringing people together - he knows so many people, and this liaison-ing function is his and the Centre's raison d'être. Rather than a cool 'look' and few words, G can be quite gestural and intense with liveliness - he has been leading a theatre class for students during the past few weeks of school holidays. Rather than know about firearms and other items by Q, G wanders around singing in the corridors, gloriously rocks out on the piano on Sunday evenings, and celebrates Mass on Tuesdays.
I chat on the plane with R, who has been working in south Algeria on a 3-week on and 3-week off routine for a year, and now extended for another year. He fixed things up at the Il Amenas site after the damage, and they've kept him on since. Yes, this is the oil field site where terrorists assassinated a number of foreign workers a few years ago. His co-worker on the plane was employed at the time, but happened to be in th UK then. Over the course of the 2.5 h flight, I witnessed R down 2 gin and tonics, and I suspect another 2 more at the back. It seems that yes, the desert can be quite dry.
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