About getting blind, and recovering my sight thanks to someone else's eye Part I

                  In the middle of my dream, I heard something like  "now it's gonna hurt a bit". Before I had the time to react, the nurse had torn off the bandage that was covering my right eye. 

She helped me to stand up, guided me through the hall, round the stairwell, left, left again, and made me sit in front of the slit lamp. Time for the ward round. I was half asleep, had the feeling the place was crowded, and could barely see anything. 

The familiar voice of my surgeon draw my attention so I put my chin on the machine to have my eye checked. When the doctor carefully opened my swollen eye, I felt like the strangest thing was happening to me. I could see the closest forms to my eye quite clearly but as if it was through pristine water. The lines of the microscope I saw were clean, even if swaying , the world looked like if I was diving in an aquarium. I was seeing. through the eye of someone else. 

Exactly one year ago, I went to visit my father. I took an early flight and the plane landed in time for a flamboyant sunrise. As I had nothing but my hand-luggage, went straight to the exit and walked out, looking for my dad. Only then I noticed that someone was waving. I didn't recognise him, I figured out it was him. And of course, he noticed that I had passed 3 metres from him looking actually through him. I blamed it on lack of sleep and early time of the day, but there was nothing to do: a few days later, I was sitting in front of an ophthalmologist. I was expecting to get an eyeglass prescription (cool!  I thought, I always wanted to wear glasses anyway!) It didn't go that easy, unfortunately... 

First of all I discovered I could read only 3 letters out of 10 on the board. BOOM! 

Then, I was told I had a rare genetic disease with this weird name I asked to be written down, and that most probably, the only solution was a cornea transplantation, otherwise I would go completely blind soon. BOOM!  

I was pale and close to fainting so the specialist tried to cheer me up saying " Don't be so scared Miss, there is probably nothing wrong with your sight, you just need to change the cornea." 

Wonderful...

When I left the city of M*** and came back home, I noticed my sight had dramatically deteriorated. I had given up pretending. Now I knew I had an insidious flower growing in my eye -  "distrofia corneal de groenouw" (it sounds more exotic in Spanish) - I was officially blind. I could finally accept the extent of my sight problem. 

"If I don't see someone I know in the street, who cares?" I was free, free to close up in my mind while walking in the streets. I was living in an impressionist painting. 

Now, how do you lose 70 percent of your vision without noticing it? Well, you get used to it.

The characteristics of my very rare genetic defect are little stains forming on the cornea. 

"The cornea is the transparent, clear front part of the eye that covers the iris, pupil, and anterior chamber. Together with the lens, the cornea refracts light, with the cornea accounting for approximately two-thirds of the eye's total optical power." 

The stains, as they grow more numerous and merge, progressively cause unclear, misty vision and photo-phobia. In other words, every ray of light that enters the eye breaks on the stain into hundred of rays, which makes you feel dazzled by the slightest light beam. 

On most of my childhood pictures, when a flash was used , I appear with eyes closed, as i already couldn't stand the strong flashlight. But by then, my sight was perfect. 

I remember the first strange feeling of not seeing what I should. While walking by the river in P***,around 2002,  my sister mentioned the presence of several huge carps in the water close to the riverbank. And as much as I tried, I couldn't see them at all. 

***

2006, I am with friends swimming around caves in M***. We had decided to explore one of the caves, and as the afternoon was already advanced, while the others would not see much but could still make their way on the rocks, I wouldn't see anything - that much it was dark for me, and was falling at every step. We abandoned the idea and swam back to the shore.

***

2008, every time I went to a concert I had to ask my friend Sarah to walk close in front of me to protect me from the stage lights, because otherwise, as I'd be blinded, I would just bump into people while crossing the crowd. 

***

2010 I couldn't read a book anymore (that seriously bugged me). In order to open the door of my apartment, I would have to grope for the lock, for I wouldn't see it. When I walked down the stairs by the river at night, someone had to hold my hand, cause I didn't see the edge of each step. 

Beside that, I lived exactly like anyone else. People tended to notice something was not exactly OK, I knew it too, but time passed by, life went on, and I did not (want to) see that I actually couldn't see.  

Until the eye-specialist told me.

From Kony 2012 to Moscow, with love

Kony 2012 had been on all week long on Facebook. Seriously, people, why do you share every viral video you see on your social networks without double-checking information?

Ok that's about Uganda, and it made me think of my Moscow trip made possible by "Johnny" from Rwanda.

It was a day like any other in our Brussels office (oh and I sometimes miss this attic overflowing with instruments, old pictures, yellowish newspaper-clips, rolls of  paper for faxes - these were not there anymore - and more STUFF) when we received a phone call from Russia. It was "Johnny" from Moscow, requesting one of our Balkan Brass bands.

From then on, we were talking to Johnny everyday. Not that the negotiation would have been tough. Nothing was a problem for Johnny. Not the travels from Macedonia for 12 people, not the fee (that we had set high, cause well, prejudice made it so that you don't want to do business with unknown promoters unless it is very well paid and paid in advance), not the visas, oh, but the work permits were a problem for it would take too long. Johnny claimed he would send us invitations and with these we could get tourist visas. 

We were reluctant to do that, as twelve gypsies travelling with three tubas and other voluminous instruments aren't exactly discreet, but Johnny had an answer to everything.

Johnny from Moscow spoke very well French... with an African accent. So as we were talking to him so often, my colleague once asked him where he had learned such a good French. And Johnny said he was from Rwanda, that he knew Belgium well, he even had some family in Brussels, but he couldn't travel into EU for a few years already. 

Then there was his agency called "Shree Ganesh Company". And then there was this bank account in Luxembourg from which we had received the first part payment. And then suddenly it was not a concert venue the musicians were supposed to play at, but a wedding, at The Moscow Meridien Country Club Hotel. And it was Russia after all. And then my colleague realised his passport was expired so I had to go as the tour manager instead of him.

I was very excited to go to Moscow, but I was worried too to be trapped in the hands of a war criminal (verified by google) nicknamed "Johnny", working for some mafia people who could arrange false invitations but no official work permits. We were even told by Johnny that the bride and the groom were close to Putin's entourage... I had to promise myself  I would not mention words like Chechnya, Politkovskaia, or even Anna. And I had to promise my mother that I would not drink vodka.

Off was I to Russia...I was so excited to be in Moscow that I actually forgot about my worries as I came out of Domodedovo airport. That didn't last long. 

I was picked up by a rather short man  who couldn't say a word in English. The musicians were arriving by another flight to Sheremetyevo airport so I was alone with this silent driver, his impeccable white suit and white shoes. As we were stuck in Moscow traffic jam, his phone rang and he handed me the cellphone saying: "Johnny!!"

I was happy to hear a familiar voice welcoming me, even though it was the one of a guy condemned by the ICTR  (International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda) - verified by google-, until I hung up and saw the display of the phone showing blinking minarets and Allah written in Arabic. Surprised, I asked him if he spoke Arabic and he just shouted : " TAJIK!

- Oh my... I thought. So I'm in the hands of Russian oil magnates, working with African war criminals AND Tajik terrorists, all related to Putin! I fell asleep in the car. (that's my way out when I'm scared). When I opened my eyes we had arrived before the Meridien Country Club, in the middle of nowhere, 40km from the city, two armed guards were standing in front of the gate, and would let pass only a few cars, all with tinted windows...

I was never as happy to see all the Kocani Orkestar as when I jumped in their arms in the hotel lobby. Now I was not alone anymore. There, we were welcomed by a charming Muscovite hipster who looked like Ivan from the Jack Frost (Morozko -1964) movie: suggestive were not only his clear blue eyes and blond mid-long hair but mostly his fancy light brown suede lace boots.

With him coming up, nothing was a problem, again. We were brilliantly taken care of and accommodated in luxury.

We met the bride and the groom who had this idea of inviting the Kocani orkestar  for their wedding (60 invited guests) after having seen Goran Bregovic at their PR agency's little party...just that. But they were nice, we rehearsed the program: playing while the fireworks starts outside, then walk back to the main party hall, we checked the PA, lights, everything had been planned perfectly.  Dinner was set for us behind the stage, and the table was dominated by a few bottles of vodka.

"I promised not to drink vodka"

Ivan told us the vodka was very good, said he himself was not a vodka drinker and so (consequently) we toasted to the musicians and to the newlyweds. Damn! that vodka was good!

"I promised not to drink vodka, I know the story everyone told me, I'll end up so drunk I won't be able to talk" 

The musicians started to play after dinner, I stayed in the improvised backstage with Ivan. And the bottles of vodka. He explained me something about the quality of this vodka and poured another couple of shots. 

"I promised not to drink vodka, here it is coming..." 

So, hoping this would delay the vodka tsunami, I said that I couldn't drink without getting paid and counting the money because it was not my money and so on. Ivan said it was no problem, left and came back with a thick envelope. I left, counted the thousands,  prepared the musicians envelopes, stored them in my room's safe and came back. As I sat down Ivan smiled : 

"That was it? can we drink now? and I said yes! 

Ivan was pouring one shot after the other, and I have to say it's the best vodka I've ever tasted. Don't ask me for its name, for I don't remember. Was I able to talk as the sun was coming up, maybe yes... in Russian, with love.

The next day, the musicians had to wake me up as they were leaving earlier than me. I still had time to have wonderful Russian пельмени (pelmeni), had no headache (that's what good vodka is about, no matter how much you drink!) and during lunch I told hipster Ivan it was a pity we didn't get to see  Johnny at some point. He looked at me as if I were crazy and said: : "God no! Johnny doesn't come to the events, he's the man that makes all the things happen." 

The last time I heard from "Johnny" was when he sent me an email some five years ago to ask me for Technotronic for another private event. I never got to know if he had only accidentally the same full name as the war criminal from Rwanda, or if it was really him. And as all this Joseph Kony affair revealed he (Kony) was not in Uganda anymore, I thought that he may be as well booking pop stars for some people in Moscow.

Cahiers d'une jeune femme aux boucles folles - les lettres retrouvées

Notre enquête se confirme. Nous avons trouvé hier dans la cheminée du château de C., à moitié consumées, deux lettres de la comtesse Marianne de Saint André à son amie d’enfance Louise de Carnillac.

Lettre du 21 février

Ma belle et bonne amie Louise,

vous ne douterez point du fait que vous me manquiez. J'aurais aimé vous voir, le teint ravivé par le soleil et le vent aussi léger qu'impétueux des contrées méridionales. N'ayant point quitté le gris du paysage belge ces temps-ci, je m'aventure au loin dans mes pensées et dans mes lectures.  Si le thème même du voyage pu me paraître presque odieux il y a deux semaines, car je le mettais en relation avec le départ du Comte B***, je suis plus que curieuse de m'entendre raconter le désert et la terre d'Algérie, comme un périple audacieux.

C'est avec regret que je dois vous annoncer que nous devrons remettre nos retrouvailles, car je ne fus point choisie pour remplir le rôle de  l'émissaire dépêché a Paris dans l'affaire des laissez-passer. J'ai donc pris ma plume pour vous écrire quelques nouvelles, avec d'autant plus de plaisir que mes lectures me donnent envie de belles lettres. Après quelques manuscrits amusants, mais de médiocre qualité, j'ai entamé l'Aurélien d'Aragon que vous m'aviez judicieusement recommandé. Quel bonheur que ce grand poème en prose! Je me délecte des tournures du poète, de ses regards sur Paris qui ne me donnent qu'une envie, celle d'y retourner pour me promener.

Quand à mes sentiments, je ne sais si c'est le printemps, si c'est de m'être pleinement exprimée pour la première fois, mais je les vois éclore et s'épanouir après l'hiver.

Ou est-ce un dernier sursaut avant l'agonie finale, qui me donne l'impression d'être bénie des cieux, étouffant presque de me sentir amoureuse; infiniment heureuse de vivre cette vertigineuse ivresse.

Là, tellement près du départ du Comte, jaillit en gerbes folles une de mes réalités, cette flèche profondément enfoncée dans mon sein. Gravement entaillé, mon coeur semble s'être réjouit, après la douleur, de se sentir battre a tout rompre. Etrange retournement, qui me surprend autant que vous en serez étonnée.

La plus belle chose que je vis a l'instant est de me dévoiler presque entièrement a l'objet de ma passion.

L'esprit cynique en moi me dit que je suis mauvaise joueuse que de miser le tout au tout lorsqu'il n'y a point de risque, plus rien à perdre. Mais ne dit-on pas que lorsqu'il n'y a rien à perdre, tout est à gagner?

Vous me voyez ma chère amie, pleine de reconnaissance envers le ciel qui m'a envoyé le Comte car je me sens grandir.

Dans l'attente des nouvelles de ma Louise, je vous embrasse affectueusement,

Marianne de Saint André 

****

Lettre du 25 février

Mon amie,

je ris, je ris a vous lire, a la fois de bon coeur et nerveusement, votre clairvoyance me réjouit et m'alarme.

Vos bonnes paroles ne me rebutent point, car je les reçois comme un miroir de ma conscience.  Je connais mes démons et si je ne peux encore tout à fait les maîtriser, je les vois tout de même. Je les suis donc à la trace, au moment ou ils me poursuivent sans relâche. Je les pense et repense, essayant de voir leurs pièges et les costumes qu'ils revêtent, perfides, pour mieux me tromper.

Qu'à cela ne tienne, je tente de les combattre en les voyant avancer. J'écris a nouveau mes pensées, et j'essaie de les coucher sur le papier telles qu'elles me viennent a l'esprit. Bénéfique exercice, car telle une encre sympathique qui réapparaîtrait a la chandelle, les mécanismes inconscients se montrent soudain nus à la lumière du jour.

Mon âme reste enflammée de découvrir un besoin précipité de tout donner a l'être qui m'échappe. C'est en ce point précis que je me sens changer. Je ne puis être que honteuse de ne pouvoir admettre que si tardivement un besoin de donner de l'amour, alors que je ne pensais nécessaire que celui d'en recevoir. Je me sens ingénue...J'ai l'impression d'avoir tout à redécouvrir. Et là, l'ivresse me prend car la chute est plus que probable.

Long et tortueux est le chemin qui nous mène à la faculté de se laisser  aimer et d'aimer. Ma reconnaissance va donc à la providence qui me fait avancer, combien même il ne s'agirait que d'une coudée... 

Je loue en la passion qu'a provoqué le Comte l'embûche qu'elle représente sur mon parcours initiatique. 

Quant à la force avec laquelle mon sentiment s'est trouvé ravivé, j'y vois (je ne nierai pas une part de probabilité dans vos propos) aussi une reconnaissance tardive du bien-être calme que j'ai vécu avec lui avant de savoir son départ imminent. Lorsque tout allait bien, point de sursis, j'avais tout le temps de découvrir mes sentiments et de les voir s'accroître.  

Puis, confrontée a une fin possible, l'amoureuse s'est dressée dans toute sa hauteur, sauvage,  comme pour s'affirmer vivante face à  une vision moribonde. La passion me domine ma chère Louise, et j'espère qu'il vous sera possible de donner  foi a ma sincérité dans cette confusion.

Je me trouve mal, défaillante a écrire ces lignes. Soutenez moi, je vous prie, de votre bienveillante présence.

Tendrement,

Votre Marianne