This time, I was busy concentrating on finding just the right colors of paint for my home cozying-up project. I went with a friend because I haven't yet managed Victoire on my own. Although the streets are wider and more easily navigated (there is definitely less pedestrian traffic to push through) and the vendors seem to stay put rather than follow you around, somehow it feels like so much more of an effort. Perhaps, in the end, it is not more of an effort but just a different kind of effort.
I think it's also because this particular area seems like a man's world (although, to be honest and fair, I did see two women- one actually sitting inside the paint and hardware store appearing mostly ready to sell, as long as it didn't require any heavy lifting, and the other sitting outside one of those overflowing brain puzzle shops- appearing quite content to sit and 'supervise' or hand out unnecessary and incorrect observations on my general state of well being. Or maybe she was selling oranges.) Not only does it appear like a man's world, but it appears like a man's Lingala world. And my struggle there continues. Even though there are plenty of people who proclaim Lingala is easy to learn- can learn it in 3 months, no problem- my ability to perform the actual speaking part of communication is bad. Very bad. All the wrong words pop into my mind first and I can never seem to find the connecting phrases that would lend a bit of clarity to my thoughts. Nope. I stumble along like an incoherent 2 year old in need of it's mother to translate the toddler talk into a real language.
But I understand. I understand nearly everything that is being said so it's helpful to continue immersing myself - as long as I have my mother around to help me, or, in this case, some other skilled babysitter who can perform the job equally well.
Shopping in Victoire involves asking a lot of questions. If one place doesn't have what you want, you ask them where you might find it- and they can usually tell you. Although most of the shops seem to carry the same brand/quality/version of things (3 stores we went into each had the same exact flimsy curtain rod holder that I exactly don't want. Just looking for a simple screw hook.) Surely I should just bring a picture next time.
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| Screw hook- No, I don't know the French or Lingala for this item |
I tried explaining to my friend just the color red I was looking for. The color on my couch. A kind of burgundy, maroon, wine color. Not quite red, not quite purple, not quite rose. A stunning mixture of all three in just the right ratio. While some paint selling stores do have the paint card palette to browse and choose colors from, all the colors are not always available.
While the first store we went into didn't have the red, I was offered some beautiful blues. There were two cans, a Marine blue and a Blue Royal. Bleu makasi and bleu claire. Everyone looked at me like I was supposed to choose just by the name. Really? Just buy something on name alone? Maybe romantic but not very practical. Especially not with those names. "Strong" blue and light blue. It wasn't until later that I saw the English names written on the side of the containers. But even then, color by sight is how all good painters shop. Once the cans were opened, I was a bit surprised to find that bleu makasi was actually something - well, dark blue I guess certainly, but when I hear makasi I think strong and so was thinking powerful and brilliant. It turned out to be more of a muted blue. Light blue sounds so weak and flimsy to me I wasn't prepared for the radiant summer sky that blossomed from the can once the lid was removed. There it was. The perfect color with the wrong name.
We continued our search for the ideal red, ahem, burgundy. But the only color word we had to work with was red. So it became, rouge makasi te, vraiment casse. This lovely mix of Lingala and French that I am just too poetic to translate into normal English. Did he just say broken red?
Of course, I am immediately intrigued by a color named Broken Red and wonder when Crayola will be putting out the first edition. I have since looked up casse to see if there are hidden meanings that I am unaware of. I did find a reference to "off-white" as in blanc casse and so, imagine an "off-red" perhaps or a "worn out" red, hardly a color name that could add spice and warmth to a living room. In one store I pointed to a large piece of roof covering that was a beautiful, deep burgundy. "What color would you call that?" I asked the woman. "Red." It's all she said to let me know I was in hopeless territory. The first store did offer a color palette card and we went to retrieve it to see if this "red" matched the "red" I had picked out on the card. I felt it was a little too rose and, after drying on the wall, I would be plagued with sensations of pink. My friend, of course, thought it was a perfect match.
We moved on to a third store. The person working here actually went on to explain the differences between brown and maroon and red. A soul mate. I latched on to the word maroon, even though I know it is also French for a brownish color (marron), mostly because it was familiar English (although English is barely English half the time) but also because here they tend to use chocolate to indicate brown and this man had been using both marron and chocolate. He reluctantly opened the can of "imported paint" and a purplish red greeted me. It seemed like a good color, but of course, now I worried it would be too "purple." We began to wonder if it wasn't the same color we had seen in the other shop (definitely not) and if it was closer to the original burgundy color I wanted (maybe.)
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| Bleu claire et rouge casse/ Light blue and broken red |
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| One of the new school cars. The first time someone asked me about the "red suzuki" I had no idea what they were referring to. All I can see is orange. |
