Dora- discovered...and road-side wrappers

My kids just managed to miss the Dora phenomenon....I'm talking about Dora the Explorer, cute little Latina gal known for her adventures. After looking up a bit about her, it seems perhaps I shouldn't be so surprised at her all encompassing presence in Africa. After being translated into 29 languages and two live performance versions, a little trip across the African continent seems like hardly a big deal.  But like I said, my kids just missed the whole Dora trip and so I had no idea.

Which is why I've been a little stunned to see her image painted everywhere. In Kinshasa, she is on the side of school buildings, lining the walls above kiddie cubbies and adorning backpacks and water bottles in market stalls. Here in Abidjan, she is painted on headboards and dressers of kids' furniture that lines the roadways. Even more Florida-esque, she can be found, along with what seem to be her antithesis- the Disney princesses- painted on wooden cut-out shapes and hanging for sale from here to the beach. Just plain weird.

Just one of many opportunities to buy a Dora...or a snowman

A billion Dora.....and some Smurf

Otherwise, it's been a pretty pleasant first week in Abidjan. The boys, of course, are busy comparing everything to Kinshasa and I am recovering from the lack of traffic stories and doctor tales- the traffic is orderly, everyone stays on their own side of the road and it's depressingly quiet. The doctor's office we visited- same. Orderly, not too much of a wait, clean and efficient. Pay first, of course.

We've all been remarking on the tranquility and quiet. There isn't a lot of "music in the air" and I realize now that Kinshasa is virtually bursting with rhythm. I guess I thought all African countries were. It's a bit different this trip, because most of my visits to African countries usually involve staying with musicians- dancers, drummers, artists- and so then, of course, we are surrounded by music. In Kinshasa, the streets themselves seem to sing and we are missing that quality a bit here. Well, at least I am. The boys seem to revel in the anonymity. Aside from being mistaken for twins, no one seems to notice them at all. Just two regular guys.

Sometimes even I have trouble telling them apart...
Which one are you? I have to ask as I peer closely.

Abidjan reminds me a lot of NYC- spread out with many boroughs. Each section seems to cater to something and the orange taxis can take you anywhere for $4. In fact, everything seems to be about $4 (2000FC) except the carrots which were an unbelievable 950FC (maybe a 1.50?) for a huge bundle of fat, healthy looking rods. Wow. The vegetables are definitely more appealing and less expensive than Kin....but I am thinking on all other matters it might be a tie- or even more expensive here. I am a bit disoriented (by the quiet) by the money system, as in Kin 1000FrancCongolaise is about 1.00 and here the franc cefa is double that- 1000=$2.00

I spent the first few days trying to figure out where "the people" live. Everything seemed so quiet and tidy. Where were all the people? We visited the downtown financial section (home of a super Senegalese cafe offering superb tchep)  and walked among the shady, tree lined streets reminiscent of Conakry's business district. Getting from one section to another requires a looping drive around a swampy middle (I guess they are working on a bridge here) and this watery scenery sends me back to Harlem River Drive making me feel like home. But traveling across the vast city means spending a lot of time in the car. The roadsides are soul-filling green hills and trees.

We're staying in the Riviera III section, not far from the infamous Golf Hotel and the president's new quarters. Mohamed feels so comfortable he's already decided if we get to settle down here he'll soon be ready to go out on his own. He's noticed the "quality" of the university we drive by often with its rolling hills, landscaped lawns and well kept buildings. It's hard to imagine just a few short months ago the area was bustling with gun-fire and grenades.

On the way to one of the beaches just outside the main city center, we passed through Port Bouet. Finally a bit of market life resembling Kinshasa. Stalls lined the streets, people were everywhere and a small street hum filled the air. Happily, even here, no one cold be seen dashing across the road for their life. Respect for the traffic laws abounds. "We fought for that," Mohamed, one of our  'regular' taxi drivers told us. No random stops by the police here, no collecting of 'taxes' or small cash for a 'coca.' He sounds fierce and proud as he repeats how hard they fought for order.

We've yet to get to Adjame, where I think the largest markets are. I'm still trying to figure out if water and electricity problems persist here....someone told me they didn't really think it was like Kin, but I find it hard to imagine. I still have it in my mind that all of Africa is struggling with these problems and I'm still wondering why.

Here on Christmas Eve I have an interview at the school. Seems like a good omen. Christmas is times ten here in Abidjan. Gift wrappers sit outside every store ready to wrap and bow whatever you've bought. Colorful, festive paper is peeking out of buckets sitting on wooden tables everywhere you turn. Even the grocery stores have cleaned out aisle upon aisle to stock up with toys and other unneeded, overly expensive items. While Christmas comes silently to Kin, maybe a bit more traffic, some fancy decorations here and there, occasionally a Christmas tune playing in a random store, it is the one piece of Abidjan that so far seems more showy and loud.

I'm trying to take more pictures....missed the men selling wares on the beach wrapped in their miles of blue cloth and turbans. What a beautiful painting it would make. It's a nice mix of people here. Christians and Muslims, Africans from all over, Europeans and Lebanese (not exactly sure if there's a word for people from the Middle East....Middle Easterners perhaps.) Sometimes when I am noticing the mix- mostly in the case of religion- just as I remark on the beauty of Christians and Muslims so intermingled and all mixed up, churches sitting next door to mosques- I remember it is just as often the cause of wars. When everything is so quiet and peaceful like this....it just doesn't seem possible. The mosque sends out its call to prayer and those who are observing stop to pray...those who are not continue with their day- life on the beach, driving, shopping, whatever they are doing. And no one seems to notice anyone else. It all just is.

But, as a visitor, I have no memory. And I've yet to truly understand the feelings close to the surface. For now, we are just travelers....enjoying the holidays. Perhaps with time there will be more to discover.

The American Revolution- and a fishbowl

Events conspired in such a way that this rainy Saturday had me seeking out the bus provided by the school to do some grocery shopping around town. Usually I am too busy with exercise classes, catching up on sleep or ferrying Mohamed around to take advantage of the cheap transportation to any part of the city desired by the riders. Usually I am loathe to give up my entire Saturday morning for this all encompassing tour. Rain, empty cupboards and a cancelled cardio class provided the perfect synchronicity of events to make the bus ride seem like a pleasant way to spend the morning.

And so it was I found myself at 9:00 am under gray skies and chilly rain talking to the bus driver, who inquired- ever so directly I might point out- whether or not he might have or purchase one of the boys bikes for his young son. You know, sometime around June. When I am leaving. Which he didn't say but was directly implied by his repetition of  "sometime in June."

My response to confusion and surprise is always endless chatter, which I began immediately of course, describing how often the blasted bikes seem to break down, lose air, suffer from disconnecting chains and malfunctioning brakes. I never had such problems  in the States but something about a bike in Congo seems to equal an endless tombler en panne. I even went on to describe our summer trip to a bike repair shop here in Kin- the amazing 300+ bikes adorning every square inch of the mechanics work space.

In my mind however, a thousand different questions are rolling around. Bikes are available by the plenty in Kin, why does he want mine? And how the hell does he know I am leaving? Really. It's an uncomfortable situation once word is out that you won't be around for the next year. I have heard so many stories of people coming right out to ask for things....all the material goods one might have acquired over the years. And even worse, people who suggest they might come browsing your house to see what you have just in case something might be interesting. While it has become some kind of tradition that leaving teachers sell or give away much of their stuff, I was mostly stuck back at the other questions. Who sent out the news that I was leaving?

It shouldn't really have been surprising, as the atelier and guards often seem to know as much- or more- about what goes on behind the scenes here on campus, but it's still eerie. The fishbowl effect was something that definitely took adjusting to the first year or so. Housekeepers, nannies, and guards all seem to have an inner eye and ear in the houses they work at. And it is clear they talk. But it is unsettling when you get actual proof that someone has been talking about you. It's happened a few times in conversation when something which I thought were perhaps private has been revealed in a conversation- leading me to understand without doubt that people were talking about me. People I know by name only, or some even by sight only. People who know my name, address, when someone visits, when they leave, how often I have company, all of the mundane facts about a daily life and it's routines- or oddities. Disturbing. I have always detested the campus grapevine but normally I don't have enough social contact with anyone to actually know what is getting passed around. Because of my distance I naturally- and erroneously-believed it rarely had to do with me.

Luckily, we've collected very few items of want and so the tidal wave of desires for our possessions is sure to be kept at a minimum.  But another conversation about leaving has also got me wondering.

A local hire teacher, Congolese born but now a citizen of another country, told me she was leaving. Apparently something to do with the new taxes that would be withheld from her pay- a staggering amount she felt. I couldn't help but agree. It's one thing to pay taxes if you can see where they are going and benefit from the payment. But to pay taxes and still return to a house that is frequently without electricity, has no running water more often than has seems grossly unjust. In talking of future plans, however, she mentioned her desire to stay in Kinshasa but perhaps with a different company.

"Won't you still have to pay taxes?" I inquired, uncertain what difference the change would make in finances.
"Normally the company will pay," she informed me, going to elaborate on the details. It seems that a logical solution in her mind was that the school should impose a tax on the families, which would then be used to offset the amount paid by each local hire, effectively making them exempt form paying the tax with their own money. Apparently this is how other businesses operate. They pay the fees sheltering their employees from the cost.

Which got me thinking. Wasn't an unfair taxation system one of the major causes of the American Revolution? The fight for freedom and liberation was spurred by an unjust taxation of people who did not directly benefit from paying the fees. While I feel the pain of losing money without benefit, I simply cannot wrap my mind around the solution. It seems if more people felt the pain, they might collectively unite to demand improvements in the quality of life. I still cannot come to terms with the number of people who live without electricity and running water. I continue to grapple with the enormity of the problem and the frustrating lack of progress in this area. I understand that change will not come about until the people demand it, but I cannot understand what is preventing this. Why don't the citizens demand of their government equal access to basic needs? What is holding the revolution back?

Loopholes, apparently. Rather than expect the government to provide a basic level of services, the expectation has become that the employers will offset the unfair tax. Misguided energy in my American mind.  I'm still waiting for the anger and rage to take over. To be focused at systems and policies, rather than institutions. Maybe life in the fishbowl has given me a distorted view of things. But history seems to have proven that until the people collectively recognize injustice and their power to demand resolution from their government leaders, positive change is unlikely to occur.