Casting call- line dropped

A major fail. It's the only way I can describe my first casting. I'm not actually sure if it was really that bad, but sometimes the aftertaste is all that matters. The worst part is I didn’t see it coming. I didn’t have any of the signs of being nervous. There were no butterflies, my mouth wasn’t dry, and I felt filled more with curiosity than apprehension. 

I love behind the scenes adventures and so I was looking forward to finding out what a casting call for a TV series in Abidjan would be like. The studio was small but professional. It was tucked in and around and behind, but the actors and actresses who’d hoped to audition seemed to find it well enough.  Aside from one woman who was dressed in a leopard print pantsuit and 4 in. high heels, most of them appeared to be everyday people. There was even one young girl, about 12, accompanied by her dad or uncle.

The sign- up sheet is the first step and requires your name, age and phone number.  According to the sheet, I was the oldest one there.  I reminded myself that age in Africa has a fluid quality and tried not to think too much of that. My neighbor stepped into her professional role and took to getting things organized inside. We, the hopefuls, sat outside in a long narrow atrium. There were white benches and potted plants and a wall of sliding glass doors in front of us that permitted a slight view of the actors as they read their parts. 

One of the stagehands read off the names from the list, gave a measured glance at whoever said “me” and then handed them a script. He told them which part they would read and sent them off to practice their parts in groups of 2 and 3. 

I waited and observed the new arrivals. My neighbor checked in with me and whispered in my ear an offer of coffee and cake that the directors were serving up. I declined figuring I stood out enough as it was. We’d come with another neighbor of ours,  a singer in her church choir but not a professional actress, so I felt good about my situation. I wasn’t the only novice even if I was the only white person. 

Abidjan has a healthy French population, not to mention other European countries. I'm not sure why I keep finding myself in places where I am so obviously the other. I tried not to focus on this and waited for someone to come along who would be perfect for a part to read with me. 

I spent some time (over) analyzing the role in my mind. I was supposed to be the wife of an African who had spent time abroad (due to war and conflict, perhaps) and was just moving back to his country. He wasn't particularly happy about it, due to some conflicts he'd had with his community before leaving (the details are a bit fuzzy and I never did get a copy of the entire script.) I was also mother of a son who gets a girl pregnant.

The  part of the script I'd been given revolved around our first days in the neighborhood. I wasn't very nice to the people around me (the driver, the house workers, the neighbors) as in- I didn't offer greetings (later it becomes clear this is the husband's directive.) One line I was supposed to read actually said, "Am I obligated to say hello to you?" I practiced my snooty voice in my head even as I wondered why the role had to be so cliche. Eventually, I aka Madame Kone, make friends with a woman neighbor who helps me figure out market shopping. I grudgingly admit there is probably more truth than stereotype in this scenario. But the longer I sat there, the more my moral sensibilities started to kick in and I wondered if I shouldn't make some kind of a stand for white women everywhere (or for those who live in Africa, at least.) Need we always be portrayed as bumbling fools who can't manage to buy some fruits and say good morning to our neighbors? Really.

Before I let myself wander too far down this road, I did realize that I probably needed to make a name for myself in African TV before I could sway any opinions and start changing cliches. Luckily, my real neighbor also decided it was time for me to read and assigned one of the actors to play the part of my son, Freddy. We practiced the (very few) lines a bit until I felt comfortable. The lines were so few in fact that it seemed a bit ridiculous to say them more than 6 or 7 times to each other. 

We were able to sit inside the taping room just before our turn. This gave us a chance to see the group in front of us. They were 3. The way the audition works is that one person is identified as the principle. This person takes a place on the small stage while the others are just off camera. Only the principle is filmed, though the other voices can be heard. This helps with identifying the actors. 

The principle stands first facing the camera, gives their name, and phone number, and maybe answers a few questions. Then the profile shot is taken. Finally, the reading begins. This process means I watched the group in front of me read their short scene 3 times so that each of the actors would have a chance in the center. Fascinating stuff. 

My turn came quickly enough and I took the center spot. In the scene, I was just arriving home and called out to my son a few times. He doesn't answer until I tap him on the shoulder, which startles him. Of course, he is busy keeping out of camera range so I can't actually tap him. All I have to say is, "Freddy.....Freddy... Oh Fred. There you are."  He responds finally by saying how I startled him. And then I say, "I've been calling you forever." He asks me what it is I wanted and I respond, " Nothing. But...are you sure you're all right?"  The scene ends kind of abruptly there- those were all the pages I had. 

I'd practiced this in French with my partner enough to feel I'd had it memorized. The camera didn't bother me and I am pretty good at imagining- yup, I could see the house all around and the kid on the sofa ignoring me. No big stretch there. But while I was speaking, I kept seeing the printed words on the page and the tu (you) and tout (all) were getting mixed up in my head. I couldn't seem to understand what I was really supposed to say (or rather, I wanted to say it my way in my possibly bad French. Oh the undoing of my learning!) In any case, I fumbled a bit at the end and looked apologetically at my neighbor. 

I'm sure it didn't happen this way, but in my memory the camera man and my neighbor rushed up to me (which they really did) and started patting me and fixing my hair (which I don't think they did. I can't quite remember what they were doing up so close to me.) I guess maybe they were just offering reassurances. They told me I could even speak in English (which seemed an absurd way to audition for a role in French.) They just needed to see how I expressed myself.  I 'read' it again, but when it came to that part, Tu est sure tout va bien....or was it c'est sure tu va bien? I got tangled up. Comprehension was getting in the way of my ability to emphasize the parts I wanted to. In the end it was the same idea and surely the exact words were less important than the overall message. 

I felt like I let my neighbor down- and I definitely let myself down. It appeared like an easy challenge, but in the end, I'm not satisfied with the results. I don't really know what it means for the future (my neighbor had assured me - when I asked about this very thing beforehand- that they would spend some time training me if needed.) I could respond well to that and I do love a good challenge. In truth, I'm not sure how bad it was I just know it wasn't good enough for me. Unfortunately, with things like this, the only solution seems to be practice and I'm not sure how many more Ivorian television series I will be able to try out for. Maybe there is something to that bumbling white woman in Africa cliche after all.

Queen of Hearts

She closes her eyes halfway and nods her head, indicating I should get in the car. Her face shows firm resolve as though committed to something she’d rather not do but has recognized is for the greater good. She is a stout and strong woman and reminds me of a Midwestern farmer’s wife. Something about her manner brings to mind the phrase “a good Christian woman,” but she is Lebanese or Tunisian and clearly Muslim. 

We first met the day after the soccer game, the big championship that Cote d’Ivoire won.  I was walking to school, unclear if it had been cancelled and she was just returning. She beeped her horn to get my attention and pulled off to the side of the road. 

“There’s no school today. I just came from there,’ she informed me.  “I see you often on your way. If I see you again I will give you a ride. I am not far from here.” And so it was settled. Whenever she passes me, she honks, pulls over and offers me that head nod that seems to say, I gave my word and I’m going to honor it to death. 

Getting rides seems to be the only thing I am good at here in Abidjan. My neighbors are excellent about offering 'to advance me.' They always comment on how they see me walking around the neighborhood, and they ask about the baby. Apart from people I semi-know (or who semi-know me,) there are plenty of free rides to be had from the taxi drivers. Yeah, free. I can't believe nor understand why this is a thing here.  Orange 'express' cabs and yellow 'woro-woro' cabs have equally advanced me a leg of my journey and then refused pay. Its often a moment of joyful surprise in my day.

My Lebanese neighbor (from the newer side of the cartier) has three cherub faced children with lusciously curly hair. They are unstrapped and roll around the backseat in that terrifying African way children in cars have. Loose items just waiting to be ejected. The oldest is usually brushing her hair, and the other sister alternates between standing up to look out the window and crawling around the floor for some dropped item. The little boy sits silently on the edge of the seat. They all stare at me with large brown eyes and smile shyly.

Our conversation has varied over the three trips she’s offered. I try to make a little small talk and have learned enough about her to know her husband is with the World Bank, they came here unexpectedly and she prefers Tunisia. Much of the ride passes in silence and I figure that is ok too. 

This particular morning we get off to a hiccupping start.  I want to throw the word jalopy in here, but I am not sure why or if it really applies. Perrhaps it is this part of the definition "...an old-style class of stock car racing in America, often raced on dirt ovals" that most describes my experience. The car itself is not old or out of shape exactly, but the driving...

I feel like I’ve gotten on a ride at the fair. There are jerks and false starts and unexpected accelerations. She is saying something to me but a sense of vertigo prevents me from fully comprehending.  She speeds up and passes a car as we go around the turn. We approach an intersection, but there is no slowing down. We race through cutting off a taxi who blares its horn and swerves to the right. Amidst the braking and blaring she offers a comment on the situation.  “You see how they drive here?” She shakes her head in dismay and tsk tsks with her teeth.  I am feeling a bit Alice in Wonderland at her perception of things and my breakfast begins to speak to me from the pit of my stomach. I notice that she does bear a slight resemblance to the Queen of Hearts. I get lost in thoughts of flamingo mallets and rolling hedgehogs.

As we arrive at the school, there is a line of traffic waiting for pedestrians to cross. It's not a long line and things are relatively quiet. In general, everyone is heeding the security guards charged with maintaining order in the early morning flow. I am always impressed by how competent they are at their job. I admire the choreography they execute as cars stop and go, turn and advance and then wait again. Like the gears and cogs of a machine working together to produce an efficient and artful effect. My Queen of Hearts wants no part of this, however. 

She pulls into the opposite lane and jumps the queue completely. The school is on the right hand side and so she needs to cut off whoever is at the front of the line in order to cross back over. The security guards actually help her to do this, remove the barrier so she can make the turn and enter the parking lot. No one blinks an eye. “So that is how it is done,” I think as I release my death grip from the door handle. Oxygen floods my brain as I realize I hadn’t been breathing. 

She turns to me and curtly nods her head. Mission accomplished. “Have a good day.” She smiles slightly and I feel I am dismissed.  I put my feet on solid ground, rather enjoying the dizzying after effects of my morning commute. I know by the time I reach my classroom I will have morphed back into the dependable teacher persona that my job requires, but for the moment, I feel otherworldly and life is brimming with possibilities.

Zoo

We went to the Abidjan zoo for a class trip. I generally tend to stay away from African zoos because I cannot bear to see the state of the animals. There had been some recent work done, however, and my co-teacher arranged the trip through one of the parents (and the minister of forestry and agriculture I believe.) I had a bit of hope that it wouldn't be so bad. I took a lot of photos because I thought it might be interesting to see what kind of animals and conditions are found in a zoo in Africa (myth busting again, I suppose.)

The truth is, African zoos have many of the same animals as other zoos, though they do tend to be heavy on crocodiles for some reason. Maybe crocodiles are particularly easy to get and maintain...?
In the end, I didn't feel too terrible about the experience, perhaps because it was well shaded and full of trees or perhaps because I have become accustomed to things being hard and unfair sometimes.

Forbidden to feed the animals. 10,000 franc fine (about 20$)

 You can see how tempting it is to feed the animals because
you can get so close to their cages

Lots of greenery- and a garbage bin

Tires for the monkeys

This bird is on the 10,000 franc

The signs don't give much information

Inside the learning center

Two different guides told me 2 different stories about this thing-
 part art/part animal fur or 100% art?

Tables and chairs all ready for little visitors

But I was still stuck on these odd animal heads

Super sad gorilla looking out from behind his bars

A friendly elephant....but oh so lonely

The minister feeds the baby

Of course the kids take a turn next

Several exhibits were sponsored by organizations-
 this one was slightly disturbing to me

There's a big cat in there. He has more room than some
 of the animals but it still doesn't really seem like enough

Goats and tires. Our guide told us goats don't really belong
 in the zoo because they are domesticated.

This is not the animal hospital- it's an exhibit sponsored by the Swiss

Overall, a cool shady walk

The lion is outside. There are two females "in the kitchen"

Space for 3 lions. I have seen worse.

A newer sign with more information

I was constantly in awe of how close we were able to get to the animals.
 The lion was only far away because he chose to be.

A galapagos turtle, said to be 100 years old. Our guide didn't know how
they determine a turtle's age exactly. Science, was her first reply.
Then she gave a good example of how information is passed orally
and suggested that perhaps that is how we determine their age.
But if no human is present when a turtle is born, does it really have an age?

A lot of the markings showed clear links to African art and fabrics

I'm not sure what the bamboo is for, still plenty of space
 for little fingers to get into-or out of- the monkey cage

A scene of the city beyond the zoo

Love this bird head- reminded me of art and dance

New baby born at the zoo...forever enchained

The bamboo fence doesn't strike me as all that prohibitive

The civet cats were a hard exhibit to view. They have one of the
smallest enclosures. There are 3 in this small space and they just
pace back and forth all day. The guide suggested that if they had
 a bigger enclosure then we wouldn't be able to see them.
 They've been captured and put here so we can view them.
 It almost seemed to make sense the way she said it.

View from the front. There are 3 different species here with
 multiple animals per cage. Oh, they need a renovation.

The gorilla again from a different view. He appears to be a
 bit happier, but I know he's not.

Once I got closer I saw the mongoose were sponsored by the Swiss

An alligator bridge over green water

A small water pool for the buffalo

Part of the old elephant grounds, when there was more than 1

Old elephant viewing stand

Alligators in a dry pool- there is some more of that green
 water on the other side. They seemed content basking in the heat.

Sometimes it seemed like a nice place to spend the day

Hippo plus more green water

A long narrow home

Peering into the hippo pool (and more crocodiles)

Broken cement benches abound, along with the litter

More views of the city just outside

This elephant wants to come home with us