I cross at the light, which is marginally safer. Just on the other side is a stop for the bakkas. The callers are always trying to persuade me- and all the other passersby- to join them. "Transfer Liberte?" they ask while trying to usher me inside. I wonder where this Liberte is and vow to find out one day. A gas station is right off the corner and it is always a little hazardous trying to get across its exit and entranceway. If traffic is particularly bad, the bakkas come flying through here in their attempt to find a shortcut. I have occasionally had to jump to the side or stop mid stride in an effort to avoid getting creamed.
Once past the station, I am mostly on safe ground. There is a walkway off the roadside and if that isn't enough room, there is also a dirt path even further from the roadway. There are a few large stores here, but the real excitement is in the street vendors. There is a hat man with all manner of headgear from baseball caps to wide brimmed floppy sunhats. This evening, he is trying one on for a customer, which makes me smile. The hats have always seemed to hold a lot of dust and be just a bit too worn to truly look attractive but this man, wearing one of the floppy brimmed blue hats, makes it look just fancy enough to buy. He is holding a small mirror in his hand and I think it is an unusual technique- him trying the hat on- just odd enough to work. I am walking fast though, and so I don't see how the story ends.
My eyes have moved on to the umbrella men. One of them is busy sewing the plastic tarp that covers the metal spindles of his umbrella. Other large umbrellas are tightly wound and leaning against the wooden fence. These are not the small carrying umbrella but the large kind used for sellers. A glance across the street reveals a mass of them covering the fruit and vegetable stands that run the opposite length of the road.
Just after comes the ballerina-flat vendor. His shoes are laid out neatly on a large white cloth in row after colorful row of ballerina flats. This is the beginning of shoe alley. From here to the taxi station I pass shoe sellers, all with their own particular style of displaying their footwear. Most pair them up and set one at an angle, mimicking department store displays. Some just throw out a big pile and customers can be seen rifling through searching for a match. I always keep an eye on the shoes and the shirts and other odd items for sale, window shopping as I walk.
As I near the corner, things get busy again. There are women frying plantain chips and another bakka stop which always makes for a crazy interlude. People hopping in and out, the loud bang on the back metal door signaling the driver to speed off or to stop and let people out.
There is a small road to cross with a triangular island of shoe sellers. It appears to be nothing more than a dirt path but taxis can come speeding in or out unexpectedly. I've learned to pause and look carefully before stepping out and making my way over to the 'gare.'
The taxi station here is bustling, as all taxi assembly points are. Amidst the jewlery and food and phone credit stands are commuters and long lines of taxis waiting to be filled (on a good day. Some days the taxi lines are empty and it is just us pedestrians waiting for a taxi to come along so we can jump in.) This is the collection point and so not everyone is taking the same route. I must make my way over to someone who usually asks my destination. When I tell them, they call out "Appelle Guiraud" and whoever is going in that direction will beckon me over. Here taxis don't leave until they are full and, while this doesn't usually take too long, there is always the possibility of a wait.
Once we are cleared, we make our way into the bumpy streets of Palmeraie. Leg 3. Back on wheels, I am relegated once again to staring out as the sights pass me by. I do more window shopping, keeping my eyes on favorite clothes to see if they've sold and imagining coming back one day just to shop. I never do.
I read the same store names and think the same thoughts about them on my trip. My favorite- Top Shop Babi, which I can always hear in a Kinsahsa friend's voice. The theme of this store is Peace, Love and Fashion and her voice reads me the sign every time I pass. There is the great tree with moss and vines hanging down under which sit more fruit sellers. The tree is all that is left of the jungle that once covered this area and it is beautiful and lonely, out of place and wonderfully grounded all at the same time.
Sometimes the drivers take a side road, which is dust covered gravel and has tires placed carefully in sculpturesque positions in the middle and off to the sides. I think it is meant to bar the road from traffic as it is being worked on but nothing deters a taxi driver. They speed down the road, their tires kicking up rocks and dust and they veer sharply to the left or right avoiding the artwork. It is a mini Indy 25 that they all seem to enjoy. Back on the main road, they resume a normal pace and merge with traffic.
It isn't long before my corner approaches and I get out. EDEC takes up the entire block. The entrance I use is about halfway down and there is a beautiful broad leaved tree just outside. I really love the shade and comfort this tree provides as it stands overhanging the green metal door that leads into the school. There is some work going on in the yard, creating an outdoor performance stage, and I hope it will never reach this tree.
My entire journey takes about 30 minutes but it is enough to make me feel as if I have crossed into another world. By the time I arrive, I am ready to be enveloped by the music of the drum.
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| Photos of the grounds inside the gate- early in the school's life It doesn't look quite so neat and orderly these days |
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| I'm pretty sure these are living areas- they are so fascinating but I haven't seen the inside of one yet.It's hard to imagine just on the other side is a bustling street corner jammed with traffic |
