Things are shifting- not just in the big world, where it seems obvious (even in my small hometown I ran across an FB post of a scary letter by the sheriff- encouraging citizens to get and carry guns. Everywhere. As in, always carry your gun when you leave your house. ??!!!)
While I am glad not to be in that environment right now, there are always changes underway, no matter where you are. Our neighborhood has gone through some small changes of its own.
Before I ever got a chance to take those inside photos, Diallo is gone. He was the young kid at the corner boutique. We are now on our fourth corner boutique guy. They all leave the same way.
One day there are two of them. They stay together for a few days and then one of them goes. "Off to Adjame," they always say, "to man the shops there."
I'm not sure how the conversation began but I learned more this time. The new guy tells me that Diallo was transferred because he was too friendly with the customers.
"But it's good to be friendly, no? It helps to build the business." I wonder about the strategy at work here.
"He gave too much credit," he explains. I remember seeing the owner in the shop one day, maybe checking out the books? That day, as on several others, Diallo gave me some extra. Often I would buy something for 100 franc and he would offer 1 more than expected. It was kind of random and I couldn't quite figure out why or when. I chalked it up to me not quite understanding the prices or maybe his own mood swings through generosity and good days vs bad days. I imagined the confines of the store-box would feel quite limiting and play havoc with one's emotional state.
But that day, I sensed something else at play. Right there under the boss' nose he is giving out freebies. It seemed more like a rebellion. A way of taking control in a powerless situation. I saw him once more, walking down the neighborhood street. He looked odd without his store around him, smaller and yet, more determined.
Now he is off to the crowded streets of Adjame, or whatever store he is next calling his home. And we are left with the new guy, who burns a slightly unpleasant incense, but appears to have cleaned up the shop to create a bit more room for himself.
Other things are changing too. Small signs that suggest maybe I am blending in more with the neighborhood than I thought. Or the country.
I bought a bag at the school concert, having been in need for awhile. The zipper on my last bag had broken and I'd been using it open for the last month or so. I had my eye on a stylish new design hanging outside a shop in Palmeraie- one of those window shopping excursions that I'd always promised to go back and buy but never did. Happily, the owner had a booth at the craft section of the show and I was able to make good on my private vows to purchase one.
I passed a few colleagues who remarked on the bag and so began a conversation about bags and prices and pockets and the real need for a bag anyway. (I had a real need, they viewed it as an accessory they did not really need.) But the most interesting part was as soon as I told them the price, in francs, they both looked at each other and said the amount in dollars. Something I hadn't even considered, couldn't consider.
I never deal in dollars anymore. And I'd long ago mentioned, if I ever want to buy something, converting money in my head is the surest way to kill the deal. I was happy with my price (until they converted it to dollars, which I pretended not to hear.) There is no "stock up" trip coming or vacation to a cheaper place and so I have committed to Abidjan prices. There's no sense waxing nostalgic for prices from the past.
The second hint of an inner shift came by way of a question. One of those questions I have been wondering about over the years. My principal asked me...."Are you happy?" I had mentioned on my intent to return letter that I wouldn't mind being considered for some other positions- the art position I had originally applied for, a middle or high school position (that I also applied for.) He was expressing his surprise and stating that he didn't really know if I was happy.
The question surprised me but not as much as my internal response. It felt odd to be asked this question. My kids go to school, they have friends, we eat everyday. What's this happiness business? I have a job that I need. Happiness is not related. Or rather, happiness is not dependent on my job.
I didn't say this. I enjoy teaching and I can do it well. But it is not the source of my happiness (or unhappiness.) I am reminded of the dishwasher turned day cook that I posed this very question to some 20 years ago. He must have felt this very same puzzling way at being asked such a question.
I have a job, of course I am happy. But I have so much more and so of course, I am happy. It doesn't really seem to be the right word that I use to measure my satisfaction ( or dissatisfaction) with life lately. Small signs of age- or maturity- or just merging with my adopted culture. Most likely a mixture of each.
