My aunt has accused me on more than one occasion of being brave. Something about moving to Africa and living and working here. I might have felt brave (or rather scared out of my mind) the first few months, maybe even the first year. But after 8 years? It's just become a place I live. I guess, in the absence of fear, it is hard to see bravery.
Even though I live in a huge city, I am lucky enough to be able to maintain that small town feel. As humans, we tend to develop routines and create small pathways of daily use. I definitely do this. My world in Abidjan is limited and so develops a cozy, familiar sense that makes it seem safe, for the most part.
Moving around here has an infinitely safer feel to me than getting around Kinshasa, though I adapted there. I can recall many more moments of needing to be hyper aware and even fleeting sensations of fear. Here? Not so much.
Well, at least it hadn't been that way. While I am always aware of my surroundings, it has been possible to relax. This past month, however, developers (?) tore down the collection of kiosks and little market stalls that filled the corner known as 9kilo (neuf kilo.) People were left without homes, shops or any way to care for their families. Everything. Just gone. The view of that area is shocking and discouraging- it's become a waste field of rubble and broken dreams. Not to worry, though, the trucks have moved in and are shoveling it all out- to make room for some over-priced collection of apartments or stores no doubt. I think about photographing it but (aside from my continuous problem securing a "real" camera) I don't think a photo can really express the tragedy. It is reminiscent of the roadside on the way to Bassam, miles and miles of ruins. Or the way Kinshasa police often moved in and destroyed businesses and storefronts. Piles of smoldering wood and broken concrete mixed in with bent umbrella frames and torn plastic.
Some people will argue that those cement block shops and wooden tabled vegetable stands are ugly, an eye-sore. They clog up traffic and create unsafe places where people loiter. I don't know if any of it is true. Those small cement buildings are beautiful in the way they represent the creativity, the entrepreneurial spirit, the desire and drive and motivation to face each day with energy. Those wooden vegetable stands with their black plastic umbrellas are beautiful in the way they represent the strength of women to persevere through a hot day, earning money to care for their children. There is beauty in the way those umbrellas shelter generations of mothers, aunts and daughters as they talk and laugh together, do each other's hair, and prepare food for the community passing by. There is beauty in their interactions and personal connections. It is the beauty of human will.
Whatever replaces it will be sterile and square and painted in a dull and lifeless color. I will never be able to see it as pretty or prefect. I think I will probably always see the shadows of evil lurking on the edges, remembering everyone whose lives were disrupted and discarded without a second glance.
It's left many people desperate, this development. Last week, when the evening nanny didn't show up I wondered what had happened. She travels a bit to arrive and so there is always the possibility of gbakka accidents or other problems. I couldn't reach her for the entire weekend, which only added to my concern. When she finally arrived on Monday evening, she told me her story.
She'd taken a local local taxi to 9kilo. There were two men in the backseat, one on each side of her. The driver took a round about way, a little bit longer, a little bit darker, a little bit more secluded. The two men robbed her of her phone and all her cash. They slit open her purse and took whatever was inside.
I'd read stories about this in the newspaper. The cases I'd read happened in a different part of the city but described a similar event. You get in a taxi that isn't really a taxi but a group of people working together to rob you. It's this last part that is most unsettling to me. A man working on his own just has to deal with his own guilt (or lack of.) He can deny and be secretive, yet possibly harbor a better person inside. When you work as part of a team to deceive, steal and potentially harm another person, it seems to add an entire level. There is no denial, no secrecy but an out and open admission of who you are. When other people look at you, they will only see a crook and bandit. The fact that someone commits their crime with others means they are accepting of this part of themselves, maybe even proud of it.
I don't know if it is my age, my sensitivity, or my limited social involvement, but thinking of those three men planning and menacing a single woman is very disturbing to me. It made me pause the next few times I hailed a taxi. It even made me reject a few, taxis filled with men, taxis with only 1 spot open that was not close to a door, taxis that just didn't "feel" right.
Before I rejected too many taxis, however, I recognized my sense of fear. I realized that it would never work if I gave in to it. (I have to get around somehow, right? Unfortunately, most taxis are full of men, though I have often thought of creating a women only taxi service.) However, there was nothing left to do but take in a deep breath of bravery and common sense and hail a taxi. Just. get. in.
Maybe my aunt is right. Conquering whatever fear we face in the daily routines of our own lives requires bravery. Hailing a taxi, smiling at an angry boss, facing a brand new day without a loved one, saying goodbye to our children as they embark on adventures of their own. It all requires bravery.
