I'm not really sure where this post fits, or if it even fits. I'm not sure if it means something, or if this kind of thing happens to everyone. But I do know I am not the only 40-something single white mom out there. So maybe this happens to everyone. Or at least someone. Besides me.
Because so far 2017 has me feeling like I need a book (I do) or a tv show (probably not) about my life. Or maybe even a reality series. It's just been a train wreck.
And while I've already commented on how the new year in Africa is often filled with apologies and calls for forgiveness, this year it seems filled with something else as well. Messages from my exes.
It's not easy to be my age and realize that most of the plans and hopes and dreams are not working out as anticipated. It requires a deep reaching search for resilience and perseverance. It requires flexibility to re-imagine the coming years and reshape expectations (or ditch them altogether. It's what all the yogis suggest these days.) Being over 40 and still single includes a bit of soul searching as well. (I searched a bit to put a link here, but, really, it's all just depressing. I'm going back into denial for a bit. Who's over 40?) How did I become that lady? That older, single lady that just hasn't been able to make a match, meet a partner, create something solid that lasts with another human?
While I am struggling to reinterpret myself and keep my inner thoughts positive, my exes start calling and texting and sending messages that leave me checking the calendar. What year is it again? How long since we last talked?
Nearly every message contains an "I love you." A few contain a "you're beautiful.' And several suggest regret. There is no blame, no cruelty and no name calling (actually, there never was. These guys each went their own way for unexplained reasons, professing love as they backed out the door.)
All of these random messages have arrived in strange synchronicity. I don't have many exes. Since my divorce, I could count 4 significant relationships. The fact that my ex-husband and 3 of those significant relationships have all resumed contact with me at about the same time, with a similar cheery message, is surely meant to impress upon me something that I can't discern. It leaves me with a sense that if I could just unravel the mystery, decode the meaning, then I would know exactly how to move forward.
In the meantime, I have no idea what it means when everyone you've dated in the last 10 years says, yeah it was great, and you are great...sorry we didn't last, we should have lasted, can I call you? And then they do. All around the same time. My phone is ringing and beeping and sounding off like an alien spaceship landing.
Yet here I remain, single as ever. But apparently still a great and beautiful person. Or something like that.
26.1.17
18.1.17
Mutiny
Since my last post, the list of miss vs. not miss has grown like wild fire. I've started making notes in my phone for an anticipated numbered account. Essential oils in the pharmacies is definitely going to make the miss list. Hugely.
I was on my way to the pharmacy during my lunch break yesterday, in search of a certain lavender neroli blend my yoga teacher uses, when I noticed them. In their black and gray marbled uniforms, the police sitting just at the end of the school parking lot stood out distinctly from our daily security, who wear canary yellow shirts and typical guardian gray pants with a black stripe down the side.
The policemen, about 5 of them, were all lined up in blue chairs looking bored out of their minds, a few actually napping in the shade. I have noticed a greater police presence, truckloads full sitting at corners and patrolling the streets. It doesn't feel like so many, but because there are usually none, the contrast is noticeable. I can't help but think of Kinshasa where the presence of military, police, guns and even the occasional tank were an everyday affair. It was only when the riot gear came out that we began to suspect something was up.
There's mutiny in Cote d'Ivoire and it has everyone on edge, wondering what will happen next. I am reminded this is the way of Africa, everything is fine until it's not. Apparently it began with the military going on strike in order to receive promised pay that never materialized. The president seemed to issue a super swift response (a good decision when guns are involved) acquiescing to the demand. It turns out, he only approved some of the pay, for some of the people (probably not such a good decision when guns are involved.)
In conjunction with, or directly because of (it's hard to be clear on the sequence of events) other government-paid entities went on strike as well. Doctors-this one actually stumped me for a minute, but when even the street roaming telephone credit sellers can go on strike, you know anything is possible. I hadn't realized doctors were paid by the government. I'm still not certain I completely understand that whole situation. UPDATE: Apparently the doctors are subsidized by the state- some of their pay comes from the government and some comes from the patients themselves. Oddly, the patients don't receive subsidized care. If you don't have money, you don't get treatment. And in these days, money won't help you much either. A strike is going on.
Teachers- this strike led to altercations between public and private schools, with the former insisting the latter strike to support them. This article and video describe a disturbing scene at a school in the area. Students became the clear victims of a matter that should remain between adults.
Conflict and tension are not just elevated on school grounds. The comments on this article reflect some of the challenges that occur when a country's military goes on 'strike'- effectively a mutiny when the people charged with protecting you are refusing to do so. The problem, common to many African militaries, is that a certain number of members have come in as 'rebels.' It results in a complex relationship between the incumbent president and the old and new guards. It seems like it should have been obvious to the president that if he only paid a few of them, the rest were not going to be happy. Likewise, once you pay out to a strike, it kind of opens the floodgates for others seeking their remittance. (Of course, the whole messy situation could be avoided by.....simply paying salaries on time in the first place, non?)
What remains impressive is the level of organisation inherent in the strikes, which included the administrative and finance capitals as well as the 'second city.' Rumors abound as to what will happen next. Although our director has been walking around all day and sending curious emails trying to staunch the flow of rumors, the fact is that in Africa rumors can be difficult to determine. Word of mouth is often the only reliable way to get messages around (especially in the face of presidents and the powerful who are known to cut off text messaging, internet connections and t.v/radio service.) We're all left trying to determine how to tell if something is rumor or merely truth traveling the old fashioned way?
Like much else in Africa, it all goes back to your connections. If your roots are deep, you will find water. For the rest of us? We're stuck just waiting it out, watching play by play and speculating on the possible outcomes. It's either that or the CAN.
I was on my way to the pharmacy during my lunch break yesterday, in search of a certain lavender neroli blend my yoga teacher uses, when I noticed them. In their black and gray marbled uniforms, the police sitting just at the end of the school parking lot stood out distinctly from our daily security, who wear canary yellow shirts and typical guardian gray pants with a black stripe down the side.
The policemen, about 5 of them, were all lined up in blue chairs looking bored out of their minds, a few actually napping in the shade. I have noticed a greater police presence, truckloads full sitting at corners and patrolling the streets. It doesn't feel like so many, but because there are usually none, the contrast is noticeable. I can't help but think of Kinshasa where the presence of military, police, guns and even the occasional tank were an everyday affair. It was only when the riot gear came out that we began to suspect something was up.
There's mutiny in Cote d'Ivoire and it has everyone on edge, wondering what will happen next. I am reminded this is the way of Africa, everything is fine until it's not. Apparently it began with the military going on strike in order to receive promised pay that never materialized. The president seemed to issue a super swift response (a good decision when guns are involved) acquiescing to the demand. It turns out, he only approved some of the pay, for some of the people (probably not such a good decision when guns are involved.)
In conjunction with, or directly because of (it's hard to be clear on the sequence of events) other government-paid entities went on strike as well. Doctors-this one actually stumped me for a minute, but when even the street roaming telephone credit sellers can go on strike, you know anything is possible. I hadn't realized doctors were paid by the government. I'm still not certain I completely understand that whole situation. UPDATE: Apparently the doctors are subsidized by the state- some of their pay comes from the government and some comes from the patients themselves. Oddly, the patients don't receive subsidized care. If you don't have money, you don't get treatment. And in these days, money won't help you much either. A strike is going on.
Teachers- this strike led to altercations between public and private schools, with the former insisting the latter strike to support them. This article and video describe a disturbing scene at a school in the area. Students became the clear victims of a matter that should remain between adults.
Conflict and tension are not just elevated on school grounds. The comments on this article reflect some of the challenges that occur when a country's military goes on 'strike'- effectively a mutiny when the people charged with protecting you are refusing to do so. The problem, common to many African militaries, is that a certain number of members have come in as 'rebels.' It results in a complex relationship between the incumbent president and the old and new guards. It seems like it should have been obvious to the president that if he only paid a few of them, the rest were not going to be happy. Likewise, once you pay out to a strike, it kind of opens the floodgates for others seeking their remittance. (Of course, the whole messy situation could be avoided by.....simply paying salaries on time in the first place, non?)
What remains impressive is the level of organisation inherent in the strikes, which included the administrative and finance capitals as well as the 'second city.' Rumors abound as to what will happen next. Although our director has been walking around all day and sending curious emails trying to staunch the flow of rumors, the fact is that in Africa rumors can be difficult to determine. Word of mouth is often the only reliable way to get messages around (especially in the face of presidents and the powerful who are known to cut off text messaging, internet connections and t.v/radio service.) We're all left trying to determine how to tell if something is rumor or merely truth traveling the old fashioned way?
Like much else in Africa, it all goes back to your connections. If your roots are deep, you will find water. For the rest of us? We're stuck just waiting it out, watching play by play and speculating on the possible outcomes. It's either that or the CAN.
17.1.17
The obvious things
I still wake with images of Kinshasa streets. There is a certain place, there, I want to visit or a certain street, here, I want to walk down. There are neighborhoods and markets and shady tree spots I want to frequent. Just the other day I battled with an overwhelming urge to go to Kintambo magasin. Weekly I miss Bandal, and in the middle of my yoga class I was overcome with sensations from a certain curve in the road through Macampagne. When I hear the apprentis call out for Liberte I think I hear Limete and a surge of hope rushes through me. Today, I was trying to clarify a number to the cashier when I said septante- a number that only exists in Kin (and maybe Belgium.)
I cannot tell if these urges stem from merely spending so many years in the place or from real love and affection. I remember well my love/hate affair with Kin- though, admittedly, near the end I think I was more in love than in despair.
With another impending departure, I am left wondering what I will miss - what I will not miss- and the hidden secrets that will only reveal their tenderness once I am absent.
I try to be especially observant these days. What do I see, smell, hear, feel as I travel through the city? What is unique to Abidjan and what is part of the deeper African thread that connects countries on the continent?
I've begun a list of the more obvious things, hoping the subtle will emerge from the shadows and make themselves known while I still have a chance to appreciate them in person.
I am certain to miss the cool breezes that seem to blow through every street in the evening hours, effectively erasing the heat of the day. I will miss alloco and garba and attieke...staple foods of the street, frying fish at 9 am alerting me that the noon meal is nearing. Perhaps I will miss the afternoon siesta- or the long French lunch- when neighborhood streets, engulfed with the midday sun, are quiet and empty. School children have returned home for lunch, a nap, a bit of time with their family, though it is not our school children. The American school toils on through the heat and takes no breaks to reunite with family in the middle of the day.
Perhaps I will wax nostalgic for the strong smell of coffee and coco that emanates from the Nestle factory. There is the possibility to search online and actually find results, though real communication about events always seems hidden and hard to come by. There are art galleries and grocery stores and malls all filled with bright lights and shiny items I don't really need. Will I miss this? Perhaps I have grown too comfortable here in the heart of one of Africa's most complacent cities.
I snapped these photos of a trend that impressed me from the first. Businesses post their code of ethics and offer "I-statements" to their customers as a way of education. Although Ivory Coast ranks 38 on this list of literate countries (and falls well below RDC) Abidjan seems to be teeming with a literate population. Bookstores are full and Ivorian authors prominent...though some titles elicit smiles rather than curiosity. 'I'm leaving my wife for the maid,' or 'I'm in love with house-boy.' The bookstore in Cap-Nord, one of the smaller shopping centers in Riviera III, hosts an author book signing nearly every weekend. Success seems possible.
A well-developed middle class has led to other pastimes, like day-time T.V. This past vacation I spent some mornings in the gym and caught snatches of a talk show with pertinent issues of the day- 'My family falsely accused me of sorcery and abandoned me. I found refuge in my art [painting,]' and 'Hairstyles that are inappropriate for young girls,' that last highlighting how weaves and heavy braids pull on little girls' fragile heads, complete with young guys who say it is beautiful and women who wonder why it is necessary for a 5 year old to look like a fashion model.
Abidjan is home to Africa has incredible talent, a show that I happened to watch a few times and then got hooked after I stumbled across 2 groups I know personally. I had to stay tuned for their appearances and 1 of the groups made it to the finals. It was fun to cheer them on---and in the process I have developed a terrible crush on Fally. Silliness.
Aside from interesting TV, Abidjan works in many other ways that are appealing to foreigners. There are lines and systems, people listen to the police and drive (mostly) on the right side of the road. There are emergency numbers to call, and while I have criticized them in the past, I now recognize that they do respond and they do try to serve the population.They have a facebook page and admit there are challenges to overcome, even as they train new recruits.
The difficulty in addresses is something I won't miss, or rather, will probably experience in a completely new way. The most puzzling thing about Abidjan is that there are actually street signs- so many streets are labeled with a mysterious number system that no one ever uses. E678 is at crossroads with E544. I like to imagine how effective it all might be if they were labeled with actual street names, and then I try to imagine what those names would be. It leaves me feeling just slightly nostalgic for the street signs of America. I remember with fondness the names of streets I haunted, streets I avoided and streets that hold memories of more than one kind.
I won't miss the stink of the lagoon just after crossing the bridge (which does have a name.) There is a project to clean it up, but it's been going on for the 3 years I've been here and I haven't noticed much improvement. I wonder if it is actually possible to clean up a body of water- though all the perimeter signs announce a grand partnership and a grand plan for a new vision and a new lagoon. I see what they do in my neighborhood, on the other side of the lagoon and I think there are a million 'sides' to the lagoon. No one is monitoring them all and people continue to be people.
A lot of Abidjan brings me face to face with how people are ruining our planet. I envision us as little parasites running amok, creating disease and bringing damage to our host. The constant building and prevalence of cement are particular soul killers to me.
A friend in Mali has been sending me pictures of the earth there, 'just 15 min. from the school,' he writes. I interpret a pleading desperation to his messages. His words hold a life sustaining quality, as if he is saying, 'just hang in and once you get here you can breathe.' Sometimes he will even count down the weeks for me. I didn't know I needed this.
Oh, but I miss my Kinshasa jungle. I realize that is what made all the difference. There was plenty of building in Kin, plenty of construction and tree chopping. Plenty of garbage strewn streets and trash filled waterways, but being able to retreat to the tranquility of the jungle patch every evening, my eyes drinking in the green, my ears soaking up the sounds of bird calls and night noises, my skin absorbing the rich air....yeah, I can't get that back. An oasis in the middle of the city.
There isn't much that disturbs me about Abidjan. Not the way my frustration and anger rose up at times in Kin- where officials of one rank or another often seemed overly profuse in their stubbornness, eager to create an issue where none really existed for the mere entertainment value (though I always suspected much of this was due to the sheer powerlessness and poverty that people endure, requiring them to seek some small salvation and sense of dignity in whatever exchange they can. As if the manifested power struggle affirmed existence. I influence you, and therefore my presence holds value.)
I think the biggest thing I will not miss is the sense of lethargy and mediocrity that I feel. It is probably important to say that this is potentially a highly personal interpretation of things. But it has been a constant source of frustration. People are satisfied with 'just enough' and I rarely find that push for more, for excellence. I am speaking mostly in terms of the art world and it is fair to say my experience has been limited- although this appears directly linked to the fact that I have not been able to find a situation that meets my stringent criteria.
A neutral observation that doesn't really fit into either category is the prevalence of strikes. There is surely a post to come about this phenomenon, but the power of striking is something the Abidjanais know well. It was one of the first conversations I'd had with the taxi drivers, and it continues to be a presence. Abidjanais have learned how to organize and collectively make their voices heard. They recognize the value and power in this. The numerous strikes haven't yet affected me on a personal level, not much more than an occasional nuisance, which I mentioned once to a taxi driver who immediately admonished me. "The strike is not easy for them, either. But it is important." An obvious reflection I somehow missed. The truth is, sometimes I don't understand how the strikes help, or who they help. Or if they are even effective. But there is no doubt they've become woven into the fabric of the city, a city I don't anticipate missing much as I embark on the next leg of my journey.
I cannot tell if these urges stem from merely spending so many years in the place or from real love and affection. I remember well my love/hate affair with Kin- though, admittedly, near the end I think I was more in love than in despair.
With another impending departure, I am left wondering what I will miss - what I will not miss- and the hidden secrets that will only reveal their tenderness once I am absent.
I try to be especially observant these days. What do I see, smell, hear, feel as I travel through the city? What is unique to Abidjan and what is part of the deeper African thread that connects countries on the continent?
I've begun a list of the more obvious things, hoping the subtle will emerge from the shadows and make themselves known while I still have a chance to appreciate them in person.
I am certain to miss the cool breezes that seem to blow through every street in the evening hours, effectively erasing the heat of the day. I will miss alloco and garba and attieke...staple foods of the street, frying fish at 9 am alerting me that the noon meal is nearing. Perhaps I will miss the afternoon siesta- or the long French lunch- when neighborhood streets, engulfed with the midday sun, are quiet and empty. School children have returned home for lunch, a nap, a bit of time with their family, though it is not our school children. The American school toils on through the heat and takes no breaks to reunite with family in the middle of the day.
Perhaps I will wax nostalgic for the strong smell of coffee and coco that emanates from the Nestle factory. There is the possibility to search online and actually find results, though real communication about events always seems hidden and hard to come by. There are art galleries and grocery stores and malls all filled with bright lights and shiny items I don't really need. Will I miss this? Perhaps I have grown too comfortable here in the heart of one of Africa's most complacent cities.
I snapped these photos of a trend that impressed me from the first. Businesses post their code of ethics and offer "I-statements" to their customers as a way of education. Although Ivory Coast ranks 38 on this list of literate countries (and falls well below RDC) Abidjan seems to be teeming with a literate population. Bookstores are full and Ivorian authors prominent...though some titles elicit smiles rather than curiosity. 'I'm leaving my wife for the maid,' or 'I'm in love with house-boy.' The bookstore in Cap-Nord, one of the smaller shopping centers in Riviera III, hosts an author book signing nearly every weekend. Success seems possible.
 |
| Customer service problem? Just point to the sign |
 |
| These I-statements are so appealing to me |
Abidjan is home to Africa has incredible talent, a show that I happened to watch a few times and then got hooked after I stumbled across 2 groups I know personally. I had to stay tuned for their appearances and 1 of the groups made it to the finals. It was fun to cheer them on---and in the process I have developed a terrible crush on Fally. Silliness.
Aside from interesting TV, Abidjan works in many other ways that are appealing to foreigners. There are lines and systems, people listen to the police and drive (mostly) on the right side of the road. There are emergency numbers to call, and while I have criticized them in the past, I now recognize that they do respond and they do try to serve the population.They have a facebook page and admit there are challenges to overcome, even as they train new recruits.
The difficulty in addresses is something I won't miss, or rather, will probably experience in a completely new way. The most puzzling thing about Abidjan is that there are actually street signs- so many streets are labeled with a mysterious number system that no one ever uses. E678 is at crossroads with E544. I like to imagine how effective it all might be if they were labeled with actual street names, and then I try to imagine what those names would be. It leaves me feeling just slightly nostalgic for the street signs of America. I remember with fondness the names of streets I haunted, streets I avoided and streets that hold memories of more than one kind.
 |
| These signs are everywhere... but no one knows what they mean |
I won't miss the stink of the lagoon just after crossing the bridge (which does have a name.) There is a project to clean it up, but it's been going on for the 3 years I've been here and I haven't noticed much improvement. I wonder if it is actually possible to clean up a body of water- though all the perimeter signs announce a grand partnership and a grand plan for a new vision and a new lagoon. I see what they do in my neighborhood, on the other side of the lagoon and I think there are a million 'sides' to the lagoon. No one is monitoring them all and people continue to be people.
A lot of Abidjan brings me face to face with how people are ruining our planet. I envision us as little parasites running amok, creating disease and bringing damage to our host. The constant building and prevalence of cement are particular soul killers to me.
A friend in Mali has been sending me pictures of the earth there, 'just 15 min. from the school,' he writes. I interpret a pleading desperation to his messages. His words hold a life sustaining quality, as if he is saying, 'just hang in and once you get here you can breathe.' Sometimes he will even count down the weeks for me. I didn't know I needed this.
Oh, but I miss my Kinshasa jungle. I realize that is what made all the difference. There was plenty of building in Kin, plenty of construction and tree chopping. Plenty of garbage strewn streets and trash filled waterways, but being able to retreat to the tranquility of the jungle patch every evening, my eyes drinking in the green, my ears soaking up the sounds of bird calls and night noises, my skin absorbing the rich air....yeah, I can't get that back. An oasis in the middle of the city.
There isn't much that disturbs me about Abidjan. Not the way my frustration and anger rose up at times in Kin- where officials of one rank or another often seemed overly profuse in their stubbornness, eager to create an issue where none really existed for the mere entertainment value (though I always suspected much of this was due to the sheer powerlessness and poverty that people endure, requiring them to seek some small salvation and sense of dignity in whatever exchange they can. As if the manifested power struggle affirmed existence. I influence you, and therefore my presence holds value.)
I think the biggest thing I will not miss is the sense of lethargy and mediocrity that I feel. It is probably important to say that this is potentially a highly personal interpretation of things. But it has been a constant source of frustration. People are satisfied with 'just enough' and I rarely find that push for more, for excellence. I am speaking mostly in terms of the art world and it is fair to say my experience has been limited- although this appears directly linked to the fact that I have not been able to find a situation that meets my stringent criteria.
A neutral observation that doesn't really fit into either category is the prevalence of strikes. There is surely a post to come about this phenomenon, but the power of striking is something the Abidjanais know well. It was one of the first conversations I'd had with the taxi drivers, and it continues to be a presence. Abidjanais have learned how to organize and collectively make their voices heard. They recognize the value and power in this. The numerous strikes haven't yet affected me on a personal level, not much more than an occasional nuisance, which I mentioned once to a taxi driver who immediately admonished me. "The strike is not easy for them, either. But it is important." An obvious reflection I somehow missed. The truth is, sometimes I don't understand how the strikes help, or who they help. Or if they are even effective. But there is no doubt they've become woven into the fabric of the city, a city I don't anticipate missing much as I embark on the next leg of my journey.
7.1.17
A new year's story
I spent three days editing this story- turning a mediocre piece of writing into a slightly more interesting read. It was arduous and painstaking.....everything seems to feel that way these days, except the pure enjoyment of hanging with my girl. That is easy and lovely and so completely full of joy. There's nothing new about the story that my [internet] connection failed and the computer froze and I lost all of my edits, leaving me only the mediocre piece I began with. Since then, other thoughts and small events and musings have passed my mind, but I am stuck feeling I must dress up this writing one final time before moving on. I am not sure what it is about Abidjan that has me languishing, but I am resolved to persevere. Courage, patience and practice (both for myself and you, dear reader, a witness to my struggles and a fellow traveler on this journey with me.)
The days between Christmas and New Year's seem to be the only time of year when the world takes a break- all at the same time. I love the sense of time suspended.
The days between Christmas and New Year's seem to be the only time of year when the world takes a break- all at the same time. I love the sense of time suspended.
In the vein of discovering as much of Cote d'Ivoire as possible before our departure, I agreed to a trip to the beach town of Assine. The deal was a 4 day, 3 night house share with 3 other families. I'm not much of a group traveler- in total we were 9 adults and 8 children- and my social phobia began to surface days before the trip. It was only the financial obligation, which I knew made the option more affordable, and therefore possible, for my friends that cemented my decision.
We stayed in one of these lovely houses at Mykonos.
The first challenge presented itself no sooner than we'd dropped our bags. The room we were going to take was the "servants quarters," which a friend told us was just fine. Turns out it wasn't really fine, no fan or air circulation, very moldy, sewagey smell and too many mosquitoes. Not sleepable.
We ended up sleeping in the living room (which was also rumored to have pull out couches galore- not.) Sleeping in the living room meant staying up until everyone else went to bed and getting up at 5 am with the kids. It also meant nowhere to retreat to when the 2 year old needed quiet time. Luckily, she has an easy going nature most of the time. The bigger battle was preventing a build up of resentment about spending the money and then having no accommodations. I was only marginally successful. Nights were the hardest. The only thing to do was tie Mbalia onto my back and walk the long driveway listening to the chirping crickets, croaking frogs and pounding surf until she fell asleep. Meditative in it's own way and not an altogether bad experience.
 |
| View of side yard and back porch |
I wondered how local people here managed. Most of the locals I saw appeared to be workers-builders- or caretakers. The main highway we were on was full of constructions....weekend playhouses for the wealthy or more B&B type rentals.
The caretaker of our rental told me a local taxi could be found pretty easily during the day (apparently nighttime travel was more prohibitive.) I set out on the main highway, Mbalia strapped in her 'pocket' (she loves that thing) and hoped a taxi would go whizzing by. The road seemed to invite no speed limit- it was long, mostly empty and flat. The backlash of occasional cars or a grand truck passing by vibrated to my bones. Eventually a taxi did pass and collect us. We flew into town....a dusty stop off the highway full of dirt roads and wooden shacks. I had expected more.
 |
| I didn't get any shots of the long road or the town of Assine- known formally as Assine Mafia. I was tickled by the labels on the garbage cans. "Even here?" I wondered. "The mafia controls the garbage?" |
It is the kind of novel where small changes result in dramatic events.
Foreigners were definitely a presence- I saw at least 4 other ex-pats roaming around, but the town still held a quiet calm of anticipation that I hadn't expected from what is known as the ritzy playground of French families.
Foreigners were definitely a presence- I saw at least 4 other ex-pats roaming around, but the town still held a quiet calm of anticipation that I hadn't expected from what is known as the ritzy playground of French families.
As I was leaving, I stood just off to the side of the road, negotiating with a taxi to take me back to the main road. From around the corner came a hugely out-of-place, white, shiny hummer. "Miss?!" Two high school kids from school are driving it. I felt like I was in a Wes Craven movie. An image before me that was oddly not right and somehow it exists anyway. They were very sweet and asked me if I needed help. I could tell they were surprised to see me there, with a baby tied on, talking to a guy in a car that had long since passed its best days. I smiled and laughed, surprised to see them too. I wished them a happy vacation and assured them I was all right. I hopped in my clunker and sped off to the highway, kicking up dust and garnering stares from the locals.
Actually, the taxi ride and jaunt into town was my favorite part. I like traveling that way. The whole experience would have been different if I'd been driving my own car. For example, in the first store, when I asked where the second grocery market was, an older gentleman offered to bring me there. The woman clerk vouched for him and it was only once we stepped outside that I realized he was driving. (People in Africa frequently offer to 'bring' you somewhere and they will stop what they are doing to talk a walk and show you the way. More than directions but as an actual guide. This can be a great way to talk to people even though I don't like to inconvenience anyone. The worrier in me has gotten over this part of the exchange. They wouldn't offer if they hadn't the time. In Africa, it seems like there is always time for someone else.)
The rest of our stay was uneventful. It can be tricky sharing a house and navigating other people's cleanliness. Every room had their own bathroom (Ivory Coast has an obsession in this regard,) but we still had to share a kitchen. We hadn't organized meals well, which resulted in everyone bringing too much and tripping over themselves to prepare great feasts to share without really consulting others about dining plans or dietary restrictions. One family brought their nounou and it wasn't clear to me that she would be responsible for cleaning up after everyone. Surely not possible for one person. I began by immediately washing anything we used. But after the first feast preparation, it became clear her style would be to save the mess for one final clean up. The kitchen got progressively cluttered with remnants of meals and left over portions. I couldn't keep up and decided if I tried, I would end up spending my four days as the maid so I gave up. I walked in on tiptoe to prepare our simple meals, washed up our dishes after and tiptoed out again- shutting the door on the mess.
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| View of the neighboring house under the harmattan sun |
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| the dock...great for fishing or cutting some of the endless coconuts the kids were collecting |
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| The coconut cutter |
A short but devout Congolese mama was on the trip with us. She seemed just as confused as I (though the fisherman's family members dispute this later and suggest she knew exactly what was happening.) "It's not right to let it suffer," she said and scooped it up in a metal ice bucket, filled it with water and marched it right back to the lagoon for release. I thought it was the right thing to do- was someone actually going to eat it? Too small for eating, really.
The dad however was really ticked off by this act of mercy (or rebellion, depending upon the perspective) and we didn't see much of him after that (though we'd had a nice debate about African development and comparative history the night before. I'd been looking forward to a promising exchange.)
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| The canoe trip |
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| Palm grove between the lagoon and the beach |
The only other attraction was a beach close by. A short- but exorbitantly expensive- trip in a canoe with a small motor led to the ocean side. It was empty, clean and eerily beautiful with singing sand. The strip of land between the lagoon and the ocean was home to some interesting looking hotels- B&B style really. I was intrigued by the intense seclusion and wondered if that was the kind of place I would like to settle. The B&B's were super stylish, but the only local population seemed to be workers. I'm not sure that's what I am looking for. Although there is some possible appeal in the idea of reverse traveling- exploring the world by way of having the travelers come to you- I think I would prefer something of a more inclusive clientele.
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| Hazy harmattan beach horizon |
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| Observatory (?) tree house structure |
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| Ocean love |
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| that eerily empty time between christmas and new year's |
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| Sand baby |
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| Sand crystals like glitter....beach nap |
Shortly before we left, we saw a crew was setting up palm fronds and wood in what looked to be a natural art installation of some sort. I barked my way through the sand to pose a few questions. Turns out they were creating a series of soon-to-be bonfires for New Year's Eve. I imagined the celebration to be warm and timeless and full of ocean waves in the darkness. I made a mental note to arrange an experience like that sometime in the future.
By the time we returned to Abidjan, I was more than exhausted. 3 nights with no sleep meant we had a lot of catching up to do. We nearly slept through new year's. (Actually impossible to do with the plethora of fireworks happening right outside our door and just over in the soccer field. A far cry from the soothing crackle of a bonfire and ocean ambiance.) It was cozy to be back in a bed, however, with a mosquito net and a fan overhead (until the power went out...which left me wondering how a country could light up their skies but not the inside of houses. Happily, it didn't last too long.) And so began the new year.
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| We really enjoyed the pool |
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| Art night |
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| The sand patch between the houses was a real bonus |
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| Friends to play with even more so |
1.1.17
Sincerely, the garbage men
New Year's in Africa is a time when people do more than just wish you a happy...
No, in Africa, there's a lot more ceremony involved. People ask your forgiveness- for things they've done, things they might have done (but weren't aware of) and any other reason you might have found to be annoyed by them at some point in the previous year. They wish well being, health, happiness and love for their neighbors before themselves. And everyone is thanking their mom and God for the life they've had so far. Moms are pretty big in Africa.
So far, I've received 3 messages requesting forgiveness- 2 including a song (actually, the same song. It was touching the first time, the second time I began to wonder if it wasn't a "thing" I'm not in the loop about.) I found 2016 to be a pretty peaceful year personally. I made amends with any wrong doings that came my way. I'd mostly gotten over the shock of pain and put aside any lingering hurt. So, I recognize the messages as a formality- there is nothing to ask forgiveness for but it's just part of the season.
And then the garbage collector stopped by. I thought he was there to collect on the bill...a bit early, since I could have sworn he'd just been by a week or two before. Instead, he handed me a type written note. I glanced at it quickly and looked at him for an explanation.
I couldn't quite understand what he was saying- the best I could decipher was, "We'll come more quickly." More quickly....? For the bill? You want me to pay more often? I wasn't grasping the main idea.
He tried again. "Maybe we didn't come quickly, but now we will." I smiled a fake understanding and wished a meilleur voeux, certain I was missing something that would clear everything up.
Later on I showed the note to a friend. Basically, I'd gotten the main idea. Apparently it was an apology of sorts for any times they may have been late in picking up the trash and a new year's resolution to be more timely.
Sincerely,
The Garbage Men
No, in Africa, there's a lot more ceremony involved. People ask your forgiveness- for things they've done, things they might have done (but weren't aware of) and any other reason you might have found to be annoyed by them at some point in the previous year. They wish well being, health, happiness and love for their neighbors before themselves. And everyone is thanking their mom and God for the life they've had so far. Moms are pretty big in Africa.
So far, I've received 3 messages requesting forgiveness- 2 including a song (actually, the same song. It was touching the first time, the second time I began to wonder if it wasn't a "thing" I'm not in the loop about.) I found 2016 to be a pretty peaceful year personally. I made amends with any wrong doings that came my way. I'd mostly gotten over the shock of pain and put aside any lingering hurt. So, I recognize the messages as a formality- there is nothing to ask forgiveness for but it's just part of the season.
And then the garbage collector stopped by. I thought he was there to collect on the bill...a bit early, since I could have sworn he'd just been by a week or two before. Instead, he handed me a type written note. I glanced at it quickly and looked at him for an explanation.
I couldn't quite understand what he was saying- the best I could decipher was, "We'll come more quickly." More quickly....? For the bill? You want me to pay more often? I wasn't grasping the main idea.
He tried again. "Maybe we didn't come quickly, but now we will." I smiled a fake understanding and wished a meilleur voeux, certain I was missing something that would clear everything up.
Later on I showed the note to a friend. Basically, I'd gotten the main idea. Apparently it was an apology of sorts for any times they may have been late in picking up the trash and a new year's resolution to be more timely.
Sincerely,
The Garbage Men
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