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.

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

The second challenge to present itself had to with the location of the house. Remote, isolated, in the country. We'd driven with friends which meant we were essentially stuck. Whatever we'd forgotten or any new adventures we planned to have were a bit harder to come by since we didn't have ready transportation. I spent a lot of time in awe of the isolation, transported back to my early twenties and the New York state mountains I'd lived in. I had loved it then, the sense of being surrounded by more trees than people. But it had also required personal transportation of some sort and many of my early experiences were brought to ruin by the lack of a car.

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?"

I was in search of a supermarket and told there were 2 in town. The first one barely qualified as a corner store and the second one was only marginally larger, barely earning the prefix of 'super' before the marche.- but it did have what I needed. We passed an outdoor market, it's wooden tables piled high on top of each other and collecting dust. I was told Mondays were market days, and I imagined the travesty of forgetting to buy onions or tomatoes and having to wait an entire week to stock up. The red dusty roads and once-a-week market transported me to the Africa of novels...sleepy towns where the human condition plays itself out repeatedly in ways simultaneously mundane and profound, representing all that is good and broken in our social relationships.

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. 

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.

View of the neighboring house under the harmattan sun

the dock...great for fishing or cutting some of the endless
 coconuts the kids were collecting

The coconut cutter

The property consisted of 4 rental houses, each with their own yard, pool and dock out into the lagoon. The dock served as a place to board a canoe over to the other side of the lagoon. It was also a place to catch a quiet moment or go fishing. A funny moment came early on after one of the dads caught a fish. He came up to the porch and threw it in through the window where the nounou was cooking. She laughed and screamed and the fish lay flopping on the floor. I couldn't really tell where this was going (was it a 'here- cook this' toss or was it a toss in jest just to show off the fish and make us scream?) 

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.) 

The canoe trip

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. 

Hazy harmattan beach horizon

Observatory (?) tree house structure

Ocean love

that eerily empty time between christmas and new year's 

Sand baby

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. 

We really enjoyed the pool

Art night

The sand patch between the houses
was a real bonus

Friends to play with even more so