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.
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| Customer service problem? Just point to the sign |
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| 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.
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| 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.
