Election Season

Some places have hurricane season, others have tornado season. Here in Africa we have election season. It's not all that different. Disaster preparedness. I've been trying to stock up on essentials like food and water. A propane shortage in the neighborhood reminded me I should get an extra tank of that as well. A rare power outage last night reminded me I need candles. And lighters.

Nabih and I spent our time in the dark, hot night making a list of other things we might have forgotten to add to our list. Mohamed was at a birthday party and when I called to check in he asked to sleep over. He ended the conversation by assuring me if there were any "election problems" I should call him immediately and he would come over to save us. Sweet man-boy that he is. I accepted his offer but let him know I was pretty certain we would be fine.

In general, I think this time the elections will go well. The president is still eligible for another term and it is likely he will win. Posters and billboards of running candidates have begun to pop up all over town but it feels forced- as though they are there just to prove there is actually more than one possibility for a win- even if no one believes it.

Guinea is suffering her own election woes now and Burkina Faso hasn't really solved her problems which began a year ago. No matter which country, the story seems to read the same. Will the elections be free and fair?  Has the opposition party united enough to present a real challenge to the incumbent and will the people accept the results? The questions are always the same. The answers appear dismally similar as well. The articles read like a madcap MadLibs- change the country names and photo captions and potential candidates to those from the country of your choice. The rest of the facts remain. African presidents don't want to leave, African people live in economic distress and aren't sure who to trust and the elections are met with suspicion, false hope and ultimately, anger and frustration.

The small words on the street offer conflicting accounts, as far as I can gather. It is in keeping with all things Ivorian. The country seems so equally divided on all matters that there appears to be no real majority. Of course, I am an outsider with very little insight. Half the taxi drivers and phone credit men believe Ouattara is doing a great job and is the only one who can continue his work. The streets are a mess of construction and destruction in case there is any doubt he is doing his job. (Cinq chantiers anyone?)

On the other hand, there are plenty of university students and taxi drivers (it always comes down to the taxi drivers, doesn't it? The heart of any good economy, the ones with their finger on the pulse of the country...) who think the president has had his turn and enough is enough. They are not awed by the propoganda and they don't like certain restrictions being laid out- they want a free chance and a fair chance for change.

At times the expectations seem too high to possibly be met. There is too much need in general and it is unlikely any candidate can promise real improvement. In the meantime, the country waits in anticipation. Foreigners make plans for vacations or other conveniently timed trips that will take them out of the country for those weeks. Locals stock up on provisions and try to prepare for the inevitable.

In a conversation this morning, we were talking about a family that was leaving. "For the war?" someone said, an inadvertant slip of the tongue. She meant to say elections. Somehow these two ideas have become synonymous, despite the signs appearing to promote a different reality. Elections are not violent, they read. And We work toegther in our diifferences to unite as a country.

The question no longer seems to be if something will happen but for how long. There are sure to be unsatisified citizens. By now, the entire world has come to equate burning tires and rock throwing with protest. Not in just in Africa but everywhere. Anywhere. Baltimore, for example.

With these images in mind, I've taken to wondering about my neighbors as I make any of several trips through the neighborhood out to the big road. My neighbors see me every day. I am a stranger among them, some friendlier than others but in the end a stranger. And I wonder how much it would take for them to turn against each other. To turn against me.

It's all unpredictable and could just as easily pass without complication. I don't spend too much time dwelling on possibilities. You can't live peacefully in Africa if you do. So, I am taking this extended weekend to stock up and prepare for a few days stuck in my house. Or a week, or a month. And after that....well, hopefully election season will drift out on the ocean currents and we'll be left to navigate the next season. (It's not apple season, which I was waxing nostalgic about in the grocery store this morning. I guess the next season would be holiday season- or the dry season- or, a bit further out on the horizon but coming nonetheless, harmattan season.....) There's always a season to look forward to.

Below the equator

Staying in Kinshasa all "summer" means I am a bit more integrated with the rhythm of the country (and get slightly annoyed at people who still use 'winter' 'summer' 'spring' and 'fall' to delineate periods of time.) Kinshasa does not have these seasons, but she does have changes in weather- a perfectly acceptable definition as provided by Merriam-Webster.  I am aware that people like to use the weather terms they grew up with and are familiar with. I am also aware that weather words mean different things in different regions.

There was the time this past July when people in Kin were saying it "snowed." As a native New Yorker, I am more than aware that it definitely did not snow in Kinshasa. But as someone living in the city during the moment, I recognized the cold weather and out-of-season rain that fell. Bizarre at it's best. It had that first snow feel-something miraculous falling from the sky leaving you with delight, wonder and just a little bit of apprehension (where is this coming from? why is it happening?)

Like most equatorial regions, Kinshasa has a rainy and a dry season. Two major patterns of weather to mark the year. In between are small fluctuations (people like to talk about the mini-dry season somewhere in late January or February) and natural anomalies (if such a phrase can exist.)

I notice the trees. Because I am from upstate New York, trees play a major role in my ability to connect with the rhythms of time. Being surrounded by mountains that turn glowing colors, eventually shed all of their beauty and gratefully grow it all back again has made me keenly aware of leaves and their cycles. I notice the leaves around Kinshasa.

There is definitely a period of shedding and regrowth. It just happens to occur at a slightly faster rate around here. There is even a bit of changing of colors. The trees that do this aren't abundant but you can spot them growing in pairs here and there. Little dots of red and sometimes yellow leaves getting ready to take their plunge to the earth.

"Spring" is also a fast-forward season. No sooner than you spot blossoms appearing on the bare branches, they are blooming before your eyes. I wanted to capture some beautiful little leaf buds on a particular tree by the admin building. By the time I had gotten back there the next day, they'd all bloomed into little leaf couplets.

For some of the trees, this shedding and regrowing seems to happen year round. Of course other trees have a longer cycle. Fruit trees need time to grow and form their scrumptious delights.

But there is a fun tree just at the bottom of the hill that I've yet to snap a photo of. It is low to the ground with wide branches and many leaves. Underneath, women- and the occasional man- sit chipping away at stones. They are on my mind often and I want to stop and chat, take photos, ask about their work. They inspire so many questions and thoughts and motivations for me. But the tree, that deserves it's own story. It functions to provide shade and also serves as a kind of shelving unit. When the leaves have fallen, you can see all the containers, clothing bundles and other things stored there. When the leaves grow back, they provide a camouflage for the hidden treasures.

My first few years in Kinshasa left me with a mistaken sense of time rolling forward as August and September seem to be months of falling leaves and huge jump-in style leaf piles. I tended to get a little confused around November and December when the dormancy didn't kick in and instead there was vibrant greens and flowering buds all around.

I'm a bit more in tune this year- after several months of gray skies, cool wind,downright chilly nights and drooping leaves. August and September are months of renewal. The sun is back, the days are warm and the trees are finding their voice.

Some bare limbs against a backdrop of greens

Leaf lovers dream pile

August and September are months of renewal