The bank officially closes at 2:30 but it was nearly 3:30 before I left there, as one of the last customers. I won't even mention what time I arrived. School gets out at 1:00 however, so there's a fine clue. There are only 12 seats in the small reception room and they get shuffled around as people rotate from standing to sitting trying to escape the boredom and the overly chilly air conditioning, an obvious necessity to keep tempers from rising.
I spend my time trying to figure out exactly what takes so long. Upon entering the bank you must fill out your deposit or withdrawal slip and submit your ID. After that you look for a cozy place and catch up on any text messages or try to beat your high score on whatever games you have installed on your phone. Or just gaze around at the other people who come in. Or watch the security guard respond to the endless buzzing of the double door theft prevention system. Up to 20 people can be waiting and no one is moving. There's no line, there's no noise and there's no way to gauge how much closer you are to being served. It's maddening. Every so often a deep sigh from a fellow waiter lets me know I am not alone in my frustration. Eventually the clerk comes back and starts calling names, asking for the triple signatures needed and dispersing money. By the time I walk back out into the heat and sunshine of the day, I feel as if I have jumped time. I am no longer sure which day it actually is or what errands I had intended to do afterward. I'm slightly dizzy and spend a few minutes reminding myself what my name is and what's my function in life.
The electric company, on the other hand, has quite an efficient and entertaining system of managing it's lines. It starts with the entrance. The front of the building is orange. Bright, neon, day-glow orange. There is a black poster highlighting the name and service of the company but all I can see when I glance at is the cinema. It appears more like I am about to go to the movies and I am slightly surprised not to find a snack counter offering salty popcorn and cold drinks when I enter.
The first waiting is room is huge and rectangular. There are a billion chairs in there (kind of like a movie theater only not as cushy.) The people are seated in organized rows in order of appearance. As small groups are admitted to the second waiting room, everyone gets up and moves to the now empty seats in front of them. In a very orderly fashion. Mob control at its finest. An oversize a/c at the front of the room blasts us with arctic air.
And what do we do while we are waiting? Stare around mindlessly? Play games on our phones? Surely not! The fine folks at CIE provide some educational entertainment- a live infomercial, in fact. The man who is keeping all of us so organized in our chairs and making sure we move up in just the right order is also providing a basic service. On my most recent visit he was selling moringa products. Moringa is all the rage - as well it should be. I first came across this amazing tree in Congo when I was told about its ability to clean water and provide much needed nutrients for the malnourished. At the time I wondered why everyone didn't know about this natural cure all.
Apparently in Ivory Coast, the word is out. Moringa products are everywhere. Powders, lotions, soaps and oils. And the guy at CIE was ready to tell us about all of them. Not only did he provide background information on all of the benefits ( everything from making your hair grow, cleaning your skin, adding vitamins to your diet and quick healing in times of sickness,) he also had the goods for sale. Right there in the waiting room. He started off with soap for 500 franc and moved on to a small bottle of oil for 1000. He cleverly worked into his spiel a bit about moringa giving you patience and helping you feel refreshed, both of which we, as a trapped audience, were sorely in need of. He whipped out small candies for 100 franc and that's when people started rummaging through their pockets in search of loose change. Brilliant.
It didn't end there however. He also had other remedies for sale, medicines to fight tapeworm- which he introduced by giving us the scientific process of how the tapeworm lives, replicates and successfully poisons our systems. He tossed out symptoms- which we were all starting to feel right about then, naturally- and magically produced a few bottles from his black bag.
By that time I had nearly advanced to the front of the room, mere steps away from the second waiting room. There are no chairs in stage 2. One is greeted again with Ivory Coast orange- bright, brilliant and covering every square inch of visible space (ok, so maybe the floor is not orange but the walls are so overwhelming you can hardly be bothered to notice what color the floor is.) I grabbed onto a green iron handrail for support. Its like being at the fun house.
Lines in the second waiting room move rapidly. Everyone is cheerful and polite. By the time I step out into the heat and the sunshine I feel invigorated and ready to tackle whatever errands are left in my program. What's that? All I have to do is go home? Its fairly disappointing to realize this as I am ready to go dancing. There are always a small group of vendors in the parking lot outside, selling everything from socks to belts to maps. I am giddy enough to look too long and become tempted to buy something. We always need socks at my house.
In the end, I grab a taxi and head home, wondering if they hadn't added a little moringa powder to the a/c unit blowing out cold air in that first waiting room. I vow to start eating the leaves from the two trees in my little yard and ponder the business opportunities as my orange taxi makes its way down busy city streets.
