The newness has worn off. I noticed
it the other day. Not the newness of Abidjan exactly,
but the newness of Africa in general. So now I know how many licks it takes to
get to the center of a tootsie roll pop (remember this commercial?) Seven years to get
to the middle of things and feel like I really know what’s going on. (Studies show it can actually take anywhere from 364 to 1000 licks to get to the center of a tootsie roll pop, but how long does it take to make 1000 licks....?)
I was
walking home from one of my tutoring jobs when a bright blue school building caught my eye, shining in that hazy,
hurtful way that bright colors emit in the midday sun. I noticed the color
creeping onto the building just across from the main one. Apparently the school
is in the process of expanding. I noticed the color and the way it hurt my eyes. I took a minute to decide if I liked the color and a few more minutes to dream about what it would be like to have my own school (and a few more minutes to wonder if I really want my own school.) But I did not once stop to wonder what it was like
inside. I knew the
classrooms would be small and hot. They might each have a window and a large
desk up front. There would be wooden tables for two or small desks with chairs.
A few posters or a map might be on the walls. More likely the walls would be bare. A black
chalkboard would mark the front of the room. I could easily imagine the noisy
children and the early morning chaos of little bodies filling up the school
yard.
I was
transported back in time for a moment to Lubumbashi. My weekend vacation there
was full of newness. The language, the marketplace, and the friendly greetings in
Swahili were all delightfully strange and different. I’d found a little cyber
café tucked in and around and just in front of a school. While I waited for an
open post, I sat watching the school kids- some who’d arrived late didn’t get a
seat or weren’t permitted to enter and stood peering in through the bars on the
window. I’d wanted to peer inside too, feeling full of curiosity and
‘otherness.’
I don’t get
that tingling sensation of delight and discovery too often anymore, when even
the everyday seems mysterious. Which is
not to say that weird things don’t happen. If I squint my eyes and tilt my head
just the right way I can see that delightfully odd things are always happening- random encounters I don't quite understand that left me with a taste of puzzlement.
I just have to be in the right frame of mind to appreciate them.
This
particular road- this long, hot road to my Wednesday tutoring session has
turned out to be a particular sweet spot for odd things. It is the home of
those torn down buildings I’d taken a few photos of before. The half built
houses that had been marked in red with MCLAU. I’d thought some wealthy
investor had come along and bought up a bunch of property. While I’d been busy
imaging what it would be like to have such riches at hand, it turns out they
were actually marked for not paying their taxes. Whatever progress they’d made
in construction had been erased with a few well- placed swoops of a hammer.
One side of
the road is lined with property that borders the lagoon. Most of these parcels
are walled in and home to plantations- lettuce is super popular. The other side
of the road is lined with those under construction, soon-to-be homesteads.
There is a concrete plant- or some sort of grand sand pit- just on the corner.
Not only is it a long, hot walk but it is lonely. There are plenty of
construction guys, a few security guards at the concrete place and randomly
scattered women selling the odd item or two. But it feels empty. I don’t really like the walk because of the
sense that it is so remote.
It is the
only place in Abidjan where I have been approached and felt uncomfortable. In general, I haven’t found anyone so bold
but here on this stretch of road I have 3 times encountered unwanted
conversation. It has never been more than a slight feeling of apprehension, just enough to remind me of my vulnerability.
The first,
a security guard from the sand pit, tried to be friendly and tell me sweet
nothings. I do give him credit for taking a chance. What is life without taking chances? I’ve forgotten how that conversation went exactly but I managed to
get out of it pretty quickly. I think I had sunglasses and an ipod that day,
which helped with creating a barrier. To be fair, he was nice, respectful and left when I'd made it clear I wasn't interested.
Another day
a taxi driver who had just dropped off a passenger (or perhaps had stopped to
pee) came following me to try and start a conversation. He was younger and a bit more persistent. He couldn't seem to take the hint that his interest was unwelcome. I never have a ready
response to personal questions and when trying to put him off didn’t work I
finally just gave my name.
"Je suis Soumah," I said. Not accurate French, but it was meant to be more of a declaration and tone of voice thing than a real response. It’s not always easy for me to understand the Ivoirians and
apparently the feeling is mutual because he heard Jesuissoumah all as one name. "OK Jesuissoumah," he said while asking for my phone number. I tilted my head and lifted my eyebrows, somewhat distracted by the English translation playing out in my head. [I AM Soumah, hear me roar.]
I finally managed to send him off laughing and calling out my
pseudonym. I ended up shaking my head and chuckling too. If only I could think up such comedic responses to uninvited questions on purpose.
On the
third occasion, I was passing by a small stand that is covered with palm leaves
and hosts a few benches- a lunch spot I guess. On a table just in front sits a
blue cooler with a bottle of Fanta on top- a sign of cold drinks for sale. An older
man sitting on one of the benches got up and called out to his friends, “I am
going to walk with the white woman for awhile.” Which he followed up with some
other things I could not understand. He walked behind me on the opposite side of
the road, singing merrily and saying random things I couldn’t really distinguish.
Mostly singing. As he approached his
construction buddies he began to call out to them- again more stuff I couldn’t
understand but something like, don’t talk to her I am walking with her- even
though we weren’t really anywhere near each other and certainly were not
walking together. He turned off the path and offered his goodbye to me. “Thanks
so much, I am super happy today,” he sang in my direction. And a bunch more stuff I couldn’t really
understand. A lot of thank yous. The whole situation was just bizarre enough to
reduce me to laughter. If the bright spot in his day was sharing the same hot
dusty road then what else was there to do but smile.
