I’ve been wanting to share a picture of the horses I pass everyday on my way to school.
My camera was stolen, however, so instead I’ve been feeling disappointed about
that. But then I remember I am supposed to be painting images with my words. In
which case, here’s a portrait of the horse family.
They live on the corner of what used to be a quiet intersection, aside from the early
morning and midday school pick ups. In true Abidjan fashion, a new road is
coming and so the quiet intersection is now turning into a traffic stopping
round point.
Back in September, there were two horses and they could be found on either side of the
roadway, sometimes in a small patch of grass barely an arm’s length wide.
Over
time, they have become a more permanent fixture on a large corner of the block.
Another horse joined them and sometime in February a new colt made an
appearance. Unlike the older horses, which are always tethered by the ankle to
a rock or post, the new baby was free to roam. He (or she) leant a decidedly
spring-like feel to February despite the climbing temperatures. I enjoyed
watching him wobble and frolic next to his parents (if, in fact, they are
related. I never signs of a bulging belly.)
A small structure eventually appeared as well, an open stall with a black tarp roof.
The impending new road lies in contrast to the apparent permanence the horse
stall suggests. To the right of the
field lies a large hole in the ground with a sloping entrance. It’s the kind I
see dug for wells next to lettuce farms. Just beyond that is a collection of
bushes and small trees shielding the horses from the main thoroughfare. A
collection of women used to sit selling fruits and phone cards and some sort of
breakfast meal from large plastic tubs. Most of them have been displaced by the
construction. They’ve either moved across the street or down to the corner.
I cut across the field on a dirt path which has since become a short cut for cars.
The horses don’t seem to notice my presence or be bothered in the least by the
increase in traffic.
A neighborhood begins on the left, though I have never
really considered the horses belonging to any one of those houses. I rarely see
a person attending to them, and the one or two times I did, I hadn’t the nerve
ask the million questions I harbor.
Who do the horses belong to and what is their purpose? They are clearly not for riding and
I can’t imagine another reason – not just for having horses but for adding to
the herd.
I enjoy walking this way and feeling a bit of country in my morning-
only to be spit out in a sea of buildings and traffic and people. For a brief
moment, I am on a quiet lane in the middle of a village.
Abidjan is practiced in creating these dizzying alterations of scene. Nowhere is this more
apparent than on my way to my Wednesday afternoon conversation in English. I
meet with a teacher from the high school at her place in Akuedo. This past week
a taxi driver offered a mere 1000 franc to take me there and I was so surprised
I had to ask twice.
He took the back road that travels behind the primary
school, past the lycee and over into Palmeraie.
The road we travelled was red dirt and full of holes. The path was lined
with palm trees and village houses. These houses are wooden in construction and
often have black tarp nailed to the top or sides. They appear small from the
outside, maybe one or two rooms and are ageless. It is hard to tell if they are
going up or coming down. We travelled on this road for 5 minutes or so. Five
village minutes, meaning we drove in frequent starts and stops, mad dashes forward from 0 to 20 and then back to 0 again all the while swerving from right to left to avoid potholes. The car buoyed up and down like a sailboat. A less seasoned voyager might have felt a twinge of motion sickness.
No sooner had I been lulled into a sleepy country state than we rounded a corner and joined civilization again. Concrete houses in progress sprang up, corner stores and roadside sellers appeared. Just like that we were back in the city. Sort of.
I still had the feeling of being far from anywhere but I could imagine a short walk straight down this road would end in the congested nightmare that is the conjunction of Palmeraie and the grand route.
There is such a palatable sense of change in the air. I know in a few years, everything that feels remote and natural will be replaced by commercial buildings, high rise apartments and over- sized villas.
For now I enjoy the calm and tranquility of the neighborhoods I find myself in. I like
the small town feel of each cartier. I am a little saddened by the inevitable growth and expansion. And I
wonder what will eventually happen to the horses. I like their presence in my morning. But I know they cannot stay there.
Even as I question their purpose, I reflect upon my own. A few days ago I’d had a sense that this is it. And I had to wonder briefly if I was ok with that. Is Abidjan the resting place? Is it here that my boys will grow into men? And what of me? I’ve yet to feel I’ve found that just right spot. I can’t know what the future will bring. I can’t even really see past the next 6 weeks to
the end of the school year. I remain like the horses, all snuggled in their patch of grass and weeds, a small family
enjoying each other as progress marches on in their midst, waiting for time to tell how the new roads of change will affect them.
