Entrances to the mall were surrounded by layers of steel risers and plywood borders. I felt a need to look up and make sure nothing was dropping as we skirted the sidewalks amidst hammers and clangs and various noises of men working. I was reminded of an age old comment that one of my coworkers had upon entering my car from back in my waitressing days. Actually, she was the floor manager with a China doll persona, appearing in equal degrees perfectly made up and potentially about to fall to pieces. My car- one passed along to me for free- had the feel of a tin toy. The dashboard was spilling wires and the radio was connected through circuitous routes. The door panels were open revealing iron levers and connecting arms- a behind the scenes view on the mechanics of a car that would excite any 10 year old. On this rare occasion, my manager was in need of a ride home and I'd offered her one before considering the clash of my nuts and bolts car with her delicate linen wrap. She gingerly opened the door clearly concerned that it might fall off in her hands and poked her head in with a small smile. "It looks like the inside of a radio in here."
That was my exact thought as I gazed out across the destruction, I mean construction. Iron bars were visible in the ceiling. Wires hung down as well as large pieces of....ceiling support matter? I felt an urge to ask the boys if they had their helmets on. Because we were definitely entrenched in a Work Zone.
Such a thing would never exist in the US, I feel certain. A mall under this amount of construction would surely be closed. I think. I feel far enough removed from the US that I am not actually sure anymore. We did find a small cafe to have dinner in. It was initially empty, which gave me pause about the quality of food we could expect, but during the course of our meal place began to fill up. I attributed it to our presence and figured they should give us a discount for attracting such a prominent dinner crowd.
The boys enjoyed their hamburger, both taking off the fried egg to eat on the side. Mbalia and I shared a fancy fruit cup. An errant taxi outside provided brief entertainment by knocking over an orange iron signpost announcing the worksite. From inside the cafe, we watched people in the mall picking up their dry cleaning (pressing is a super huge industry in Africa I noticed. Lots of dry cleaning going on.) Small families passed with their purchases and even the occasional group of wandering teenagers typical to any mall experience.
And the film? Some action movie with no more merit than being entertaining (a small commentary on the overuse of electronic devices and the tendancy for mankind to serve more as a virus eating away at planet earth betwixt the gore
and violence.)The cinema was fairly empty, save for a group of teenage boys- maybe 5 or so- in the audience. They were kind of loud during the low moments- especially hard for me, trying to concentrate on the dialogue, which I could barely hear over their foibles. At one moment we were disturbed by one young guy looking for his shoe (surely his friends had thrown it though he managed a polite, pardonne moi, je cherche mon chausseur as if it were the most common thing in the world, to have misplaced his shoe in an empty theater.) Gone were the ushers on patrol that I remember from my youth, scouring the aisles with penlights just hoping to catch a foot, or even a knee, hoisted casually and comfortably on a chairback.
Once the action got underway, the boys were all in tune. They responded with claps and cheers to the final scenes with an enthusiasm that would have made the directors glow with pride.
Mbalia was free to gurgle and coo and make her laughing sounds (though I havent't any idea what she was laughing at, the mysterious joy of life I suppose. A couple of times I could tell she was responding to the catcalls of our fellow viewers- laughing in just the way they laughed.) She was shielded from the movie by ample leg room, which is where she hung out, not bothered at all by the dark. Her brothers spread out and found seats that pleased them where they could put their feet up or spread out across two or three chairs in an attempt to make themselves at home.
In all, it was a satisfying evening, though I wonder how the cinemas stay open. 7 paying customers on a Saturday night. There are 3 cinemas in Abidjan (that I know of, one- a 3-D cinema newly opened) and at this rate it appears impossible to make a profit.
As we left, all was deserted (though I could practically use that same sentence to describe our arrival.) We made our way towards the exit that we thought would lead to the quickest taxi find only to discover fire extinguishers dotting the corridor. A glance ahead confirmed a small crowd holding scarves and hands to faces and a billow of smoke. The burning smell- that of wires or electric- that I thought I had noticed earlier had erupted into a small fire. I heard people saying, "It's getting hot" and the boys heard someone remarking how he'd plugged something in only to have it erupt.
I thought the movie had ended with perfect timing and tried not to consider what a greater fire would have resulted in. Surely someone would have come to alert us. Right?
We took an alternate exit out and walked around the mall on the outside. Rain was just beginning to fall and we found a taxi fast enough. Disaster averted, between the rain and the near fire, we had a good family night in an empty theater with a mediocre film playing at high volume and only the occasional interruption. Can't ask for more than that.
