stories, from africa: A Waif in Paris

The boys have returned. They left 2 young African kids and came back full of American air. They are huge- it was a bit stunning, even though we'd been video chatting the entire year. I hadn't gotten a good sense of their growth. Mohamed is a bona-fide teenager, with a crack in his voice and a half inch on me. It's not just the natural growth that comes along with age, but that certain kind of weight that comes along with being in America.

I have seen many friends take off for the promised land and a sign of their success comes in the way of a few extra pounds. I'd often thought it was a normal result of finally getting enough food and vitamins, but now I have a completely different perspective. My years in Africa have shown me what a difference all the processed, chemicalized, contorted food has on the human system. The boys will be going through a detox period, for sure. To say nothing of portion size.

In the meantime, Mohamed was just as stunned by Mbalia and I. "Have you lost weight? You need to eat some chicken. Mbalia needs some chicken." Apparently chicken is the cure all. I probably have lost a bit of weight since they last saw me. I was still nursing then and sporting some of my baby fat. And Mbalia has sprouted up like a little weed, complete with Mowgli legs, long and thin. Even I am sometimes taken aback by how fragile she appears. But she is strong and I know tall thinness runs in my family so I don't worry too much. She eats as much as any toddler (that is to say super finicky, only occasionally ravenous. She does love her sauce though, and I try to make sure whatever she is eating is healthy.)

At our first dinner together, I was busy feeling like a skeleton in my skin. Ousmane, Mbalia and I appeared as waifs, hardly taking up space at the table. Mohamed felt the same way, remarking, "You guys are so small."

Our main grocery items are fresh fruits and vegetables. And rice. There is the occasional pasta dish, sometimes fresh bread from the bakery, but overall, I know all of the ingredients to everything we eat. I forget how loaded American grocery stores are....the multitude of choices, pre-packaged, processed, ready to heat and ready to eat prepared food. (Though the boys swear they didn't really partake of any of this. Knowing their dad, it really was rice and sauce all the way. Along with trips for fast food burgers. And that backpack full of Reese's, Starburst and Jelly Fish they smuggled back on the plane? An anomaly....surely.)

Being in Paris gave me just a taste of this. (We actually did Paris on a budget and my only experience eating out was at a little Congolese dive fresh out of pondu but full of plantains and fish.) My initial trip to the grocery store was a bit overwhelming with choice. Not only were there simply too many brands (many of which were actually familiar) there was the fruit dilemma. In the end, I chose not to eat too many of the fruits I can no longer get (reasonably) here in Abidjan (blueberries, strawberries....any kind of berry really. ) I figured one short taste would only create a desire I have long since squelched. I did have a few cherries however, which were just perfect.

I spent much of my time in Paris feeling like an African villager. Most of my reactions to the city weren't compared to how things are in America, but how we live in Africa. Even my Congolese friends were laughing at me as they showed me around.

"You don't have to worry about crossing the street here. A long as the light is green, they will stop. They have to stop." It was true and I marveled at it every time. When the pedestrian crossing light turned green, everyone stepped off the sidewalk to go and the cars stopped, even if they were in mid-turn. Such a trustworthy system. My response a habit now, born of years of close calls with crazy drivers. I thought of one of Trevor Noah's comedy routines about this exact thing. I laughed at my amazement- just the way he described it too- even as I had to resist the urge to break into a mad dash. Luckily the streets were narrow. It wasn't long, though, before that Trevor Noah bravado set in. I started testing things out with my newfound power, jumping off the curb at second one and staring down drivers.

One thing I couldn't get over, however, was the way people refreshed themselves from the water flowing up through the street drains. I never got the real story about why the water was even flowing up in the first place, (to clean the streets?) but my friend insisted it was clean water. And people everywhere were washing their heads, splashing about and cooling off from the Paris heat.

In Africa, street water is pretty dirty. A lot of times, it runs with a tinge of green. You barely want to step in it, let alone get any part of your hands or face wet. I couldn't really get behind this idea of playing in the street water (although I did try to imagine it something like the fire hydrant water of NYC fame?)

Other things about Paris puzzled me as well. The European distaste for air conditioning, for example. The studio where we stayed- a 6 flight walk-up, apparently super common- didn't even have so much as a fan. The buses were plentiful and efficient (even sporting a handy count-down timer at the bus stop so you knew exactly how many minutes until the next bus arrived,) but they all had long, narrow windows that offered no breeze. Everyone was fanning themselves with their pocket sized maps of the city.

I did appreciate the energetic air. There was a kaleidoscope of transportation in use- from walking to biking, to riding on scooters and even uni-wheels. Bike lanes accommodated the many modes of transport. (Tourist tip- stay out of the bike lane, it is definitely not a walking lane. The bikes come fast, ringing bells, and passing each other with fervor.)

I appreciated the many bike rental stands throughout the city, allowing one to pick up a bike, run their errands and then return the bike to the stand closest to their house. I never got a number on how much it cost, but there were plenty in circulation. The rental bikes were easy to spot with their metal baskets and sleek silver fenders.

Electric cars were hugely popular, even meriting their own parking areas, with charging station. Motorcycles and scooters were also high on the transport list. I saw all kinds of people revving up, from business ladies in suits and high heels to dads with their kids. The bikes appeared very efficient with storage under the seat, a messenger box on the back, and padded covers for the hands and legs.

I remembered being impressed like this while working at the French school. There seemed to be such an air of forethought and congruency. All cogs in the wheels running smoothly. Which is helpful considering the vast number of tourists on hand. There is such a rich air of history and so much to see (elaborate architecture built on the back of colonialism, as my friend pointed out) a system for everything keeps it all running smoothly.

I did get to the Louvre, which reports a loss in visitors. If so, it wasn't apparent. One side of the museum was delightfully uncrowded, and the atrium under the pyramid was filled with beautiful light and impressive sculpture. People were sitting, contemplating work and even drawing. I could have happily joined them with a sketchbook.

It was here I saw my favorite piece, a massive bronze called the Captifs. The work depicted 4 men, each captured in war. The magic of the piece was each of the men's expression- a uniquely different, realistic portrayal of the human response to despair. There was panic, anguish, resignation and defiance. I was really drawn in by the varied responses so eloquently capturing human tendency. Of course, the French history tells a slightly different story than the one I imagined during my viewing.

I convinced myself I couldn't visit the museum and miss seeing the most famous painting in the world. My friend- the ever gracious guide- agreed to help me find it. We double backed and over tracked and eventually made our way to the other side. It was a different world over there. Crowded. Hot. Busy. Families were camped in every nook and cranny. The main hallway was littered with visitors, sitting on the floor, walking in large groups, all talking and hardly paying any attention to the art.

The Mona Lisa room was equally crowded and noisy. Masses of people thronged close to the painting, holding up their tablets and phones trying to take a picture. I really couldn't understand the fixation on taking a picture. There are a million photos of the Mona Lisa of much better quality than one was going to get in such a congested room. I made my way up close, just to say I did, but there was no connection, no ability to really contemplate the masterpiece.

Instead, I was taken in by another piece on display in the same area. It was a fantastic representation of foreshortening...each figure dynamically placed in its fall from the sky. Jupiter Throwing Thunderbolts at the Vices. But it was still too crowded to look at for long. Even the tour participants had to wear earpieces in order to hear their guides.

We took more buses, visited all the required tourist sites and in the process, I saw many more places and promises of things to come that pulled at my spirit. An exhibition of Rodin, a dedication to Van Gogh happening the week after my departure and magnificent building after magnificent building. I guess Paris is like that. Steeped in art and history. You're walking down the street all innocent, and there's the house of Georges Seurat suddenly right in front of you.

I saw another side to Paris, staying in the African neighborhood of Chateau Rouge. In many ways, I felt right at home there, although I admit it was a little disorienting at first to see signs for rentals in Cocody and a house for sale in Kinshasa. I did love hearing Lingala on the streets. In the little restaurant we stopped in for dinner, there was a particularly vibrant discussion about Kinshasa's well known musicians. They got louder and more passionate by the minute, pausing only when a music video came on featuring a friend at our table. The guys stopped their debate to give kudos to the singer. I felt like I was breathing in the DRC with all of it's creativity and intensity and spirit. It was the next best thing to actually being there.

Popular bike rental stand and moto stop for metro passengers

21st century bus stop

typical tourist

electric car parking

regular doors with history
Georges Seurat's House

Limo lux- Parisian limos are so sleek....like presidential cars here

Public urinals...to prevent peeing on the street
Abidjan has taken so much from Paris, why not this?

refreshing with the street water

sleek rentals

tower at night

more street washing

6th floor view- lots of noise down there but no way to really
(safely) see what's going on, unless you're looking
across into the neighbors...reality tv