Sylvia's Journal

It took me a few days to figure out that the bats are out, even during the day, because of the clouds. It’s not the light they cannot stand, it is the sun. The skies have been mostly grey since we returned to Abidjan, having a decidedly Dutch appearance. It is the right kind of weather for staying inside, watch TV and do homework. The sun does not always shine in Africa.

While I was busy behind my computer Oumar talked on the phone with several people who had participated in our workshop. They called him or he called them. At night, over dinner, he gave me a summary of what he learned. It made me realize that when I travel alone and don’t have such insider’s intelligence, I miss out on a lot. It tends to be given more freely to people seen as (more) similar to oneself. I had never thought much of that because people do share much with me; and so it is easy to get caught by the illusion of being taken in confidence and considered ‘one of them.’ I may get close but I don’t think I ever will receive the kind of phone calls Oumar gets. I imagine that much of what I hear is carefully calibrated by politeness, people trying to figure out what it is that I like to hear. This is one of the reasons why I try to work with local counterparts (the other reason is that there has to be some form of transfer before I leave).

Earlier in the day Eustache joined us for lunch at the Old Combatants restaurant. It was a rather late lunch and since on Fridays the commercial center around us empties out early there were few patrons in the gigantic restaurant and the menu very limited. But one thing that can always be had, just about any place and any time, is a grilled fish (carp , sole or machoiron) covered by an onion/tomato mixture and some mystery spices that makes it hard to reproduce, plus of course the usual staple of atieke, rice or plantain (smooshed into a paste or fried, called aloko).

After lunch I went in search of a super market because of a craving for something sweet that needed urgent attention. Unlike in neighboring Ghana earlier this year, where we were served pineapple at any occasion, here I have not seen any, only bottled juice. This is odd because Cote d’Ivoire is, I believe, a major producer of pineapple; on our way to Aboisso we drove through endless pineapple fields. The country also produces cocoa and so that is what I bought, in its processed form, chocolate, plus some dates, but I would have much preferred fresh pineapple.

For dinner we revisited a restaurant in the Mermoz section of town, also quite empty and reviewed everything that happened since we started on September 4 and what needs to happen next. I ordered the same local dish that I had for my first dinner, kedjenou. I could not finish the enormous quantity of food put before me, still full from lunch. I have eaten more rice these 10 days that I eat in an entire year at home (I am a potato girl, really).

And with that I am signing out of Ivory Coast (incha’allah), expecting, if all goes well, to write my next entry from Charles de Gaulle, terminal E or F, tomorrow morning.