Surprisingly, I made it to Cote D’ivoire. I say “surprising” because it is notorious for its political instability, rebellions, and coup d’etats. Why did I choose to go there? I don’t really know. I suppose I heard that other people had gone and they had been ok so there was no reason for me NOT to go. And of course I was curious to see what this country was like despite all the instability. For context, here’s the rundown of the last 50 years in Cote d’Ivoire as briefed by the BBC:
"Once hailed as a model of stability, Ivory Coast has slipped into the kind of internal strife that has plagued many African countries.
An armed rebellion in 2002 split the nation in two. Since then, peace deals have alternated with renewed violence as the country has slowly edged its way towards a political resolution of the conflict. For more than three decades after independence under the leadership of its first president, Felix Houphouet-Boigny, Ivory Coast was conspicuous for its religious and ethnic harmony and its well-developed economy.
All this ended when the late Robert Guei led a coup which toppled Felix Houphouet-Boigny's successor, Henri Bedie, in 1999. Mr Bedie fled, but not before planting the seeds of ethnic discord by trying to stir up xenophobia against Muslim northerners, including his main rival, Alassane Ouattara.
This theme was also adopted by Mr Guei, who had Alassane Ouattara banned from the presidential election in 2000 because of his foreign parentage, and by the only serious contender allowed to run against Mr Guei, Laurent Gbagbo.
When Mr Gbagbo replaced Robert Guei after he was deposed in a popular uprising in 2000, violence replaced xenophobia. Scores of Mr Ouattara's supporters were killed after their leader called for new elections.
In September 2002 a troop mutiny escalated into a full-scale rebellion, voicing the ongoing discontent of northern Muslims who felt they were being discriminated against in Ivorian politics. Thousands were killed in the conflict.
Although the fighting has stopped, Ivory Coast is tense and divided. French and UN peacekeepers patrolled the buffer zone which separated the north, held by rebels known as the New Forces, and the government-controlled south.”
My trip was interesting for many different reasons; it was the first time I’ve left Ghana since I arrived, so it was interesting to see how another African country is, but it was also interesting to see the differences in legacy of an ex-French colony. What was my impression after 3 days? Cote d’Ivoire reinforces the clichés of French culture-- cigarettes, baguettes, and cheese, with an African twist. I didn’t do anything touristy in Cote d’Ivoire, so I don’t have much to share in that respect, but I lived like an Ivorian for 3 days and that was the experience. Here is my weekend:
Laurel (my roommate) and I get visas for Cote d’Ivoire, which was more expensive and difficult than we thought it would be, but in the end we got them! We needed to exchange money so we get in a taxi and tell the driver “take us to the airport. We need to exchange money.” The driver is very friendly and responds, “Yes, I will take you and I will drop you off where you get CFA (Ivorian currency). We’re driving and are almost at the airport when the driver points over to a grassy area with trees off the side of the road and says, “OK, you exchange your money here.” I respond, “What? Under that tree?!” (nervous laughter). “Yes, Yes” he says and he pulls over and 2 men run toward the car.
“How much money do you want!? How much!” Laurel and I nervously look at each other and I proceed to state the obvious, “Wow, sketchy. What the hell is going on?!” The taxi driver explains that he deals with these people all the time, they are legitimate, and he wants to give us a good rate. So after some time calculating and number crunching, we work out a good rate with the man outside our taxi window and exchange roughly $350 into CFA. Was I questioning the legitimacy of the exchange? The whole time. Was I being ripped off? I don’t think so. Were the CFA real? I hoped so. This was the beginning of our Ivorian adventure and it started on the street, exchanging more money than many Ghanaians see in a year from my taxi window, with a man who stations himself under a tree on a random street corner in Accra. Gotta love Africa!
I convinced Laurel last minute (on Wednesday when we were leaving Thursday morning) that we should Couch Surf in Abidjan and not stay in a hotel. Couch surfing, for those who are unfamiliar, is a social network for travelers, who are looking for a cheap place to stay. Basically, people sign up on this website advertising that they have a couch that is available for crashing. It’s a great concept, and in a country where you don’t speak the language and is infamously corrupt, I thought it would be a good idea for us. Luckily, as we were leaving campus we get a phone call from this Abidjan local, Regina. She has room for 2 and would be happy to house us! Perfect! How exciting! She is fluent in both French and English, and will be an asset to our journey.
We start our long journey to Abidjan which takes roughly 12 hours, and that’s assuming everything goes smoothly… The first 5 hour tro-tro ride goes well and we then transfer to a shared taxi to get us to the border. All 4 seats are taken in the small taxi when the driver pulls over, appearing to be picking up more people.
“What? Where are they going to sit?” I think to myself. Of course, how naïve of me-- One man squeezes in the back with me and Laurel so there are now 4 in the back, and 3 people and a live chicken in the front passenger seat. So we have 8 people in this small taxi and a chicken in a black plastic bag acting as a surrogate carrier. Wow, how I love Africa.
After many hours we finally cross the border, and what a difference in culture. 100 yards on the other side of this arbitrary political boundary, and you’re in a whole different world: different language, food, currency, everything. Laurel and I wanted to buy water off the top of some girl’s head, and we had no idea how to communicate that or how much it was. We were so dehydrated and distressed from everything around us: people asking us where we’re going, how do we want to get there, do I want to buy bread, or some bootleg DVDs? And all this was communicated in French and broken English, so it just felt like people yelling nonsense at us.
Laurel and I finally got into a shared car going to Abidjan. She and I shared the passenger seat… for 5 hours! Never would I be OK doing that in a car from LA to Berkeley, but here it’s more like, “Only TWO to the passenger seat? Great! Should be a (relatively) comfortable ride!” However, it was hot and sticky to say the least. On our ride from the border to the city, we were constantly stopped by the police requesting to see our papers. Not everyone else’s, just ours. The police didn’t care that the car was overloaded, not at all. They just cared that we had our papers. I felt bad for everyone sharing the car with us because we were obviously the reason for being stopped at EVERY checkpoint. No one really spoke English. The officers knew basic interrogative questions, “Where are you going, Where do you come from, Where are you staying?” but other than that, nothing. I started to feel that this was going to be a loooong weekend…
We finally make it to Abidjan, where Regina meets us at the station. The first thing we do? Go back to her room and take a relaxing bucket shower! We were so disgusting from the journey. We then meet up with her friend to get some authentic Ivorian street food. It is SO much better than Ghanaian food! It reminded me of Ethiopian cuisine except that instead of the sourdough crepe, you eat the main course with another carb that resembles cous cous, but is sticky enough so you can mold it into a ball and then take your bite. Delicious! Oh yeah, and there was real ice cream for dessert! Remember, Ghana doesn’t do dairy, or dessert, so to have real ice cream was an extra treat.
6.30am the next morning- “Alright guys wake up! We have to go to the market. Take your bucket showers, let’s go!”
“Regina. What time is it?! Ughhh we’re still so tired.”
“It’s late. Get up. We have much to do!”
Resentfully, we get up, as we do not want to upset our host. First things first. We have to get butane for the portable cooker because Regina ran out. Alright no big deal. WRONG. We walk around carrying her empty gas tank looking for butane, but everyone has run out. We take a cab to the next nearest option. They’re out as well. We tried about 6 places before we gave up and called her friend who had a moto, to go searching for us. The whole neighborhood was out of butane! What are the chances?
Next stop. The market. I am used to African markets at this point, but I suppose when it’s African AND in French, I get overwhelmed just like it’s my first time all over again! Regina is bargaining the prices of potatoes and onions with some vendor, while Laurel and I are just standing there, not understanding a word, and having people rush by us in the tight space that we are standing.
“Pardon, Pardon” I hear from behind me. A man hurriedly passes us, carrying a cow’s head on his shoulder, sinews and all. I move without hesitation.
“Pardon, Pardon” I hear 20 seconds later. A man squeezes passed us with a wheelbarrow containing another cow’s head. Eyes open, fluids leaking. Love it! Walking around the market, which is crowded with people buying, selling, haggling, shopping, for 2 hours killed me and Laurel. We weren’t even doing any of the bargaining, but just being in that crazy atmosphere, dodging cows’ heads, and maneuvering in tight spaces with so many people drains you!
Afterwards we went to her parents’ house, where we had lunch. We shared a plate with her brothers and sisters of typical Ivorian cuisine, ie. We all used our hands to eat off the communal plate. It felt really special being invited into their home and sharing food with the family!
Later we walk around the business district for some time before we’re too tired to care anymore. What an exhausting day! We go home, take our bucket showers and then start preparing dinner. There are 2 knives for the 3 of us, one portable burner on her balcony, and no running water, making the dinner preparation a very long process. In the end, we had a delicious Ivorian meal which we helped prepare. It was very rewarding!
The next morning (Easter Sunday), we’re actually allowed to sleep in passed 10. Thanks Regina! But the lights were out in her bathroom, and there are no windows so I had to (bucket) shower by the light of mine and Laurel’s phone! My favorite part? I love not being able to see all the roaches that I’m showering with. Ok, it was only two this time, so an improvement I suppose!
We spend the day at the beach and on our way home stop by the Catholic Church because the priest has prepared an Easter feast for us (it‘s because we‘re white and foreign)! But Laurel and I don’t eat meat, and we had just bought all the ingredients for dinner, so we had to decline the food offer, but we did take them up on their drink offer! We go home and prepare dinner, and at this point Laurel and I have the hang of what to do, and how to prepare it, and how to be efficient with only 2 knives and 1 burner. I’m in charge of grating the hot pepper (my first time!) and I think to myself, “I know there are some hot peppers that you need gloves to prepare, good thing these aren’t them!” Well, I guess my hands are extra sensitive because my hands starting BURNING. You know the feeling when you eat something REALLY spicy and your lips are on fire? Yeah, imagine that, but on both of your hands. I couldn’t pick anything up, because my hands would burn more, I couldn’t stop shaking my hands because the breeze relieved the heat. I iced my hands, hoping to numb the pain. Nothing. Regina took the dish sponge and VIGOROUSLY scrubbed my skin in hopes and removing the acid. Nothing. I dipped my hands in salt and put them in front of a fan. Nothing. I took a shower. Nothing. I couldn’t even eat, because I was in too much pain, and we had spent so much time preparing and it was so good! After 3 hours of incessant burning, I decided to go to bed, leaning off the side so I could fall asleep with my hands submerged in cold water. Haha I woke up and my hands no longer burned! I slept the pain away, but wow was that painful.
We leave the next morning, ready for the 12 hour journey ahead of us, hoping it will be more comfortable than when we came.
When leaving, we really appreciated that we had met Regina, for she ultimately kept us safe and showed us what it’s like to live as an Ivorian. There were language barriers at times and cultural differences that we had to overcome, but Regina’s intentions were always genuine (despite being sometimes overbearing!). I’m not sure if we would have left our hotel room if we stayed in one, because neither of us speak French (making it SO difficult in Cote d’Ivoire to do anything), and it is generally unsafe (something we were definitely aware of, but still a little naïve of HOW unsafe until we arrived). Regina made it possible for us to get the whole Ivorian experience, so thank you Regina!
Laurel and I were so happy to be going back to Ghana. By leaving the country, we realized how comfortable and settled we are with the culture and the country. We know how much things should cost so we don’t get ripped off, we know how to get home and we’re able to communicate it by common language, and we know how to interact with Ghanaians. It was a relief to be back on the other side of the border, for we felt like we had made it home. And I realized something from my travels to Cote d’Ivoire; I don’t just study in Ghana, but I LIVE in Ghana, and I love it.
Be in touch soon!
Annabelle
P.S. Check out the Songs! (copy and paste the URLs)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=frjtg2PGMTI
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0tfTz6OfBXU
P.P.S. And check out the pictures!
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=379668&id=567075430&l=94046f2854
