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ABIDJAN: A WESTERN MASK
Fr. Wreh has come down to the city to receive us and he is accompanied by a contingent of Liberians, most from here in the city. They have two taxis waiting and so once out of the terminal we are among friends who speak a common language. The exception being that even for these folks money is so scarce that a stranger and an American can cause some to ask for more than their share. One taxi driver was hard to satisfy. As we proceed through the streets leading away from the airfield, I see the streets as more crowded and the people poorer than I remember. Our hotel for the night is the "Noir" in a poor section of town were few if any tourists venture. The rooms are clean with private bath and hot water. The occupants are middle class Ivorians and government officials in town on business. Though I am a novelty to some, most Africans do not pay much heed to skin color.
It is now after 10 PM and we head out to find a bite to eat. There is nothing
at the hotel so we stroll a few blocks. Kwame and I are adjusting to the heat.
We find a clean looking restaurant facing onto a traffic circle. There is a
large statue surrounded by grass and flowers and a constant parade of cars,
trucks and buses passing around, most with horns blaring. We order rice and
soup, the waiter brings a large stack of pita bread and salad. I have to remind
myself not to eat the uncooked vegetables. Ice water is also served and it is
tempting in the heat, but Fr. Wreh realizes my distress and orders two large
"Solibra" beers. This is the local brew produced by a Belgian
brewmaster. I find that there is little alcohol content and the price is low.
They also produce Flag beer which is akin to Budwieser or Miller in the States. It is a little more pricy and only purchased on special occasions. We head back and get to bed by midnight local time, 6 PM in NY.
Going East seems not to be as hard on the system. Kwame spends the night in my room while Fr. Wreh and his friend Eddie from Danane are across the hall. Wednesday A.M. we awake to the noise in the streets about 6:30 and it has rained during the night. I watch out the window as Kwame lounges on the bed with one of his little cars. Head loads, lappas, business suits and traditional dress. Kids in uniform headed to school with book bags and many men with brief cases. A women with a large tray of bread being carried on her head. There are new and old cars of every Japanese make; some European cars, no American and many small buses by Toyota and Izuzu. A crew of street sweepers pass by with their brooms and orange uniforms. By 9 AM the streets are becoming jammed with vehicles both motorized and human powered "push push" carts. Pedestrians in both western and traditional dress crowd the sidewalks.
Houses and apartment buildings all sprout T-V antennas and even a few Satellite dishes.
About 9:30 we prepare to venture out into the city and find some breakfast. Fr. Wreh was not satisfied with the previous night's meal and so has gone ahead to another eatery. Eddie is assigned the job of escorting Kwame and I to the breakfast establishment. We lock the hotel room and go out into the street searching for a cab. There are an abundance at first glance, but many are very selective as to what part of town they will travel to. After several attempts we succeed in hailing one, but it already contains a passenger. No matter, we are assured the cab will carry us. Eddie is given the front seat while Kwame, I and the fellow passenger jam into the rear of a small sedan. Shortly after starting off the fellow passenger, well attired in western dress attempts to get out his business card in order that I may have one. In doing so he drops some money on the floor at my feet. He asks that I reach it for him as Kwame is between us. I oblige and he never does provide me with a card because suddenly the driver decides that he will not be going to our destination and asks us to get down and find another means. He also does not ask for any payment. We immediately find another cab and proceed to the restaurant where Fr. Wreh awaits us. After a very nice breakfast of eggs and bread we set off for the main part of Abidjan.
We decide to check in at the KLM office and confirm my return flight. Afterward we walk about town window shopping. In this part of town the stores are many with a good supply of western merchandise. It reminds me a little of lower Manhattan though the buildings are nowhere near as tall, six to eight floors being the maximum. The streets are narrow and crowded, but reasonably clean and modern. We locate a nice looking cafe overlooking the street with a balcony one flight up. We sit and have chicken sandwiches and a new drink , local red wine much like Chianti mixed with soda water, surprisingly refreshing in what is now the noon day heat. As we leave and I attempt to reimburse Fr. Wreh for my part I discover that the peculiar taxi ride earlier was a set up. My $180 that I had carefully tucked deep in my pocket was gone. Thankfully my wallet was still on my person though it contained no money. Upon our return to the hotel we encounter our next obstacle. We have missed the noon checkout time and the clerk is demanding another night's rent. We finally settle for a small additional fee since now it is about 4 P.M., and we are on our way to the STIEF bus station to take the all night bus to Danane.
We gather our baggage on the street and while we await the appearance of some means of transport, we watch as local kids in bare feet and ragged tee shirts play a pick-up game of football. Some of the young ones stop to stare for a moment at either Kwame or I. Me for my color and he because he is well dressed and must be important. Finally we have the good fortune to locate a Toyota station wagon cab that can accommodate we four and the luggage. We head to the bus parking and our next adventure.
The STIEF bus parking garage is a large open building where the buses pull in under the roof. There is a large area with wood benches for passengers to await their bus. Along one wall is a large map of West Africa and the routes followed by STIEF buses. I was amazed at the distances one can travel for relatively modest prices. Most of French West Africa as well as Ghana are included in the routes. While we wait there is T-V and music. People like the STIEF company because the buses are well maintained and the security for your belongings is assured.
We are called to our bus. The baggage is sorted and appropriate "small money" paid to the baggage boys. They load and look after your goods for the duration of the trip. The bus appears to be in sound condition, a fairly new Mercedes equipped to seat 50 passengers. The seats are small by our standard and hard. We are seated 3 and 2 with an isle the length of the coach. Almost as comfortable as an American school bus. It is 7:30 PM and we are about to start up-country. The drivers pride themselves on being on schedule and because they never know what to expect from their equipment or from the road ahead, they drive as fast as possible.
On this particular evening the road is dry and the road clear as we roll out of the city on a modern divided highway. There are numerous stops in small to medium size towns even though the bus is full and beyond with several passengers sitting in the isle on their bags.
About 1 AM we are at the half way point at the city of Yakoussouma. We have just passed a huge modern Hotel which surprises me. Father Wreh responds that this is the hometown of former Ivorian President Boenet. Also located in this town, but out of our view is one of the largest Catholic Churches in the world, built by that same President.
Our driver suddenly veers off the main road and into a large STIEF parking area with fuel and concessions selling "COKE" and a variety of local food items. We are all advised to get up and stretch while the bus crew makes some adjustments. I for one need a break by now as Father Wreh had only purchased three tickets for this ride. One for friend and fellow traveler Eddie, himself and me. "Kwame," he had said, "is small and can sit on our laps." Well guess what,? Kwame is not that small anymore. In fact Kwame had grown 6 inches and gained nearly 20 lb. We and everyone else got down leaving Kwame to sleep on the seats.
After several minutes of watching the bus crew crawl around under the bus the driver gets into his seat and starts the engine. Suddenly the bus lurches ahead and abruptly stops. Then it reverses direction and stops again. This repeated itself two more times as I stood there helplessly thinking Kwame will be slammed and banged between the seats of the bus "like being in a pinball machine". The thought occurred, " Please lord, don't let his eye get damaged after all of this." Father Wreh was the first on the bus and there was Kwame a little dazed, but remarking about the rough ride. I am not sure he had been aware that we had stopped. It turns out that the driver was concerned that the breaks were having a problem, but he is now confident that they were O.K
As we continued our journey we were met on several occasions by Ivorian Police or Military who check for illegal travelers and suspicious folks, who mostly get hassled until they pay " small money". As we neared morning the fog began to fill the road ahead and even an occasional rain shower intercepted our path, but our driver with the worrisome breaks drove on at full speed only using his horn to clear the way ahead. At 6 AM we encountered our last obstacle and right on the outskirts of Danane. Suddenly the guards were at attention. Next thing I know they want to see the American. I am asked to leave the bus, Father Wreh at my side. Guards and passers-by as well as a few curious passengers are gathered behind the bus staring at a box of what appears to be American Whiskey. This one last security check had uncovered a full case of Jim Beam Whiskey in the bowels of the cargo bay with no customs stamp. Who could it belong to but the stranger from America? They check my passport. They ask if I am the owner of the box. I say no and they ask if they can open it? I reply that I have no problem since it is not my property. Father Wreh says to me privately the guards hope that no one will claim it so that they can divide it later. The box is carefully opened and as one might guess, no Jim Beam, only bottles of palm oil. The box is reloaded, to the disappointment of many, and we are off again, but only to the middle of town.