I have been kind of stubborn haven’t I? Yeah! I know people, I know! The last time I told you about the French voyage; it was less 48 hours to leaving the French man’s Abidjan. Well, guess what it is now about fours days after I got here. Now I’m sitting here telling myself that maybe I should have really have written this thing when I was there with the cool air blowing all my face. Like I said, I know, okay! 
Well, let’s me just tell you about the 48 hours less to departure from Abidjan. Boy! I was excited all over, whether it was my first time in a plane, or it was the way I missed home so much. Don’t blame me, I mean how could you? Home is home, no place like it.
Within those few hours left to go. The house was empty; my two lovely cousins had travelled. I thought initially it would have got to me, but few minutes later, I was up the stairs cleaning the dishes, and getting juice from the fridge. If there’s one thing that Abidjan gave me that I didn’t have apart from the French, then it would be taking juices. I love their juices and drinks. I knew I had to buy some to put in my bag to bring it here, and sure I did! 
The day my cousins left, it was a bit late; their flight was about 2am in the morning. Good graces! Why do some flights have to so early? I didn’t ask for you answer. No offense taken, right? 
So after I came down to watch television, and as usual it was boring. Maybe it is my doing because when I came back to Ghana too, I realized that I really haven’t enjoyed television, maybe movies, but I have mainly stuck with my laptop. Okay! Let me ask you one question, do you find television nowadays boring, maybe not entirely but marginally? Tell me.
The people: Cote d’ Ivoire, okay! Let’s get the facts right from the beginning. I mean Abidjan, not the whole country. Why? Well that’s where I lived. What I saying before you wanted me to explain things? Ahh! The people! Allow me to talk about the women. I remember the first day I went through the country, no! actually the second day. Someone made a comment, “Ivorian women are beautiful than Ghanaian women.” I laughed. Probably I was been patriotic, the person would have said, but then… not that I mean to say they are ugly. No, I didn’t say that. Don’t get me wrong. There’s one thing with the behaviour of the women that thrilled me, all the time. A very usual sight to see in the country is women who went wherever in a piece of cloth. Ok! I don’t mean to be so critical but…Jeees! You know like the ordinary cloth maybe you cover yourself in, when in bed. That’s even too big. I dislike the sight. I know, Africa and all but then come on, Ivorian women; we are in the 21st century. Hey! You are getting me wrong again. I didn’t say all their women do that.
The last point I’ll touch on will be the transport. I usually went to work in a private car, or the school bus. Seldom did I take the public transport. There are three or four kinds of public transport over short distances. The first is the local body manufactured, “Gbacar”. I don’t even know if I had the spelling right. The buses looked too awful, more like some sort of death trap. Almost all of those buses had the name, “Africauto” written on it. I always thought it was some African-Ivorian designer. I earlier told you that the car body was locally made. My African pals; I don’t mean to be the guy seeing all the wrong things here, but where’s the perfection and beauty of art in what we do. Well, those few occasions I sat in the bus was an amazing experience. The bus I was expecting to be so slow was speeding past better built cars. The way the driver drove made you wonder what would happen if the worse happens. Whoosh! I don’t want to imagine things now. It will kind of give you an idea when I tell you, it is like a death trap. I recall seeing one smoking from within and the passengers had to quickly get out.
In Abidjan there are two kinds of taxi services, there’s the red and the yellow. The yellow coloured taxis were all old; sorry I mean OLD! I’m trying to imagine if I ever saw a slightly brand new looking, “Wororo- the local name” The name alone gives it away, “wororo;” as if the car can hardly support itself and has to be dragged everywhere the drivers took it. I never did sit in one of those. Sure u can guess; that was the less expensive type of transport. I use mostly the red ones, these one look better. The difference was not only in the colour; the red taxis had a counter in it. Where you don’t bargain anything if you don’t want to, the counter will tell you at the end of your destination and you pay, no questions asked.
Touching on the last part of this script will be the last transport service. It is one of those long buses run by a company called Sotra. The kind of buses that have so few seats and a lot more space for people to stand. Wow! You should see the scene on a busy work day. The bus is so packed, I sometimes wonder if the people are able to breathe. Seriously, things have to change but I still enjoyed “en tous cas” my stay there, being the first time I came out of my own country, it was an experience I’ll never forget. If there’s more, I’ll tell you, but that’s what I can bring my mind to remember.
