THROUGH MY IVORIAN DIARY 1

 I MISS ABIDJAN

Oh boy vacation’s about to end in a few weeks and I was thinking about how my vacation would have been if I went to Abidjan. I told Vida during the past semester that I would love to go to back to Abidjan but I just couldn’t. I guess God had other plans and I can’t say this vacation hasn’t been an experience, it really has. I have met new people, I had new ideas, and I finish reviewing, rewriting and redoing three of my books which I have put off for a while now. Well, well, well I am not talking about that today.

 Gosh! Sometimes I just sit back and realize I miss Cote D’Ivoire so much. I miss everything there.

 I miss having to wake up knowing that I had to find or conjure all the French words in my head because the first person I will meet at work will rub some French in my face. Everybody spoke French, some partially like some teachers I know there (names withheld), some as bad as myself and probably worse so everywhere you would hear French. Whether you were in or out? You’d still get French rubbed in your face. There were times I couldn’t understand what someone probably said, I just had to pretend I did, especially when I first got there but sometimes I was practically impossible to ignore or pretend especially when they needed a response. I used to turn to my French speaking uncle for support which sometimes I got other times he just wasn’t going to help. He’d rather give me clues. Damn! I didn’t neeeeeeeeed clues! I remember when I first got there I didn’t even understand when someone asked me how I was doing or said good morning. Sometimes it sounded gibberish that’s why I couldn’t make it out. I felt they talked too fast. I had an experience with Aunt Cecilia, the assistant headmistress, the first day I went to work. She greeted good morning and oh I pretended like it wasn’t me. I didn’t want to be caught in the web. What if I didn’t hear good morning? Then my unsupportive uncle called out to me and said she greeted and then oh I remember what that was in French. Dude my head was working. The most annoying but funny part was in the canteen on the first few occasions. The workers were mostly Ghanaian which meant they could speak my local language but no!!! All I could hear was gibberish! LOL All I thought was ‘in the canteen too! Gosh can I at least not hear any one word in French whiles I was trying to eat the Ivorian dish. (You heard me I said trying!) How long I’m I going to take this?’ I missed English!

I miss the work. I miss typing those letters, réinscription…something about certificat de scolarité (I don’t quite remember) and some others and transcripts. That was a big one in the job. My uncle Isaac usually tossed that one to me. It was easy if you found all the records of the student early otherwise you had to look through files upon files. I must say it was fun but stressful especially when a teacher probably entered and said he wanted a photocopy of something and only two people were allowed to touch the machine, my uncle Isaac and I. It only meant one thing it was I most of the time that had to see to the teachers. I miss the teachers bugging me with photocopies upon photocopies but I loved the part when my aunt Vivian told me she wanted to view all the documents for photocopy before I went through with them. What can I say? It took a lot of pressure off me because there were specific days for photocopying and I could do all at once and I miss the teachers pleading for their copies to be done but…guess what I just couldn’t help them….lol. The part about that photocopying job is was so tiring and stressful was during examinations. Oh My God! They had to be made right in the school and I had to make sure they were done on time and had several copies of the answer sheets the day before. I miss when I didn’t check the calendar properly and when I got home I realized it and couldn’t wait to get to work early the next day to do it before the time was up. I miss having to feel responsible for the question papers and taking them to the exams hall myself. The stressful part was when the teachers in the exams hall weren’t patient enough especially after canteen time. I had other responsibilities you know… lol Oh yes! The photocopying was half the real job the real one was the canteen. I had to go there both at ten and twelve to work. There was a system whereby some children had the canteen already paid for in the office, some didn’t. The workers in the canteen didn’t know who was who so I had to make sure those who had paid already where given their fair ration. Sounds easy but it wasn’t. Why? They were children, from grade 1 to grade 12. They won’t be straight in the queue, some would play till recess was over then they would come for food, some tried to mess around and fight and the noise, oh boy… JEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSS! You know the way kids are. Some would even come to you with all sorts of lies, and say they had paid and whiles you looked on the list you had to be looking at the serving going on otherwise someone would be wrongfully served. I can’t even begin to talk about it. I still miss the work in the canteen. I remember one time I asked a 9^th grader how old she thought I was and she said I was 26. OMG! 26!!!!!!!!!!! :O Is it just me or she didn’t know a thing about faces and ages? I was just 18 or do I look that old? Nope! I always see myself as having a baby face. Hmmmmm or have I been lying to mi self?

I miss the end of the months. You know why? The money! Who said getting paid is not fulfilling? Not that I was spending the money on myself. I wasn’t! When it was time to go I had gathered some substantial amount of money I came invested with when I came back to Ghana. Uh-ha I remember what my huge expenses really where, long distance calls. I miss making long distance calls and the network I was using, KoZ. It was the cheaper to use in calling. I miss having finished making a call then going back out to buy some more to call. The things I mainly did with my salary and any money I got, tithe and credit. I miss my cousins, Abena and Adom complaining about me only buying call credit. They always talked about me not buying clothes and anything. Well, I eventually did but I don’t think it was to their satisfaction but hey I tried.

I miss Tuesday Home Cell meetings. I can tell you honestly that sometimes I really didn’t want to participate but you had no option. Not that you were forced but you just had to. People from church around the neighbourhood came over on Tuesday for cell meeting where we discussed what we had studied at church the Sunday before. Guess what? When you live in a French country, it’s all in French. The one thing I love to do so much also had to be in French. Uncle Isaac had someone translate in church for me during the first few months till I could actually understand myself but I’m sure the annoying thing for my uncle Isaac was that he had to translate for me and them at the cell meetings whatever I had to say and vice versa. He was just lucky I was tired from work so I didn’t say much…but when I starting speaking French myself, I didn’t say much either. Hey I wanted to keep my words short, don’t blame me! lol I miss the members of the cell…there was this guy who always took us in different directions far from the main topic. He deviated too often. I miss Bienvenue, Eric, Tante Christie, Tonton Jacques, Xavier, there was a woman who always sat by the door (I can’t seem to remember her name), and another fair guy who stammered (damn I can’t remember his name) but I miss them all. I miss the prayer topics segment where everyone raised his own topic himself and we all prayed about it. I miss some pray topics of some people especially the marriage one, as for me, when I started speaking French all I thought when it was prayer topic time was, ‘keep it short and simple!’ I miss when everyone at cell meetings looked to my lil cousin Adom to raise a song. There were times when the other French members didn’t show up. Don’t get too excited yet, we still had it. lol During those times my Aunt will ask me to bring a Ghanaian local song. I miss having to go through my head and not finding a single one. I guess French had gotten the better part of me. It was easier to remember a French song than Ghanaian local one.

I miss the French church we went to, Eglise Baptiste. It was French but the Pastor, Pastor Diato (did I get the name and spelling right?)  spoke English and French but mainly preached in French so my uncle had to get a translator for me from the first day. He first stopped this younger lady to translate for me who declined when my uncle pointed to me…maybe she was shy (Later it turned out she didn’t speak good English and Ivorians didn’t like getting laughed at. That’s what they thought would happen when they erred in someone’s language and now she going to translate for a pure English person. I don’t blame her) I didn’t have time to laugh at someone else, I had problem grasping the French myself. The annoying thing was when people told you French is easier to learn than English as if that helped. Bottom line I got a nice young gentleman called Elvis to translate for me. He wasn’t so good but I was impressed he wasn’t shy to say what he knew. If he erred I corrected him. He actually encouraged me to learn the French language because although he wasn’t too good he tried and he was able to communicate. I miss when we laughed about some of our mistakes. I miss when he was dancing to songs and still translating them for me. I miss offertory time when everyone went to the front to put their offering in the bowl and there was a little praises afterwards. I miss dancing up to the front like nobody’s business because no-one knew me that well. Although some said I dance well after the service ended, even my Aunt and Uncle who I lived with were surprised the first time they saw me dancing in front. Usually I would wait till after the offering was collected then I would get up and dance to the front. I miss their French songs most and Ghanaian local songs they tried singing. Church was one part of Abidjan I loved. And the beautiful young ladies that I wanted to befriend and talk to but the barrier in communication. OMG! I hated that then but I miss it, constructing French phrases in my head to make conversations with them but boy oh boy, it would have been easier in Ghana. lol

These other issues I’ll talk about in THROUGH MY IVORIAN DIARY 2.

I miss the food.

I miss the teachers and workers who names I can’t begin to mention.

I miss my uncle Isaac.

I especially miss the family I lived with.

I miss bugging my cousin Adom the most.

I miss Tonton Jean

I miss the French movies and television.

I miss the students.

I miss Saturdays.

I miss the public transport.

Join me later in the second part…

 

Retelling the French Voyage Pt.2

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 21^st 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.

 

Retelling The French Voyage Pt. 1

                       I’m sitting here in the parlour downstairs – my aunt’s and uncle’s house in Abidjan watching some French comedy. You know, since I came here, honestly I have realized that the French people don’t make those nice movies like the Hulk, Spiderman, Stomp the Yard, and the other English thrilling movies. If they do show those movies, then it is dubbed in French voice. Jeeeeeeees, I don’t know why but like 80% of their programs are so boring. Well, you can’t blame me I miss the fun programs on Ghana television. You can’t blame me, home is home, right? Hahahh! I just laughed at some very stupid French comedy. I guess they do have something too.

 

                        Well, I have less than 48 hours to return back home after almost a year outside her. Okay! Right now I want to go through some Ivorian experience before I fly out. Where can I start from? Hmmmmm, someone said if you don’t know where to start, start from the beginning. So I guess the beginning will be how I got here. Well I came here first by bus, a government run service called STC. Since it was my first time, I was going to be an experience. I came with my Uncle, Isaac. Damn! The journey was so long.  I left the house at around 4am, the bus left at around 5am. You wouldn’t believe it but I got home to Abidjan around 8:30 pm. My buttocks was finished. Of course there were stops on the way but then it was my first time. All I had to resign myself to, was that probably my bus ride was less longer than for many others. You know I loved about the whole bus ride? The green scenery! I never had a chance to see all the way from Accra to Elubo and through to Abidjan. I saw it all, name it; water bodies, strange buildings, houses, languages, boy! I saw a lot in the long journey. I think once a while people should just take the bus ride to the nearest country. Boi! It is adventurous, but you know what? I will leave that to you to decide. Don’t say I didn’t tell you that you are missing on lots of things.

 

                       The language? Ohhhh! I know that’s was the main reason I chose to come here. The French language was another one! Yea, I did French back in school from Grade 2 to Grade 9 but that was a long time ago! Well I could remember the “ Bonjour” “Merci” and all the other small expressions. Jeeeeez but my French teacher was talking slowly, these people sure weren’t! Right in the bus, there were so many people who spoke French; others both French and English. Inside my own country I left like a stranger in the bus. Even my uncle called a friend of his in Abidjan on the way. Gosh! I didn’t understand anything. I tried! Who told you I didn’t! Like I said, my French teacher was talking slowly, besides all I needed back the in school was to learn what I had been taught and answer questions on it. Guess what? Final exams, I had an A. Here was I in the bus with bilingual and francophones and I didn’t know nothing! What the heck was I doing back in school then?

Yep! But trust me I had to make extra effort to understand and speak the language. Even now I am not perfect. I remember telling a friend of mine yesterday that I understand like 100% and speak like 80%. Those figures should even be reduced a bit. LOL.  Did you say why? I’m surprised at you. I have been here for less than a year, maybe 10 months at most and you think I know everything. It wasn’t like I came to school here to study French, nope! So everyday I learn something new. I remember the first time I went to church. Yep! You guessed it! It was a French church. How the heck was I going to understand was the preacher said? Before, it never crossed my mind; after all, my uncle spoke French. Unfortunately Isaac too was an usher, so he could never have time to translate. Well, I just decided in my mind to follow the crowd, though I would be seconds late on doing what they do. I just decided to sit there and pretend like I heard everything. Luckily, my uncle made some efforts. There was this girl being ushered in by my uncle and he asked her if she could speak English. She answered. “yes!” Wondering, my uncle asked if she could translate for someone. She didn’t answer she threw her right hand, asking who it was. My uncle pointed at me and somehow I smiled at her. Of course I had to. Then she refused. Well, asked my why? Maybe because I smiled too much. Probably I should have frown my face that day. Well, she later went to her seat and asked some other guy, much older than her, to translate for me. Well, so calmly the guy came to take his seat near me. I was glad at least I would be able to understand what the speaker was saying. The guy told me after sitting, “I’m Elvis.” Certainly I told him my name. Well he did translate. Not the perfect English, but Elvis was so far better than me compared to speaking someone’s language. He was French and he didn’t speak so perfect English, sometimes mixing a few tenses but he was good. I thought he had done so well to study English in a French country, unlike me who couldn’t make a clean conversation in French. Well he helped me, I helped him. Sometimes he corrected my mistakes in the French language, and me, his.

For the young woman who didn’t want to translate, I later learned her name was Stephanie. She was studying English in the university. She was just in her first year I heard. So the thing was she wasn’t so perfect, maybe couldn’t speak in a clean conversation like me. That’s one characteristic with the Ivorians I don’t really understand. They turn to laugh at a foreigner who makes a mistake in French, so even with the little English they knew they couldn’t speak. Why? Certainly, because they think the Anglophones will laugh at them. Those mocking would have discouraged me if it wasn’t for people other bilinguals and francophones who advised me. Like my Uncle said, “ I’m here to learn your language, I don’t care if you laugh at me, after all in the end, I know your language, and you don’t speak mine!” Well said uncle!

So I went from learning the small phrases, to the main two days a week of French lessons, one hour each day, with a very good French teacher normally called Tonton Pierre, I made it to where I am now, though still nowhere but somewhere.   You won’t believe I even lead a bible study meeting in French. Yeah!

 

                          The food? OMG! The second or so day I came here. I accompanied my uncle to go and buy some food. The call the food, “Atieke,” the main delicacy of the people. I remember watching when the food vendor was putting the food into a take-away. It looked like rice from afar. When I got closer, surely I thought I saw “Gari” – a local food in Ghana. If it was gari I was seeing, where was the stew or something in that category to go with it? All I saw the guy putting on the food was fish, that smelt so nice, and omg! Did the guy just sprinkled only green pepper on the food and hand it to us? Puzzled, I questioned my uncle as to what that was. He revealed that it was just like our gari back home.  With our gari, after deriving it from cassava, we fry it. But these people steam it with water. Well…I can’t deny the food was nice. When I was eating; I can recall the watch man, Jean, shouting that, “On mange ‘garba’ avec les mains” In translation, we eat garba with our hands, and I was using a spoon. (don’t get confused, I know I said atieke, now I’m saying garba. Well in a raw state, it is called atieke. When it is prepared by the men, with just their green pepper, it is called garba; amazing many people prefer that, to the nutritious one made by women with more vegetables and stew, which still retains the name atieke.) Get it now I hope! There are other foods, but lets stop on this, at least that’s the main diet of the people. I recall some people telling me that Ghana isn’t a nice place. Why? Because there’s no atieke. Yeah right!