Gobelet, Cocody

My Ivorian friend looked at me concerned when I said I had walked through Gobelet on the way to Church one Sunday.

"Weren't you nervous?" he asked "that's a really rough area," he added, looking concerned.

I like it. "Goblet" translates as the cup, from French, and this peri-urban community lives in a sort of sunken ravine between two more affluent suburbs of Abidjan. The way the houses are built gives a staggered effect that reminds me (not that I have been there) of the favelas of Rio de Janeiro. Families move on layers above other families, oblivious of what is going on above and below, like a doll's house, and each of the dwellings is proudly maintained with painted murals reminding observers to "Trust God" or "Stop Ebola".

The area has a vibrance and a pulse that's enchanting and mesmerising and that I regret I will never fully understand.

But the area is not safe. Every year during the rainy season, there are mudslides, causing chaos, injury and death. The local Government decided that relocation was essential in 2012, and in awarded families a relocation package of 150,000 XOF (about US$300) per family. 

Since then, there have been several attempts to move the inhabitants, one in the middle of last year, which was completely blocked by protestors. But last week, bulldozers arrives and made an estimated 1000 people homeless.

Although I confess that I do not know the complexities of this resettlement exercise, and that the work I do, often means that people do have to get moved for their safety and economic progress, it is so heartbreaking to see families standing on the roadside with all of their worldly goods. 

It's the children, so fragile, who have just survived two back-to-back civil wars, standing speechless as the only life they have ever know, is piled into the back of a pick-up truck.

I don't know what the solution is. I just wanted to say something.

Allez les Éléphants!!

On Sunday, last Sunday, Sunday 8th February, the Ivory Coast won the Africa Cup of Nations for the first time in 23 years, and for the second time ever.

The win came via a penalty shoot-out with Ghana, which interestingly, had been their road to victory the first time they won in 1992. None-the-less, the triumph tasted very sweet, regardless of how tentative or fragile it had ever seemed.

The Africa Cup of Nations was shown everywhere, in every maqui, bar and waiting room. Every single match. The games of les Éléphants, emptied the roads of vehicles and the city of life as everyone watched, breaths held, mouths covered, until a goal which would errupt the city in an almighty clamour.

I have a video from the Semi-Final (I have tried a hundred times to turn this round - now I just give up - turn your neck)

On the night of the final the fireworks began the moment the last penalty was scored, and went on long into the night. Monday was declared as a national public holiday, although unfortunately my office were slow to react, and so myself and my colleagues still travelled into work.

There were people everywhere, all making the pilgrimage on foot to the National Football stadium in downtown plateau, where the returning team would be greeted by the president. We were able to watch from our office windows, big white buses arrived from each of the suburbs, carrying joyful football fans to the celebration. On exiting the buses, many of them would run the remaining couple of miles to the stadium, excited and glorious. 

My colleague looked down on the streets of running people and said to me:

"Ahh, look at this mayhem! In England this craziness would never happen!"

I think he was paying a compliment to the organisation, and conservatism of my country. But I only sighed and said,

"In England, we never win..."

Turf and Surf

Last week I bought a car. 

It's not an incredibly fancy purchase: when I asked my friend's husband, who is very car savvy, if it was a good deal, he described the car as "an affordable model designed for the Eastern Asian market". This can be directly interpreted as "a cheap car that wouldn't stand a hope in hell of passing European Safety regulations". None the less, I am smitten. Having gone over three years with no car, at the mercy of ruthless taxi drivers, who either over charge me, or try to set me up on dates with their sons, or friends, to whom I am eternally grateful, even when then insist on listening to their Snoop Dogg Mixtape, on repeat, for days, proclaiming, "Michelle, I never had a childhood... This is my mis-spent youth, reloaded".

Despite the car not being fancy, or necessarily very high quality, or safe, it's the most expensive thing I have every bought (without a mortgage) and I love it. I love the freedom it represents, it reminds me of when I was 18 and I had just passed my driving test, and I believed, even living on an island, that I could really drive anywhere. Daydreams of Yamoussoukro, and Accra, and Ouagadougou are creeping in. Cruising down the Ivory Coast, the Cape Coast, the Gold Coast...

For her maiden voyage, we took her just up the road to Assinie-Mafia, for some surf and tropical storms.

I do promise to try to write about more than just beaches, but after almost a month in the UK over Christmas, my skin has been missing the vitamin D, my toes have been missing the exfoliation that only the softest sand can manage, and I am certain that the salty air is good for your soul.

Falling instantly into my Canadian friend's humility hustle, I agreed to a weekend of surfing... not realising that she was actually pretty fantastic. I paddled about, struggled, worried about jelly fish, worried about sharks, worried about the rip-tide, worried about the safety harness getting caught around my ankles, causing me to drown, then I caught one wave, squealed with delight, fell of the board and decided to call it a day. 

Standard.

The beach was spectacular, but there was a storm a-brewing.

Tropical storms are wonderful, and this one didn't disappoint. It went on all night long, the lightning causing the power to go out, and the rain drumming on our tin roof, unrelentingly.

In the morning, the beach was bright again, and we sat quietly, reading our kindles and savouring the last moments of beach time before returning to the muggy city. I asked her what she was reading, and an interesting revelation overcame us.

She was reading "Things Fall Apart" by Chinua Achebe ("But I can't seem to figure out when it is set...") and I was reading "Americanah" by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie ("I'm have to read it for my book club, I'm delighted at how much I'm enjoying it..."). On the way in the car we had listed to a mix CD of Davido, Flava, D'Banji and the Somi Album "The Lagos Music Salon". Was it just us? or was this unconscious preference for Nigerian literature and music a real statement about our new lives in West Africa? This remains to be seen, but right now, I feel the happiest that I can ever remember.

I arrived in Abidjan with four suitcases, and so have been working with a local carpenter to build a few bits of furniture and picking bits up here and there when I see them. On the way home from the beach, I bought this amazing chair. Between the car and this chair, I really am becoming materialistic!

Assoundé Yoga Retreat

Plagued by the knowledge that I never went to Tabarka in Tunisia, or Sipi Falls in Uganda, I am determined to embrace every single adventure that presents itself in the Ivory Coast. An opportunity arose, just two weeks into 2015 with a yoga retreat being held at the beach resort of Assoundé in South East Côte d'Ivoire.

Assoundé is about 90 minutes by road from Abidjan, and the village is much smaller and humbler than it's touristy neighbour Assine-Mafia. To reach the place in which we stayed, you had to drive off-road through coconut groves for about 5km, then abandon your vehicle completely and take a canoe the last part of the journey.

The yoga class was taught by a fellow ex-patriate, and although it was my first time practicing with her, I instantly felt calm and relaxed and enjoyed her teaching and her passion for life in the Ivory Coast. I still haven't managed to do a handstand, but I feel like if anyone can help me achieve this dream, it will be this lady!

The weekend was well structured with several classes per day, but I never felt like it was too much and really just enjoyed the whole experience, even down to the fully vegetarian menu, which was specially designed for the retreat.

The beauty and simplicity of the place reminded me of Kalangala in Uganda. Small farms and homesteads, alongside miles and miles of stunning beaches.

I cannot wait to return.

 

And just like that... another year whizzed by...

It has been a whole year since I wrote here. A whole year just flashed by. I would like to say that I don't know where the time went but honestly, it was probably one of the busiest and most productive years of my life and so my only sadness is that I missed the opportunity to blog it all here.

I took a great many trips around Tunisia, visiting Djerba, Douz, Madhia and Monastir again. I took work trips is Istanbul, Dakar and Washington D.C. and I took holidays in Ibiza and in my lovely UK. I attended three weddings, at two of which I was a bridesmaid and three hen parties. I fasted just one day of Ramadan but ate about 10 iftars. I was awarded one Post-Graduate Certificate... with a distinction, and I passed one international French exam. I knitted six hats, three cardigans, two mittens and one incredible Mickey Mouse jumper. I ran three half marathons, and one 5km fun run, and I had one horrible cold which lasted for 8 weeks.

And I have moved again. I now live in the Abidjan, Ivory Coast. The Ivory Coast is the world's most secular country, according to a recent survey and it's the biggest exported of cocoa in the world. But more about that later...

So I'm going to be thirty in 2 months. I would not say that I have failed on my task list of 30 before 30 items, but I have maybe underachieved a bit. But in truth I am still proud of the things that I have done in it and I'll write about them in due course.

But for now, I'm here, and I'm planning to write some things. You fancy a story?