Saturday, September 04, 2010

The End...

So, my travels have come to an end. It was a great trip but I'm happy to be back in DC. I want to leave you with a few quotes from a great interview with Anthony Bourdain which I think do a decent job summing up my time in Cote d'Ivoire. Thanks for reading!

"Well, good food is a willingness to step out of your comfort zone a little, take a shot at the unfamiliar, try something that, OK, might give you diarrhea. There were times that I was pretty damn sure I was going to be really, really ill if I ate this. But if you're lucky enough to have a passport and find yourself on the other side of the world, and somebody without a lot of money is being generous to you, then I think the onus is on you to help bring honor to your hosts."

"It's the most exciting thing about travel to me. You're constantly wrong. You're constantly challenged by your own preconceptions. You're forced to relearn such basic, basic things. Words you thought you knew the definition for become completely changed: the word work, the word hunger, the word generosity. Or you think an entire country's going to be one way and then it's another way. I like being wrong in that respect."

"I used to believe, deeply, that people were basically badthat given a slight change in the our situation, we would all revert to packs of wild dogs who would devour each other and sell each other out. I took a very dim view of human nature. Travel has made me more optimistic. I believe now that for the most part, the world is filled with people doing the best they can under the circumstances."

Wednesday, August 04, 2010

Absolutely Stunning

Wow. Wow. Wow. That was all I could keep saying. I could cut the disbelief with a knife, not trusting what I saw in front of me. Words like biggest and tallest and most don't have sameimpact on paper as they do in real life, particularly when these adjectives emerge where you least suspect.

A couple days ago I trekked up to Yamoussoukro, the official capital of Cote d'Ivoire. The city isn't much, but there's a lot more there than 50 years ago. Yamoussoukro, known by the sweet nickna
me Yakro, just happens to be the home town of founding father/long-time president Houphouet Boigny. During his 30+ years of rule he built the city up and put into motion the process of moving the capital from Abidjan to Yakro.

The legacy of this work begins with highways to nowhere. Six-lane roads, I was stunned to see, actually have lanes painted on them and traffic lights that work, something that the bustling roads of Abidjan could use. The fantastic roads are occasionally dotted with a few cars. The roads take you to a foundation in Boigny's honor, the presidential palace, Hotel du President and other impressive buildings found among fields and empty lots
.

But, the main legacy of Boigny's investment in this city is the National Basillica. For an undisclosed sum, Boigny commissioned a French architect to design and build the world's largest Basillica. They kinda cheated a little because the dome is smaller than St. Peter's in Rome, but the huge cross on tops gives it the edge.

It is big. And it is breathtaking, all the much more so because
it is completely
surrounded by abandoned fields. All sense of scale is completely lost as one walk up to this immense
structure, which is double the size of Notre Dame in Paris. In this picture, you can almost feel that car's humiliation next to the dome.

The inside, where they wouldn't let me take pictures, is equally amazing. Here are a few:


The Basillic is an absolutely magnificent strucutre. I love architecture, particularly its ability to throw our senses out of wack and humble us with its power (e.g. the same reason why I love the natural architectural feat that are waterfalls). I also like the unexpected, and who'd've of though the most magnificent church I've ever been to would not be in France, Italy or Spain but in Cote d'Ivoire. Thus, this building is an, er, Mecca for me.

But, my development instincts won't let me fully enjoy it. The millions and probably billions of dollars sunk into this building could certainly have been used to better the lot of the nation's millions of poor. How can I justify this expense, other than by saying that this is better than a secret Swiss bank account?

But it is beautiful, and a place that I will not soon forget. If I were a religious person, perhaps I'd ask God to help me figure this dilemma out. In any case, I do know a great place that I can go pray...


Saturday, July 31, 2010

The Anatomy of a Meal

Close your eyes and imagine this. OK maybe read this, then imagine. The crisp skin of fried fish yields to your fingers as you tear off a steaming morsel of flaky, perfectly-cooked white flesh. The smell of fried fish surrounds you as you drape stings of onion and diced tomato drizzled with fish infused oil over the fish. Fresh cut hot peppers and a smoky, spicy tomato sauce top it off. Your fingers warm with the delicious flavors as you add a smattering of attiéké, a couscous like grain with a tangy, bitter taste. You move the mixture towards your tongue and the result is sweet, spicy, salty, tangy, fishy and, yes, delicious.

See the album here


Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Learning to Speak Ivoirian

I thought French was the official language of Cote d'Ivoire. I was wrong.

Of course that's not to say I don't understand the folks around me. But, the interesting twists of the French in Cote d'Ivoire remind you (in case, for some reason, you forgot) that you are not quite in Paris. In two months, I have the pleasure of discovering, getting used to and, yes, going native with Ivoirian and using it myself.

As I detail a few of these idiosyncrasies, I have a caveat. One of the issues I've come across a lot while traveling, that I imagine others have as well, is knowing how much to read into the differences of a new place. When, on one hand, is a different just a simple choice that isn't meaningful. For example, driving on the left side of the road isn't indicative of deep-seated communist leanings. On the other hand, when is a difference a revealing cultural/historic/social choice? I'm not sure the answer to that question, but I'll do the best I can.

"Payer"

"Acheter" - to buy - does not really exist in Cote d'Ivoire. Instead, "payer" - to pay for - is the word of choice. For instance, the mother of the family I was staying with would ask me if I wanted her to "payer du pain," literally to pay for bread. An interesting choice, that I don't think is random. My theory is that when you are living in a place where time is plentiful, but the means to buy something are not, it makes sense to place the emphasis on the actual paying. In states, we tend to focus on the purchasing process "do you want me to go buy some bread" since the effort of hopping in the car and going to the bakery is the main barrier to getting that bread, not the $2 the baguette costs.

"Envoyer"

Instead of asking for someone to give you something by saying "donner" - to give - the phrase envoyer - to send - is employed. It's an interesting term because its rather abstract - the bread is being sent, not given or handed to you. Not too sure what to make of this, though.

"Il faut..."

French usually reserved the phrase "il faut" for general cases where something should be done. For instance, you might say "il faut appeler la police en cas d'urgence" - one must call the police in case of emergency.

In Cote d'Ivoire, il faut has morphed into a broad expression for anything someone wants, and is how Ivoirians ask for just about anything. For instance, at a restaurant, one might say to the waiter "il faut m'envoyer de l'eau" to ask for water.

It's a rather abstract way to ask for something specific that is perhaps born out of a culture where people have fairly clear roles. For instance, a family in a village knows who's responsible for getting water, preparing dinner and getting groceries from the market. The context of the hierarchy and defined roles tells you all you need to know; there is no question of the father walking to market to get bananas.

But - and I'm not sure if this is rational - but this expression has bothered me a little. When a colleage asks for a favor that leads with "il faut;" my reflex is : No I do not need to do that! But if you ask me nicely I will!

I don't think they mean any harm, but I guess I'm used to an individualist culture when doing something for someone is heartily acknowledge and appreciated, not assumed.

"On dit quoi?"

The "wassup" of Cote d'Ivoire meaning literally "what do we say?." It's a fairly indirect phrase, not asking someone how they are doing, but not wholly different than "ca va..."

"Ca va...un peu"

Ca va is not exactly rare French phrase. In fact you can have an entire conversation with just these two words that mean at once "how's it goin" and "it's going fine." (For instance Ca va? Ca va. Ca va? Ca va.)

But in Cote d'Ivoire, the addedum "un peu" - a little - is interesting. Responding to "ca va?" with this almost seems a way to dampen enthusiasm and keep expectations low. Yeah things aren't super, but they're going OK. The product of a country that has seen the highs of economic boom, the lows of civil war and the stagnant malaise of the past 10 years? It's possible.

"Il n'y a pas de problème"

"There's not a problem" is a common way to say yes here. But, be careful. It doesn't necessarily mean that there's not a problem. In fact, especially when you are bargaining for something, this phrase might tip you off to the fact that there is a problem.

For instance, I was in the market looking for a Didier Drogba jersey for my 6 year old half-brother. I saw one that looked about his size, but it had a long white line across it. After mentioning that it looked like Drogba has been stabbed, the salesman asserted "il n'y a pas de problème" at first trying to scratch off the white, and then pretending that it was part of the jersey. Yeah, right.

The Articles that didn't Bark

Ivoirian is definitely not as, shall we say, refined as Parisien French. For one, articles (the the's, a's etc.) are often dropped. So, to ask for bread, one might just say "envoie pain" instead of "envoie du pain" While this doesn't communicate if you want all the bread (le pain) or just some bread (du pain), it gets the crux of the message across. In a place where French is often a second langauge (though less and less so) communication, rather than beautiful, elegant French is key. Yes, this is certainly not Paris!

Thursday, July 15, 2010

Food!

Some pics and descriptions of the delicious food here: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2472815&id=2702788&l=4569a4ed85


Special Treatment

Rolling up to the American Ambassador’s residence for the 4th of July reception, I, the lowly intern, sat in the back and my Ivoirian colleague, the program coordinator, was the front passenger seat. As we approached the guards, my coworker rolled down his windows, but, the guard, thoroughly ignoring him, turned to me and said “bon soir monsieur” and waved us through. My colleague prodded me, “le patron,” about my promotion to boss.


In the US, the intern tagging along is barely given the time of day; here the white guy automatically is front and center, whether he or she deserves it or not.


I imagine many of you have experienced the special treatment that those identified as foreigners get in less developed places. As you might imagine in Cote d'Ivoire, I'm not too hard to pick out, though I did tell one guy in jest that I was albino and got a slight hesitation out of him. Regardless, this special treatment gets to me, and I wanted to reflect on why.


Bargaining


We all know the foreigners get different prices than locals, and we don’t like it. It hasn’t been too bad in Abidjan, the food vendors and the yellow taxis I ride in all have fixed prices, and the lack of tourists at most of these places means that they operate on the standard prices regardless of the clientele.


The normal taxis and the markets are a different matter and I definitely don't get the same prices as locals.

While I don't like it, I'm a little confused as to why. I am a little cheap, so it could just be wanting to pay as little as possible, but I don't think it's that simple.


For instance, on one of my routes I bargain down cab driver from 2000 to 1500 CFA. Some complain that this is not a fair price - "c'est pas normal" - even though I know it definitely is normal. Yet they procede to take me anyway, but not without contrition and a little pouting throughout the ride. At the end, the often ask me to add some money. I never do.

But there are others who smile as they, still reluctantly, go down to 1500. They are friendly and when I ask them how things are going, they often respond "je ne plaigne pas," I'm not complaining. I like that. The conversations is friendly and we get on a first name basis. At the end they wish me luck. I often give them an extra 250 or more CFA because they were so nice, even though they don't ask.

Quelle paradoxe! But of course this is not an African thing. I feel the same tension when tipping at restaurants. I love seeing people do their jobs with pride and a smile, so to the friendly, happy server who does a great job, I'll happily give 20
percent or more. But to the irritable, unfriendly server, I feel guilty even giving them 15 percent, in my mind they "deserve" less.

It's not just about the price or my cheapness
, it's about how I feel about the transaction. I want to emerge from the deal feeling that I was treated fairly, not given special, inferior, treatment because I'm a foreigner.

Still, the criteria for "fairness" is elusive. It is certainly based on some permutation of the pricing that falls some just distance in between what that Drogba jersey costs to make and what it's worth to me. Perhaps it should fall somewhere in the middle of this range. To borrow from economics lingo, neither side should have too much producer or consumer surplus.


It is also about agency, am I giving them more than the normal price because they are "ripping me off" and over charging, or because I choose to because they are kind?

And it is also about how I feel I was treated. While I certainly am different that those around me, and no amount of eating with my hands at muddy food stalls will change that, how they treat that difference matters to me. Do they see me as someone they can take advantage of? Or do they see me as someone who might have more money and who
might be willing and able to pay than the average Ivoirian, but still deserves fairness?

What this means in practice is murky. But it seems that fairness, like pornography, is something I know when I see it.

Lines


Speaking of fairness, at a recent work conference, as I patiently waited at the back of the long lunch line, one of the servers told me to hand her my plate and go sit down to wait for my meal. I was hungry, and tempted as I saw the mangoes I was eyeing at the end of the table steadily disappearing. But I refused, and adamantly so.


Why so stubborn? They were just trying to help, no?


It was because of my notion of what is fair. Getting in line is how things are decided. First come first serve. Take a ticket and wait for your number to be called. No cut-sies. Why should I go before everyone else just because I don't tan easily?


I think it's because I'm really sensitive to how others perceive my actions, especially in a foreign context that might not have tons of contact with Americans. That's why I can't turn down any meal because of the smell or cleanliness thereof. I care about other seeing me as someone who appreciates and wants to learn about their culture.


Similarly, I care about governance, institutions, norms of fairness and as I'm getting into a field that supports those areas, I would feel terrible to not practice what I preach, even for the oh so sweet, sweet taste of mango. On top of that, I feel that if I even if I don't make any marginal impact with my internship, at least I can make some minuscule difference by setting a good example. Revealing my vanity, this makes me feel good.


Piment


Finally, the special treatment that comes with people trying to protect the foreigners. I've run into this most clearly when I go to the local maquis, or restaurants, and they'll say something like "piment pour le blanc," that is spiciness for a white person. Now anyone that knows me knows that I like a decent kick in the pants from my food.


But I appreciate them looking out for me.I challenged one lady who was reluctant to put some chile sauce in my Chep, a delicious Senegalese rice dish, to make me sweat. Slight mistake. Next time I saw her I reminder her that I said "make me sweat," not "kill me."


Still, I tend to think she was just looking out for me by teaching me a little lesson. Sometimes a little special treatment isn't such a bad thing.

Wednesday, July 07, 2010

Laziness in Africa

I like to think that I'm pretty proactive. But the people I'm exposed to day-in and day-out in Abidjan blow me away. While I've had experience with the African stereotype of the lazy and corrupt politicians and the equally lazy and often drunk husbands, what so many people do to survive and create a better life for their family blows me away.

For your consideration:

1. While having a delicious lunch of roasted chicken, a child, who couldn't have been more that 10 years old, started shining my shoes. I actually had this done by another kid the other day, so I refused. He persevered. On his knees he crouched his head under the tiny table and brushed voraciously. He clearly really wanted to do this. I relented. He worked hard, scrunched in uncomfortable positions, pulling out his cute little shoe polish containers from a bag made of twine and a old sac of rice and did a pretty good job.

The whole idea of walking around all day looking for clients can't be much fun either. Asking busy people who try their best to ignore you to be inconvenienced. But these kids do it, tirelessly.

And the payoff? 50 CFA. Ten cents. I gave him double. He was grateful. But I still feel cheap. Also makes me feel lazy, and lucky, as I returned to my air conditioned office.

2. Street vending means something different in Africa. It is not about fancy trucks that serve the sidewalk bureaucrats during lunch hour. We're talking literally vending on the street, think k-mart meets frogger. Darting in between traffic with odds and ends, from hats to small chalkboards to newspapers to clothespins, selling a few items isn't about the risk of investing in inventory. It's about the risk of getting killed for a sale.

It's not passive hit or miss sales job. Show just the slightest interest and they will follow your car in a dead sprint. Give them the sign you want to buy and they will follow you through the stoplight, across the road and its 6 lanes of traffic. Not a picnic.

3. African women. Do I even need to go into this? Anyone who's had the opportunity to visit Africa knows that African women male David Petraeus look like a bum. There are the women sitting in front of hot coals in the often blistering Abidjan sun, shucking and grilling corn from dawn until dusk.

Perhaps the most thankless workers I've seen are women who every morning sweep the dust that accumulated the previous day off of the main roads. Not hard? The lucky ones have brooms with handles, most have pieces of straw bound together an have to hunch over all day. Still not impressed? Trying doing all of that with an infant on your back.

4. Nescafe mobile vendors have a pretty thankless job too. They guys (and they are exclusively guys) walk around with this cart full of hot water and instant coffee, serving the cities bureaucrats.

Small cups of strong, black instant coffee might not sound good to you. After getting a bit too used to fantastic espresso in DC's fancy coffee shops last fall (my favorite is Bourbon Coffee in Foggy Bottom, more coffee than bourbon, FYI) I was deeply skeptical. However, using just a second cup, these vendors perform an act of alchemy. They pour the coffee from cup to cup in long streams like they do in Morocco with mint tea, aerating the coffee and turning a simple cup of coffee-like swill into a frothy mixture that ressembles a latte. It's actually better than a lot of office coffee I've had sitting all day in coffee pots.

In conclusion: the net laziness of Africa will decrease when I head home in August.

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Why I love travel, even if it hurts my spelling

It was early, but that didn't keep my phone from ringing.
"Oui, âllo?" I replied.
*incomprehensible*
"Oui, âllo?" I repeated.
*incomprehensible*
I just couldn't understand, so I hung up, with the consolation of a "Désolée."

My phone rang again.
"It's your brother!" came the exasperated voice. Ah! English. What a novel thought.

I'm amazed at how adaptable human beings are. After a few weeks making errors on my AZERTY French keyboard, which I have grown to despise, I decided to break out my laptop. The warm, comforting womb of the keyboard I have to come to know and love?

Hardly. Muddling through the AZERTY world of Abidjan has slowly and quietly retrained my fingers' instincts. As a result, the QWERTY keyboard has become to be quite the winding qwze, if you will.

Both these experiences remind me of the timeless French film l'Auberge Espagnole (if you haven't seen it, do yourself a favor and watch it). After spending a few months in Barcelona, the Frenchman dreams that he has lost his mother tongue and can only speak Spanish.

This is a common experience when you're in a new place. You want to take in and learn about this new culture and you gradually adapt to the speed of life, the gestures, the habits, the language.

But, whether you like it or not you are still different. For one, you identify with where you came from and you don't want to lose that part of yourself. Soccer's great and I'm loving getting my ass kicked and making a fool out of myself with the neighborhood kid but boy do I miss going to baseball games. You better believe my patriotism comes out, especially when Wednesday's game against Algeria comes along. You should've heard me waxing poetic about the resilience of American when we came back to tie and almost beat Slovenia after falling behind 2-0.

Second, even if you take up their language, you're still different because you have access to luxuries and safety nets that set you apart While I'm riding in a the shared taxis, if we get into an accident, my health insurance will evacuate me. The passenger next to me will most likely have to stand in line at an overcrowded hospital, if they can even afford it.

Still, what I love most about travelling is not the process dividing the world into the quaint things that are different than known universe I will return to. Think AZERTY vs. QWERTY, language or the transportation network of your destination.

Instead, it's experiencing the different answers to universal human questions that keeps me coming. What do we value? What are our priorities? How to we treat money? How do we treat the people we know? What about strangers? And perhaps most importantly, we're hungry, what culinary solution do we find?

The diverse world we live in has produced a lot of different answers to these questions, and I know, set aside the World Cup jingoism for a second, that we can learn a lot from each other.

I'm proud that people in the US apologize for being 5 minutes late, especially when there's important stuff to do. But, there is something to taking the time for the people around you, even if it means you'll show up elsewhere late. I can't count the number of times I've been running late for a class and crossed paths with a good friend I'd been wanting to sees for a long time. A smile, a handshake and a quick look at my watch and I was on my way. I'm not sure how proud I am of that and if that, and whether that really represents what I value.

Being out of my comfort zone in a place where time, keyboards and relationships are treated differently helps me question and reassess the home I think I know. One of my favorite quotes puts it better than I ever could:
We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time. - T.S. Eliot
Exploring this world isn't just a matter of learning about others. It's about learning about ourselves.

Friday, June 18, 2010

What Makes a City Go 'Round

Tightly packed bullet trains in Kyoto, iPod-entranced New Yorkers crowding subway cars, Copenhagen bikers patiently waiting at a bicycle traffic light, solitary SUV drivers bumper-to-bumper on DC's beltway.

How people get around tells you a lot about a culture. After almost three weeks here, I'm still trying to get a handle on Abidjan's culture and transportation. I am partly to blame, since the iPhone/googlemaps/gps troika has caused my sense of direction to decay. But, Abidjan is complicated.

The city's layout is not what I, with all my biases, would consider successful urban planning or efficient market real estate imperatives. Instead, Abidjan is a behemoth unlike western big cities. There is no central downtown that gradual fades to a more and more sparsely populated periphery. Instead, Abidjan has multiple hubs that are quite far from one another, with empty lots, banana fields and slums (bidonvilles) strewn in between.

The transport too does not reflect sustained planning or private investment that often yields an underground system or decent bus system.

In Peace Corps lingo, the complex network that has evolved to meet the needs of the city's almost 4 million people is "high context" (on a bored night last summer in Togo I perused an old Peace Corp manual). It requires a knowledge of all the working parts and doesn't give you a safety net of low-context clues like crazy things called signs and maps. It is opaque and not too well suited for the tourist or dilletante. No bus maps, no fare meters, no stops.

Yet, what has emerged in the vacuum is not haphazard or disorganized; it has a rhyme and reason that I just need(ed) to figure out.

First there are the red taxis. These fit the standard taxi rubric, well sans meters, radios, windows and (somtimes) doors that work. Get in, tell them where you want to go and negotiate a fare. The fate of this negotiation rests on your ability to convince the driver how close the destination is ("ehh c'est pas loin...") versus his ability to play-up the severity of traffic ("mais il y a beaucoup d'embouteillages"). The learning curve isn't too tough here, I usually ask someone nearby how much a fare should cost and argue around that.

Then there are the yellow taxis (yes... like the Joni Mitchell song, except small). These cute little toyotas have fixed routes and are communal. Flag one down and hop in. While they cost about 1/4 as much as red taxis, there's a much steeper learning curve. The routes are only slighty mysterious: there are tons of different lines, but they largely follow major roads. The rates on the other hand are quite the enigma. Trips range from 150 to 350 CFA (33-66 cents), but somehow the drivers all know what you owe based on where you got on and got off. It's incredible how they all have internal meters for all the passengers, and they all work out the same price.

I use a less scientific method to figure out the rate: I give them a 500 CFA coin and see what kind of change I get.

One fascinating note about these is that they are 1) never over-filled like lots of African communal transit and 2) the front passenger must always wear the seatbelt. Initially I was surprised when the driver made sure I put a seatbelt on (for one I was shocked it even worked!) but it turns out these oddities are not for comfort or safety. Rather the driver is trying to reduce his risk of being extorted by a police office looking for an excuse to extract a bribe. The same thing I do by carrying around my passport!

Then there are Gbakas, large vans that seat 17 that remind me of the minibuses in South Africa. While I haven't had a chance to explore Gbakas, they are usually for longer trips to and from the outlying areas. They are pretty awesome as these white vehicles have become canvases for self-expression. Nike logos, American and Ivoirian flags, Koran and Bible quotes are all elegantly painted on these decaying vehicles. Pretty neat!

Finally, there are the large, dilapidated city buses. These come rarely and when you do see them they are often broken down by the side fo the road. On the plus side, they are dirt cheap. There aren't any of these in my neck of the woods so I haven't had the pleasure yet.

This system isn't for the faint of heart. Like the culture of this nation, there isn't a whole lot of planning, its not pretty and polished and is not immediately accessible to people outside the culture. But it works, and has evolved over the years into a pretty effective system given the economic and political constraints. Plus, if you ask, people are eager to help you figure it out.

Throughout the world, there are many different ways to get from point A to point B.
These journeys tell us as much about the world as where these folks are trying to go.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Match Nulle!

Great game for Cote d'Ivoire yesterday! 0-0 against Portugal and we played great! Team-work, great defense and even some Drogba, even though he wasn't in top form. Quelle surprise!

We've got a steep challenge against Brazil (ah!) on Sunday but that should be exciting!

Allez les Elephants!

Thursday, June 10, 2010

What the World Cup could mean for Cote d'Ivoire

If you think soccer doesn't matter to politics, you must be American.

As the World Cup gets ready to kickoff today, the world is considering its potential larger geopolitical and economic impact. To some it's the country's coming out party as a global power. For others, the poverty and inequality are stirring reminders of challenges that remain. Regardless, people hope that the World Cup will do more than improve the ranking of Bafana Bafana, the South African National team.

In Cote d'Ivoire, from the countless kids playing soccer or jugging a ball on street corners , to taxis plastered with logos of Chelsea of Barcelona soccer teams, soccer is important, to say the least. It's also just about the one thing that brings this country together. There's hope that it can do so again and help the nation emerge from its ongoing political crisis.

There is a precedent for this hope. Soccer played a key role in ending its civil war and creating peace. My good friend Thomas Ginn brought this article to my attention which described how soccer, and particularly Cote d'Ivoire's omnipresent star, Didier Drogba, brought peace to Cote D'Ivoire. After an African Nations cup victory in 2006, Drogba and his teammates dropped to their knees and pleaded their fellow countrymen to stop fighting. Later that year when Drogba, a southerner, was crowned Footballer of the year, he began a nationwide tour in Bouaké, the capital of the rebel north. This act was only overshadowed by an African Nation's cup game against Madagascar that Drogba lobbied to have held in the north, against stiff security concerns. The 5-1 victory prompted celebrations that reverberated across the entire country.

The question of Ivoirian identity has has been used by polticians to divide the country by pitting ethnic group against ethnic group and "native" Ivoirians against the sons of immigrants who came to Cote d'Ivoire in the 60s and 70s. Facing this context, a sense of national identity has been elusive, as it has been throughout much of Africa. However, Cote d'Ivoire's national team, known as les Elephants, have been a "crucible of inter-ethnic contact and ... an irresistible symbol of unity and inclusion."

As the long-awaited World Cup begins, what are the prospects for soccer replicating this role and heliping Cote d'Ivoire get out of its current crisis?

Well, I first have to acknowlege that success will be incredibly difficult. Cote d'Ivoire is a good team, no doubt. It is filled with talented players playing with the world's best club teams. Yet, their team has not gelled as well as others. It also had a tough draw, as it is stuck in the "Group of Death" with Brazil and Portugal, two of the favorites to win, as well as perenially unlucky North Korea. Moreover, the injury of the Elephants captain, Drogba, in a friendly has cast a further shadow on their hopes. Thus, finishing in the top two of this group to progress to the next round would be a herculean achievement.

A recent allafrica.com article predicted that every single sub-saharan African team would make it to the second round - including South Africa - except for Cote d'Ivoire. Ouch.

However, the upside of this lot is that the bar is low. This is reflected in the pessimism I've encountered in every single person I've asked about the Elephants. I'm used to at least a patina of hope, yet I have found none. Yet, for this reason a draw - or dare I say a victory - against Brazil or Portugal would create incredible excitement. Getting out of group stage would be a miracle come true. Anything more would be transcendent.

What could this mean? Well I think success would have two huge impacts:

First, putting Cote D'Ivoire back in the international eye could provide an external push to move towards elections. This exposure would feature context stories that remind the world of Cote d'Ivoire's past success and the stumbling blocks to restoring this progress, creating pressure on the country's elites to break the stalemate.

Second, success would provide a brief opening for national unity, temporarily sidelining party/ethnic group interests. Increasing the salience a united Cote d'Ivoire would provide a focal point for civil society and party activists to pressure their leaders to think about the national interest and get elections moving.

The bar is low, the task is hard, but the beauty of the World Cup is that anything can happen.

Here's to the World Cup and it paving the way for a brighter future for Africa.

**Just came across this article in Foreign Policy talking about how soccer has been - and continues to be - divisive in the Middle East. I also like this line: "Soccer is one of the greatest, and most successful, acts of cultural imperialism the world has ever seen and provides the perfect mirror with which to view the region."

Sunday, June 06, 2010

Words that Stick (Mots qui collent)

There are some words you learn in a new language that go in one ear and out the other. Perhaps the context or the usefulness might not be particularly compelling, perhaps we don't ever truly encode it, or maybe we just forget as we tend to as we (I?!) get older and older. For some reason I can't think of an example.

However, sometimes you learn a new word in a memorable context that irreversibly engraves the meaning in your mind.

Last Friday, I learned - and will not soon forget - that "crevaison" means flat tire.

We heard a muted "thunk!" as our work car was entering the highway on the way home from a conference at the National Assembly. The sound wasn't particularly loud, it was a rainy night and the thunk had to compete with the noise from all the muffler-free and honking cars around us. Nor was this sound abnormal, as a drive on the pot-hole filled streets of Abidjan isn't complete with a few dowen dips and thuds.

But, as a new sound, one perfectly synchonized with the turning wheels, emerged, we sensed that we had a problem.

The driver pulled under a bridge, as the darkness and rain continued to descend upon us. He sprung into action and got out the tools to change the tire. We scrambled to help, gathering rocks to steady the tires and, mostly, keeping out of the way. As a few random people hovered around us, we were slightly concerned for our safety, but all went well. My coworkers joked, or at least I hope they were kidding, that if someone were to come with a weapon, they would sacrifice "le blanc," i.e. the white guy, i.e. me.

Still, we were safe in numbers and it was actually a fun experience. I was lucky that this was my my first ever non-bicycle crévaison, or flat tire. Learning how to change a tire was actually pretty exciting, too. I actually remember thinking how excited I was for the next one.

However, that luck and that thought quickly changed as we were pulling away, tire successfully changed. The car rose up, thunked against the ground and we were on our way. But, quickly a new sound emerged, again in lock-step with our speed. Puzzled, we wondered if the new tire was a dud. It was not. When a friendly driver next to us point alarmedly at our tire and we pulled over to investigate it became clear.

Those rocks used so-effectiely to steady our car as the crévaison was repaired were equally effective in preventing our getaway. My hypothesis is that we forgot to remove them, and as the car came up and over the rock, the good back-tire became signficantly less-so. Merde!

With no spare tire remaining, tired and incredulous we pondered. Luckily, a colleague knew a nearby gas station. We got back in the car and literally burned rubber as we crawled along the slow lane of the highway with our "feux de détresse" on and cars and trucks whizzing by.

We got to the station which was fortunately still open, providing some welcome shelter and light. From there I was able to get a ride home and my colleagues called a friend who gave them rides as well as the car rested there for the night. Back-to-back flat tires. Not exactly what one looks forward to on a rainy saturday evening after a long day at a conference. I shouldn't have jinxed us.

Still, as I collapsed on my bed after this exhausting and far-from typical Friday night, I saw the silver linings of this memorable adventure. One of these certainly is that next time I have a crevaison, I will certainly know what to call it.

Tuesday, June 01, 2010

Oh the Smells. . .

Bienvenue en Cote D'Ivoire!

After a couple days in Cote D'Ivoire, things are swell! Met some interesting folks, had some great food and am speaking almost exlcusively French. For those of you that know me, you're aware that as far as I am concerned this is a pretty good combination! Still, trying to settle in and get aquainted with the daily life is a challenge, particularly transportation. But the family that has so graciously taken me in has been a big help. More on them later.

First, I want to talk about smells. There is something indescribeable about the West African air, but this won't stop me from trying.

The moment I entered town, my nose instantly transported me to Togo. The swollen, humid air enters your nose like soup. A deep breath is a struggle and leaves you feeling a few pounds heavier.

But this is only the first layer; the smell of humidity is the base on which a bittersweet odor follows.

First, the air is laced with the myriad wonderful smells of food being prepared by the side of the road. Women frying doughnut-like beignets. Aloco, plantains fried in deliciously spicy palm oil. Fish and chicken on the grill at maquis, or little restaurants.

Even as I commute to work at 7:30am, these smells cause my mind to drift to the next meal, or desparately search for an excuse to grab a quick bite ("I gotta ty that as put of this cultural experience, right?!") Since they say smell contributes to around 3/4 of taste, one sniff and I know I'm in for a treat. And boy am I ever, food will be the agenda for the next blog.

The delicate wafting of Cote D'Ivoire's culinary gifts is brought back to earth by the bitter, overpowering consequence of zero vehicule emmission standards. You can see the dark plumes leaving the tailpipes of run down trucks and vans, vintage Mercedes on their last legs as well as the yellow and orange taxis that paper the streets. Observing the hand-me-down vehicles from places where the burden of taking your car inspected is a perennial complaint (from me at least), creates an intellectual response concerning the respirtory and environmental effects.

Yet, it is not until you peek your head out a open car window searching for a brief reprieve from the morning heat and take in a breath of this filthy air that you feel it.

Gross, I know.

But, this bitterness is a part of the odor that reminds me of the wonderful part of the world that is West Africa. Perhaps its because the belching cars remind me of the irrepressible creativity and adaptability that let's Africans fix these metal skeltons that, for so many reasons, should be in a cube in a junk yard (see this Togo blog entry ).

Or perhaps, the smell of unburnt gasoline and all the -oxides entering my lungs is a price I'm willing to bear for a breath of fried plantains and the other incredible smells that taunt me until my next meal, or, often, excuse for a snack.

Monday, May 31, 2010

Cote D'Ivoire, the Prequel!

On Sunday I will arrive in Abidjan, Cote D’Ivoire. Ah! I will be interning here for two exciting months and I will use this blog to chronicle my adventures - I hope you’ll read along. I can’t wait to learn about the food, culture and politics of this country and I’ll try to pass on my thoughts and reactions in as engaging a way as possible. Let me know how I do!

Please (!) comment! I’m eager to hear your reactions as well as similar or conflicting experiences you might have had throughout the world or in the US. I love hearing different perspective, so share yours with the others who are reading along and me!

Before I arrive in Cote D’Ivoire, I figured I’d get a bit of background out of the way and pass on what I’ve learned working on a couple papers about Cote D’Ivoire. It’s a tad dry, (sorry!) but here’s the cliff notes version:

Throughout the 1960s and 1970s, Cote D’Ivoire was a rare development success story in African. Its economy was the envy of the African continent and its largest city, Abidjan, was the commercial and cultural hub of West Africa. However, since it suffered a coup in 1999 and witnessed the horrors of civil war from 2002-2003, it has undergone a disastrous decline. Negotiations over elections, the key to stopping this slide, have ground to a halt. While the this impasse continues to limit the country’s development, its leadership isn’t as hurt by the status quo and is hence less eager for elections to occur.

After receiving independence from the French in 1960, Cote D’Ivoire Felix Houphouet Boigny became the country’s first president. Booming cocoa and coffee trades and foreign investment create impressive declines in poverty and built a modern nation. Meanwhile, the strong economy overshadowed the fact that Boigny, who ruled the nation for an incredible 33 years, was committed to enriching himself and his allies and offered few outlets for political expression.

In the 1980s, resource prices faltered and Cote D’Ivoire’s growth and ethnic harmony began to unravel. When Boigny died in office in 1993 he was succeeded by a handpicked successor, Henri Bédié. Bédié introduced a concept that has played an important role in Cote D’Ivoire, “Ivoirité.” This sought to define who was - and who was not – Ivoirian, requiring someone to have at least one parent born in Cote D’Ivoire to be declared a citizen.

While Ivoirité was introduced under the guise of promoting national unity, it was mainly used to marginalize and scapegoat the immigrant populations and those of mixed origins. As such, Ivoirité targeted the nation’s most sensitive ethnic fissure, between those with deep roots in Cote D’Ivoire and the many immigrants from Mali and Burkina Faso that had settled to work the coffee and cocoa plantations in the north and south.

Disaffection with Bédié prompted a 1999 coup that brought General Robert Guei to power. While he promised free and fair elections the following year, as elections approached Guei used Ivoirité to prevent one of his strongest opponents, Alassane Ouattara, from participating. Just to be sure, Guei rigged the elections in his favor. Protests erupted and the runner-up in the rigged poll, Laurent Gbagbo, became the president.

Gbagbo continued the divisive path of Ivoirité and tensions came to a head in 2002, when an attempted coup against President Gbagbo escalated into a civil war. Rebel groups from the north coalesced under the umbrella of the Forces Nouvelles (FN) to fight against government-led.

The Ouagadougou Peace Agreement (OPA) finally brought violence to an end in 2007. President Gbagbo and FN rebel leader, Guillame Soro, signed an agreement that established a de-facto north-south division of the nation. President Gbagbo maintained his post until elections were held and Soro became the Prime Minister, though his powers were unspecified.

To date, however, the implementation of this agreement, notably the restoration of democracy to Cote D’Ivoire and disarmament, has not occurred. The north and south remain heavily armed and elections, originally scheduled for 2005, have been continually postponed.

There seems little momentum to break this deadlock. This undemocratic status quo seems to benefit the leaders in both the south and the north, even though the average Ivoirian is much harmed by this impasse. Gbagbo has access to massive cocoa revenues and doesn’t have to risk losing power through elections. The North is tax-free, minimally governed space nicknamed Soroland, where Guillame Soro has significant power, largely because he gives rebel FN members the space to solicit bribes in exchange for security guarantees. Meanwhile, the lack of democracy is preventing the nation from resuming the progress it saw in the 1960s and 1970s.

So, that’s my academic impression of the country. I’m looking forward to having this challenged as I jump into Cote D’Ivoire and talk to the full spectrum of actors who know a lot more about this situation!

With regards to the food, football (aka soccer...I guess I have to adapt!) and culture I will certainly be sharing those discoveries with you as well! I can't wait

Until Next time!