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

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!

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 4^th 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.

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.