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.