Thanks for all the beach Ivory Coast, but I've got a plane to catch

It's been 4 days and 3 nights since I settled down here in the Grand Bassam.  I've laid on the beach, eaten good street food and explored Abidjan.  But now it's finally time to go back to the USA.

Abidjan is a cool city, though still a little war torn.  They haven't picked up all the pieces or torn down all the partially destroyed buildings.  But in maybe 5 years, I will definitely want to come back.  There are about a half-dozen city sectors and each one has there own color taxi, but the orange ones go everywhere.  There are big buildings and malls and crowed residential buildings and corner markets and street sandwiches with fish, meat, guacamolé, fries, fried plantains and all sorts of vegetables.  There's lots of Mediterranean inspired restaurants.  Grand Bassam is a 1$ taxi van ride away and you can easily get $10-20 rooms.  I estimate that may go up to the $50 range when things get going, but still pretty cheap for what you get.

Maybe I was easily impressed because the standard of hotel rooms was so much higher than in my small Burkinabé village.  This trip was a great transition for me.  I was pretty morose on the train ride over from Ouagadougou.  Getting all the depression from leaving my village out of my system, and on the beach no less, will make my homecoming much happier for me.

Barry Goes to Côte d'Ivoire

I boarded the train at 9am Saturday thinking I would arrive at 2am Tuesday, sleep in the station till sunrise, and then go on to my hotel.  The 2nd class seating (1st class was sold out) consists of unpadded McDonalds style benches.  It wasn't too comfortable and sleeping was impossible.  But the view was incredible.

10 hours going through the jungle and all of a sudden this basilica pops up out of the palm trees.

Unfortunately, we got in at 6pm Sunday.  I was happy to be off the train but finding a hotel in a strange city at dusk makes me a little nervous.  I got a taxi and said to take me to a hotel in the 20-30$ range.  After an hour of driving around, looking for this guy's buddy in the Angré quarter, we found him and he took us to a couple of hotels that are called 'residences' for tax purposes.  It was dark and I was a little nervous, but being from Ouagadougou and knowing so much about Burkina Faso helped me because this guy says he specializes in helping Burkinabe businessmen find lodging in Abidjan.  The 2nd place we check out seems fine and I pay the $22 and half expected to get robbed, my comeuppance for poor planning.  But my luck held out and I was more than happy.

I think the guy, despite my appearing to know about Burkina, was still worried that I would be Americanly unimpressed with the lodgings.  Dude, I've been living in a village of 4000 for 2 years.  There was a tiny kitchen, a toilet, a TV with Canal+ and an AC.  I'm satisfied.  No running water?  Son I invented no running water.  Give me a giant barrel of water and a few buckets and I'm happy.  I slept in 18 degrees C with a big smile on my face.

This morning (today is Monday) I get in touch with my info guide and he tells me how to get to the Grand Bassam, where my planned hotel is.  I'm 500 meters from the beach and I'm paying $10 a night.  The lodging is spartan, but remember that I'm a Peace Corps Volunteer.  This place has a fan and running water! I can take a bush taxi into Abidjan for $1 anytime I want.  I'll go explore a couple of markets, a couple of city sectors, and the beach.

3 days till my flight leaves.  Or I could just live here and set up a frozen banana stand.

Thanks for all the fun Burkina Faso, but I've got a train to catch.

In about 12 hours I'll board the Ouaga-Abidjan train.  It should take about 40 hours.  That's a whopping 17.5 mph.  Lot's of small town stops I guess.  A bus does it in about 20 I think.

A little bit about the Ivory Coast.  There are no confirmed cases of Ebola yet (8/8/14), despite being a neighbor to Liberia with it's closed borders and everything.  Abidjan is practically American level of development.  I speak french and a bit of Jula, which is also spoken there, so I'll be prepared to handle the less-than-friendly people.  Taking the train, I won't have to worry about road bandits.  I'm travelling light, one backpack and one clothes bag that I can jettison real quick if things get nasty.

About the train.  I missed out on a first class seat.  They have one single first class car and it always sells out.  I even tried to buy 5 days in advance.  So I'll have to sit in one of the like 30 2nd class train cars.  So many times in west Africa I see missed opportunities on maximizing profit.  1st class is only 40000 Francs as opposed to 27500 for 2nd class.  40000 Francs is like a decent sized fan, if you pay the tourist price.

I guess that's why it's so easy for European and Middle Eastern businessmen to come in and run everything. The seats in 2nd class are basically plastic McDonalds benches.

I took a couple of long train rides when I studies abroad but the Ivory Coast could easily be the most beautiful trip.  Hopefully the scenery is nice and my appetite for reading stays firm, because this guy just died on me.

My bro gave that to me on like the last day before I left for Burkina Faso IIRC.  Travelling in-country is one of the biggest complaints from volunteers who have to deal with Burkinabe pestering them for money or to take them to America.  Me, I just put on my gigantic headphones and descend into a wonderful world of Led Zeppling, Girl Talk and trance music and I'm there in a heartbeat.  Anyone bugs me, I just stare blankly at them and mouth (in English teehee) that I don't understand.  Jeff definitely gets the award for most valuable addition to my pre-Burkina packing list because genius Barry wasn't planning on bringing a music device.

I have someone who I'll meet in Abidjan, friend of a friend, so I won't be alone.  It should be a nice relaxing end to my time in Africa.  If it's not, I hid the rubies in my latrine.  Trust me, they're down there.

Last 10 Days in Village

I'm sitting here in the Bobo office about to go catch a bush taxi to my village for the last time and trying to think of other times in my life where I faced that wall and had to climb it.

During high school soccer tryouts we had to run 2 miles in 13 minutes in order to qualify.  Tryouts lasted 3-4 days and you had to keep attempting the run every day until you made it.  The earlier you made it, the easier it would be otherwise.  I would hit 14:15 maybe on the first day.  Mid 13's on the 2nd or 3rd.  I think I made it every year.  I'm not entirely sure because it was a soft requirement to make the team.  I remember lying in bed at 5:15am, knowing what I had to do and, especially the first day, how unlikely it would be to get the time.  There's always been that moment where something inside warms up and I just got out of bed and went.  It's always the hardest part of the experience.  Running isn't even that bad.

Seeing all my village friends won't be that bad.  Even knowing it's the last time, I'll still enjoy tea and conversation when I'm there.  After I leave I'll be sad but the last bus ride out won't actually hurt.  I'll listen to music and try not to step on the goats tied up on the bottom of the bush taxi.  I'll go to Ouagadougou and say bye to all the PC staff.  I'll finish up my preparations for teaching certification in Texas.  I'll get my Peace Corps pin and, on August 9th, I'll get on a train for Abidjan and head back towards the US.

But right now I'm still in bed before tryouts.  I'm thinking about the cold air, the wet grass and coach Jenkins with his stopwatch yelling times at us as we cross the line.  There's no way I ran enough over the summer to get 13 minutes, and there's no way I'm going to hold it together when I drink my last tea, eat my last Attieke and wave goodbye to my neighbors.  I'm strong enough to do this but it's warmer in bed, and I'm scared.

These people were my life for 2 years.  They taught me how to cook, clean, eat and speak and they just ate up every single thing I said about the outside world.  Now I have to leave them behind.  Hopefully not forever.

Well here goes.

My Last Rainy Season

The rains have come again and it's time to plant.  My neighbor is around 70 but still always up and about.  The kids plow the fields with dabas fitted like shovels and then she sows the seeds.

                                                                                                                                                                   

Awa can do hectares of this in a morning.  You just go on down the row and scoop out to make the seed beds.  I did one 100 foot long row and had to lie down for a while.  You can fit many different metal endings to the end of the daba tool.  I plan to bring a few back with spade attachments for weeding or whatever gardening I do.  I won't be needing the shovel/plowing attachment.

Not many people have the means to use a donkey pulled plow, so its all by hand.

The majority of my neighbors' corn field.  They also have rice and yam fields.

She carries a cane that she smacks into the ground to make a hole for the seeds and then she drops them in.  When you get used to the process it can go pretty fast.  I love the square sombrero.  It's about 9am and maybe 90 degrees in this picture, but ole grandma Ouattara isn't phased by such things as heat.

Donkey Surprises are getting more common

Walking next door to buy some bouillon cubes from my neighbor and there's a donkey.  Back when I first arrived in country and did 3 months in a village south of Ouagadougou with a host family, there was a donkey just outside my bedroom window.  It would bray right when my tiredness would overcome my heat discomfort as I fell asleep.  They are number 2 on my most annoying animals list, not as bad as guinea fouls, but worse than pigs and goats and chickens. 

 We just stood there and looked at each other.  I have it on very good authority from another volunteer that all the donkeys died from an epidemic in mine and surrounding villages a while ago, and are slowly being reintroduced.  For the past 18 months though, its been pretty quiet. 

I think he felt safer than he really was.

So That's What That Burning Smell Was

 I was taking a bus from Leo to Ouagadougou today when we started smelling some burning (rubber it turned out).  This isn't unusual, engines are in bad repair, roads are blistering hot and car fumes make a small city smell like the most polluted ones in USA.

 This was a little unsettling though.

At least we didn't get stopped on the road by bandits.  Yes.  Bandits.