Heart of the Matter

No War, No Peace

Saturday, October 18, 2003

I am happy to see that it is sunny today. Fanny comes over in the morning with a list of telephone numbers for potential sources. We spend the morning making phone calls in an attempt to set up interviews for the week. We have some success - I have a meeting arranged with a French army colonel who is the spokesman for Licorne (Unicorn), the French peacekeeping mission here. We leave messages for several other people, most of whom want me to call back on Monday. Fanny tells me that Gbagbo's ban on demonstrations has angered the Young Patriots and who are now saying the president has "betrayed them." They are threatening to turn against him. This seems to be an ominous development.

I pass the afternoon back at the cybercafe in Galerie du Parc. They really need an air-conditioner in that place. I spend two hours there and I am soaked with sweat. While there, I stumble upon what I imagine to be a bit of international intrigue. Among my fellow patrons is an Asian man in his 30s. I think he's Korean, but he might be Vietnamese. He is accompanied by a woman. I am unsure if she is his wife or his mother. She speaks some French but he seems to speak only English - and he is speaking it loudly into his cell phone. I can't help but overhear. He is attempting to get whoever it is on the other end of the call to meet him in the lobby of Sofitel. Apparently, the person he is calling has been evasive and the Asian man is growing increasingly agitated. There is a desperate tone to his voice. He accuses the person he is calling of purposefully avoiding him for the past two days. He is shouting now, trying to force the person on the other end of the time to commit to a time and place to meet. He says he has been switching hotels daily. He says he can't go to the airport because - get this - the police are looking for him. I wonder what he's done? I imagine he is an arms dealer or a smuggler of some sort. I try not to stare at him. He and the woman are still hanging out in the place when I walk out.

Tonight, Fanny and Yoda are supposed to take me out to a popular nightspot called Rue Princess. It's a street in Yopougon, a suburb of Abidjan. Emma told me the place was dangerous, but Fanny says it is okay. But, then again, he also tells me that we should have our own car when we go in case there is trouble and we have to make a hasty exit. This makes me a little nervous, but I am curious to see the place. At the appointed hour, however, only Fanny shows up in the hotel lobby. He tells me that Yoda is "not a good man" and that, despite promising to drive us, he suddenly has other plans tonight. Fanny says he is very angry with Yoda. I am a little annoyed too. So much having our own car.

We take a taxi over to Rue Princess. It takes about 20 or 25 minutes to drive there. Rue Princess is a dusty street lined on both sides with maquis and nightclubs. Ivorian music and pounding hip-hop blares from every direction. I can hardly hear Fanny. We stop by a maquis and Fanny orders me a whole grilled fish (poisson braissie) along with something called achekay - which seems like a kind of lumpy cous cous. There is the obligatory soixante-sanc of Flag and the bowl of soapy water. I make a mess trying to scoop up the achekay and gobble it up out of my hand. Plus, I make the faus pas of eating with both hands. (As in many places in the developing world, one hand is reserved for eating and shaking, the other for, well, other activities...)

At one point, Fanny runs over to a man and woman walking on the road and drags them back to our table. He says the man, Sebastian, is his brother. (This term is used loosely here though and I can't figure out if Sebastian is actually his brother or just a good friend.) Sebastian is an English student and is eager to speak with me in English. The woman with him is Marion, his girlfriend. I ask Sebastian about the political situation in Cote d'Ivoire. He tells me, as many Ivorians have since I've arrived, that despite the political tension, they are just trying to enjoy life and live as normally as possible. Sebastian says the current situation is tedious: "There is no war," he says. "But there is no peace." That seems to be about right. Most people say they want peace, but no one seems to have the political will to make it happen. The result is a cold peace and constant tension.

Uninvited, Sebastian helps himself to my some of my fish and achekay. I wonder where his hands have been. As always, they all expect me to pay for them because I'm white. This is starting to piss me off - after all, I'm paying Fanny very good money. He could afford to pay for himself and to even treat Sebastian. Yet he keeps asking me for more money to cover his expenses. I may have to bring this up with him.

While I am talking to Sebastian, Fanny keeps interrupting to point out various women and ask me if I like them. When I answer, in what I think is a circumspect manner, that one woman is "nice," Fanny gets up and walks over to her. A few minutes later he leads the woman - or maybe I should say the girl; she looks pretty young, maybe she's 20 - back to our table. Fanny says he has brought the woman for me. I find this troubling. I really don't want Fanny to "get me a girl." The woman seems to be humoring Fanny but doesn't seem that interested in me. Fanny, however, is very insistent. He keeps asking if I want her to come to the hotel later tonight. Not tonight, I say. Fanny says he already told her that I wanted her to meet me later tonight. Why did I say she was nice, he asks, if I didn't want her? Well, I don't want her, I say. What about tomorrow? Fanny asks. No not tomorrow, I say. When? Fanny asks. He keeps saying I must have a woman and he is particularly eager to find me an African woman. I find all of this disturbing. Fanny presses me to take the woman's name - it's Solange - and her mobile number. He tells her that I will call her on Monday. I have no intention of doing any such thing.

After eating, we got to an outdoor nightclub. Sebastian, Marion and I dance a bit. I am the only white person there, which seems to make me an object of some amusement. Several other club-goers, both men and women, come up to dance with me. A few of them laugh - I'm not sure if they are laughing at me or with me andit makes me a little uncomfortable, but the music is good. Sebastian and Marion both say that I am a very good dancer, especially for a white boy. (Even in the States, people always seem to say I'm a pretty good dancer for a honkey. I am never sure whether to believe them.) Fanny stands and watches us. He says he doesn't like to dance (he also doesn't drink or smoke because he's Muslim.) After 15 minutes of dancing I am, for a change, soaked with sweat. Sebastian and Marion take their leave and Fanny and I go to another club for a final drink (I have a second Flag; he has some gross-looking sort of Orange cola.) While we're there, my family calls me on my mobile. I can barely hear them over the music and I am sorry I am not back at the hotel when they call. It is good to talk to them though.

Fanny says we should get back soon. The cab rates double after nine and go about exponentially after midnight. I head back to the hotel, my ears ringing from the music. I am looking forward to sleeping in tomorrow.

Posted by Jeremy Kahn at October 18, 2003 09:53 PM