Heart of the Matter

A lesson at La Sorbonne...

Two nights ago --Tuesday -- I left the hotel and had dinner at Bar des Sports right down the street. My guidebook describes the place as a bustling old sports bar where many French ex-pats and "old-school Ivorian professionals"hang out. And it is true that when I've passed by the place at lunchtime or just after 5 pm, it does seem crowded. But I think the war has devastated the nightlife here in Le Plateau and the evening I visited, it was absolutely deserted. Although they still had a French football (soccer) match blaring on the television, the only other patrons were four young English-speaking consultants, fellow refugees from the Novotel. I had a mediocre brick-oven pizza and a pint of beer and wandered back home to the hotel.

I awoke the next morning to the news that while I was digging into my pizza, a French journalist was being murdered less than a half mile away. Jean Helene, who worked for Radio France Internationale (RFI), was shot in the back of the head by a police officer while waiting outside the National Police Headquarters. The National Police Headquarters is on the Boulevard de Republic and I've passed it many times on my way to interviews in Le Plateau. Helene had gone there to interview some members of RDR (Rassemblement des Republicans, or Rally of Republicans in English), an opposition party that is perceived as being closely aligned with the rebellion. They had been arrested some days earlier --in what was probably an example of political harassment -- and they were supposed to be released that evening. Helene had apparently gotten into some sort of altercation with the policeman, who then went inside to tell his superiors, came back out and attacked Helene. The government claims he acted alone and was not following anyone's orders. But, even if that is true, it's a shocking incident. As the head of one NGO told me today, "if a policeman feels he can do this kind of thing with impunity, no one is safe."

This killing is the big news here. French President Jacques Chirac has demanded a full investigation. Most of the politicians here have condemned the attack, including the President. Since Helene's murder, a number of Westerners I've met have asked me if I'm doing okay and cautioned me to be especially careful. The public affairs officer from the US Embassy phoned to make sure I was all right, as did JP, an African doctor I know who is currently working as a surgeon here in Cote d'Ivoire. I appreciate their concern and it's good to know that people are thinking about me. So far, I haven't had any real problems.
Knock on wood, that will continue to be the case.

Yesterday afternoon, however, I did get myself into a rather uncomfortable situation. After picking up some documents from the UNDP, I was walking past La Sorbonne, that dusty lot where every day members of the Young Patriots hold a rally. A couple hundred people --most, but not all of them, students --gather here at lunch. Some of them sit on benches, and the rest stand behind them, and for hours they listen to a variety of speakers spew political invective against the rebels and the RDR. The speakers stand at a microphone set up on a small platform in the middle of the lot and preach to the crowd. The whole thing reminds me of pictures you see of Nazi rallies or Nation of Islam gatherings (although the numbers here are fortunately not that large). It's a highly charged environment and my acquaintance at the BBC had cautioned me against going there uninvited. She said JPP (the Juenes Patriots) were frequently hostile to the foreign press, especially if they thought you were French, and it was obviously the kind of gathering that could easily give way to mob violence. Given that it was the day after Helene's murder, I probably should have stayed away completely. But I'd been sort of fascinated that people would come here every day and sit in the heat for hours listening to diatribes and harangues. I would think they would be bored to death after awhile. Fanny says he thinks that Gbagbo's party, the FPI, pays many of the people to stand there. Any way, I was passing by and decided it would be good to get a photo of La Sorbonne. I mean, it would be interesting to show people. I thought I could probably do this inconspicuously from the far side of this fence that surrounds the vacant lot. But this is Africa and, as I'm discovering, it is impossible for a white person to do anything inconspicuously here.

Fanny wisely realized this and told me that it would be better to ask permission to take the photo. That way people wouldn't turn on me. But in order to ask permission, we had to actually enter the lot. No sooner did we do this than about 15 people rapidly approached me and started yelling things. They obviously thought I was French and they seemed pretty hostile. Fanny quickly told them that I was American and I started speaking in English. Their anger seemed to evaporate almost instantly. "Oh, American," they said. "Welcome, welcome." Now, rather than attacking me, everyone wanted to shake my hand. It is sort of refreshing to be somewhere where Americans are greeted with enthusiasm rather than resentment. But my presence was creating quite a scene. More and more people started crowding around me, pulling on my arm and asking to see my press pass and my business card. I don't like crowds like this. It's too easy for the situation to get out of hand. I kept telling people I didn't have enough cards for everyone. Meanwhile, I was uncomfortable about the commotion I was causing. One well-dressed young man, a kind of lieutenant of the student leaders who run La Sorbonne, took my card and brought it down to the organizers of the rally and suddenly I was being told to follow another one of these young aides down to the front row. I didn't want to do this. I just wanted to hang back and take a few photos and leave. But I didn't feel like I had a choice. Needless to say, a murmur arose from the crowd and everyone was staring at me (some menacingly) as I made my way down an aisle. A place was cleared for me --they actually made other people move --so that I could sit down next to the student leaders. Then the speaker told the crowd in French that they had a special guest here today, an American journalist. The whole crowd applauded. I felt compelled to wave to everyone. But I was extremely embarrassed. I was also more than a little angry with myself. In my business, you cover stories, you aren't supposed to BE the story. In fact, if you become part of the story it usually means you've screwed up -- badly. I was worried my presence would be used for propaganda purposes by the JPP and I didn't want to be perceived as endorsing them in any way. And yet I felt compelled to stay awhile and listen to them.

I have to say the whole experience did give me some insights. The people next to me introduced themselves. Surprisingly, there were actually some older people in the crowd including many professionals. The man next to me was TV producer. The old guy behind me was a director at the Port of Abidjan and he spoke excellent English. He told me the JPP were taking up a collection to create a legal defense fund for the police officer that shot Helene. They said they didn't think he did anything wrong. They said the French were to blame for the rebellion because they wanted to keep Cote d'Ivoire economically enslaved. The speaker yelling at the microphone while I was there was in his 30s. I was told he was a high school math teacher. When he finished his speech, people threw coins at him. (A way of showing their appreciation.) It is scary to see educated professionals engage in this kind of extremism and endorse murder as a political tool. I sat for a while, took some photos, and after a decent interval said I had some other appointments and made my exit.

One of my meetings today was Jean-Yves Dibopieu, the secretary general of the Federation of Students of Cote d'Iovire. Dibopieu is 30, but he looks much younger, in part because he has a bit of a baby face and in part because he dresses like an American college student (puma shirt, baseball cap, baggy jeans.) Dibopieu's post has been a launching pad for many of Cote d'Ivoire's current politicians (including Guillame Soro, one of the leaders of the rebellion, and Ble Goude, the current leader of the JPP) and Dibopieu clearly has political ambitions of his own. He is also clearly in the government camp. He is a big fan of Gbagbo, who he feels has a great vision for the future of Cote d'Ivoire. He is also a supporter of the JPP, which he says is a legitimate organization for the self-defense of the country. Dibopieu holds a master's degree in philosophy and styles himself "an intellectual."So again it was sort of shocking to hear his political rhetoric. He too thinks that France is behind the rebellion. And seems to believe that the rebels will have to be driven out by force. If Dibopieu really represents this country's next generation of political leadership, Cote d'Ivoire is in big trouble.

Last night I decided to go out for dinner in Cocody. I called Emma to see if she was free because she lives near there and I figured it would be better than eating alone. She agreed to meet me and she said she would ask her younger sister, Nancy, to join us. Nancy is a university student and lives in a dormitory near the restaurant at which I wanted to eat. We stopped by Nancy's dorm first so I got to see what an Ivorian dormitory looks like. (To any Penn alum readers out there: think unrenovated Quad.) The rooms are really small, but they each have their own bathroom which is nice. The halls are dark and decrepit. But for the most part it seemed like a dorm anywhere. Lots of people roaming the halls, loud music blaring, funny graffiti on the doors, people hanging out. Still it was interesting to see.

This morning, while waiting to meet with Dibopieu, I actually saw people cleaning the streets. Two women were working with a whisk broom to sweep trash into small piles. Fanny claimed a truck would later come and pick up the piles, although I didn't get to see this part of the operation. He told me that the garbage pickup is run by a private company and paid for by local businesses. That may explain why there is more garbage in some areas than others. I also don't know how frequently they do this sweeping. There was so much litter around, I was starting to assume there wasn't any garbage service.

This afternoon, I took some papers over to the army base in Le Plateau in order to apply for a pass that will allow me to travel to the rebel-held areas of the country. The application is fairly simple, but we were directed to several different buildings before we found the right office which gave me an opportunity to see a good portion of the place. The base was built for the French, so it still has all the old colonial architecture. My pass should be ready tomorrow and I may leave on Sunday and travel for several days to the north.

Before I leave though, I want to check into switching hotels again. Emma's friend Timothy had investigated some "residences"(self-catered apartments) for me and he took me out to Deux Plateau to show them to me. I really liked one. It was clean and had a friendly staff. It had big suites --including a kitchen, a sitting room, and one and half bathrooms. (It reminded me a little of the place I stayed in Baghdad.) The place had a pool and they said they could hook me up to the Internet in my room, which would be cool. I think I am going to probably move there.

After looking at the residence, Timothy showed me a bit of the neighborhood. We visited this fantastic French patisserie called Pako Gourmand and had some ice cream there. (Some former Peace Corps volunteers had told me about this place and it certainly seemed as nice as they described it.) Then we checked out SOCOCE, which is modeled on an American mall. It has a gigantic supermarket (where everything seemed fairly expensive -- I saw a can of soup for $6 -- but still it was all the food you would recognize from Europe or the States including an extensive wine selection). It also has several clothing stores, a sporting goods place, a bank, a three-screen movie theater (they were playing "Catch Me If You Can,"and "The Bourne Identity") and even a fountain in the middle. There were French ex-pats all over the place. It was really nice.

Ater SOCOCE, we stopped by one of Timothy's friend's houses. His friend wasn't there, but we were invited in for a glass of water. The friend's sister and cousin were there making hand-made cards. They were really nice. Perhaps I will go back and buy some. Timothy's friend is a lawyer. (Business and tax law.) We went to her office to visit her. She has spent a lot of time in the US and her other sister is currently studying at Mount Union College. She seemed nice and says she hopes to go to the US to study for an LLM. She said if I ever wanted to her a lawyer's perspective on the country's political problems I should call her.

Finally Timothy said he wanted to show me Hotel Ivoire, a famous hotel complex, once considered the nicest accommodation in West Africa. Hotel Ivoire occupies a peninsula that juts out into Lagoon Ebrie and offers a fantastic view of the Le Plateau skyline. We took a cab over there. (As we drove, I noticed the sky was teeming with bats again.) Like so many of the once nice things in Abidjan, the place was built in the 1970s and feels like it could use a little sprucing up. But still it was an impressive complex. It has two hotel buildings, including one big tower, and the main lobby has a grand concourse full of all sorts of fancy boutiques. It was also full of white people, most of them French. But several business people don't want to stay here any more in part because rumor has it that many of Gbagbo's associates, including JPP leader Ble Goude, are using the tower as a base of operations. Any way, the place offered a great view of the sunset and the lights of Abidjan.

A note about spelling: I've been kind of writing this one the fly and realize I haven't always done the best job in terms of proof reading or checking my spelling. This is particularly true of some of the French and Ivorian words I've used. So, for instance, I think in one post I referred to "Le Sorbonne"when I should have said "La Sorbonne." When I talked about the lumpy cous cous like stuff I was eating, I called it achekay. Well, that is how it is pronounced but I have seen it written out on a menu now and it is spelled attieke. And its made with pounded cassava bean, not with some sort of grain, so even though it looks and tastes a lot like cous cous I don't think its really a related dish. The fried plantains I had are call alocco, but somehow when they say it here it just sounds like loco. Also, I had said in a previous post that Galerie du Parc seemed to be owned by some Lebanese immigrants. Well I talked to one guy there today and he said he was actually Moroccan. So I stand corrected.

Posted by Jeremy Kahn at October 24, 2003 01:30 AM