La nostalgie et l'incertitude- On a personal note of my days whilst in Abidjan

“You will be fine; we would not bring you here if the situation were that bad. International media make it look very bad but the situation is not really like that here…” Those were the words written in the last e-mail that Willy, the 19-year-old in charge of my internship placement with an arms control NGO in Abidjan, sent me.



I knew what I was getting myself in trouble the moment I took the opportunity to intern for an NGO in Abidjan, and that an evacuation and backup plan were to be set in place. Many people tried to discourage me several times, from the very beginning to my goodbye party but I refused to listen. I’ll go anywhere instead of staying here. I thought- I want to learn French and I have an interest in Francophone Africa, as well as conflict resolution. What could be better than this opportunity?


Leaving the continent for the first time was nerve wracking, to say the least. The transit stop in Paris calmed my nerves, but as I held some type of remorse for that Nation (applying 3 times to exchange programs, Au Pair and internship with no success) it vanished as soon as I stepped into the swanky KLM Airbus en route Quito-Bonaire-Amsterdam-Paris. The flight, airport customs and even Parisians, proved to be kind and patient, despite my broken French. I wanted to move to Paris after my 5th hour in the city.


Twenty-six hours after my arrival in the city of light, my flight to Abidjan proved a bit more difficult. Afriqiyah Airways was average, an average being a rather generous description of their service and their aircraft. (This is coming from a hitchhiker and penny pincher traveler in South America). It was definitely a taste of the developing world I had to get used to. Bus stops in Ecuador’s coastal towns can be compared to the luxury of The Tripoli Airport. I cried begrudgingly when I finally arrived in Abidjan thinking I that I had made a huge mistake and that I was not going to get back alive.


After a couple of bittersweet conversations with my parents, I started feeling like Abidjan was my home and my host family was just my family. The heat, the bug spray, hand washing my clothes and the delicious, fresh and abundant food were part of my daily routine. I did not mind this routine at all, since I could not go to work and had to lock myself in my home every single day.


The occasional gunshots and UN trucks became the norm and I started seeing my trip to West Africa as an excuse to get some time for me, put my life in perspective and improve my French. Being locked in my home helped improve the language barrier since I had no other way of communicating with my host family. I was in the liveliest continent already, just being in Abidjan was a dream come true. “A big ass adventure” a Nigerian friend of mine said about Africa. That’s what it was, right? It was just a matter of time for the tension to be over, so I could get back to a normal life that would include dancing the night away at the rhythm of Drogbacité.




Oh Boy, no one expected the crisis to turn out the way it did. While we all knew it could get bloody, no one expected Abidjan to be affected the way it has been the past 2 weeks. I left about 4 weeks ago, when I realized I was running out of money and that if I ended up stranded with banks closed, I was just asking for something bad to happen.


Leaving and seeing the events unfold the way they have, has left me mesmerized (in a rather, internationally minded geek way) and also has left a bitterness in me, as well as anger. This crisis has taught me how ignorant I am, and that pursuing a Bachelor’s degree is only a part of education; that the best way to learn is from others, which is hard for me as I had to shut my mouth and listen. This crisis has also shown me the beauty of friendship and the kindness of people even in the worst situations. That there were people out there, generous and kind to give me shelter, a hand, lend me money, share food, make me laugh and share sorrows.


Even though I know that my expat friends, like fellow Ecuadorian Gina, are in the base of Force Licorne (the French armed forces in Ivory Coast) and my host family are still not able to go out of their house, while rationing their food; I cannot help but relate to videos posted on youtube regarding the celebration in Abidjan after Gbagbo’s arrest; wishing that I was there to witness all of this. In the midst of all the sorrow and the reconciliation and the goal of losing the “an eye for an eye” attitude, especially for the armed youth, it is a pivotal time and I cannot help but browse through the few pictures I was able to take in Abidjan.


I arrived February 16 and fled 5 weeks later to Accra, Ghana. While Ghana is an example of democracy and stability for West Africa, my mind is still in Abidjan. In a month, the ghost of what once was the little Paris of West Africa left me wanting more. I am just waiting for it to resemble less of Mogadishu so that I may head back. That being said, I share some pictures, showing life in Abidjan, during the crisis. A crisis that, despite the tension and uncertainty of what’s next, the dramatic fall of Abidjan was unheard of.

 Hotel Ivoire. Back in the 80’s this hotel represented the luxurious, chic spot that was a playground for wealthy French. Nowadays the Hotel is a ghost. Visits are not allowed since the crisis erupted and this is as closed as I could get, on my way to Yamoussoukro, the political capital.

Pour Notre Avenir Tous Aux Urnes et dans la paix (For our future, everyone to the pools in peace- less than perfect translation). Many Ivoirians told me that elections, despite being fair, were in a rather fishy process. There were strong rumors of having more voters than registered people.

Living in Cote D’Ivoire meant getting use to the sights of UN peacekeepers. My friend Lupe, from Argentina, was able to snap this picture without getting caught. The tension of peacekeepers when deployed is evident; The Pro-Gbagbo Campaign held by RTI, with a strong anti-Western sentiment has given results. People In the country do not trust peacekeepers.  I have my mixed feelings, considering that I grew up with a military dad, often times frustrated because of the rampant corruption in the armed forces. After all, armed forces are a reflection of the country. Many of the countries that send soldiers to be peacekeepers are not quite an example of integrity. But I also do not trust anti-Gbagbo media, so the truth, to me, lingers somewhere in the middle. 

Despite seeing Peacekeepers, I ran into this woman, who gladly posed when she saw me holding a Camera.  Unlike many other countries in West Africa that are used to many tourists, In Cote D’Ivoire I’ve never run into Ivorian demanding money to take a picture (unlike Ghana, where I feel like a piggy bank). Tourism has been dead for almost a decade, when a “white” person is visiting, they truly make you feel home. After this picture, she just walked away, with a never ending smile. 

Willy and Bosco, two of the kids in the AIESEC program in a usual maquis, which basically consists of a bar-restaurant with some plastic chairs and tables. Despite the trip being made in the middle of the crisis ( we had to head back early to Abidjan, as clashes intensified) , these kids know how to have fun any time of the day, even if it involves, cheap, warm wine in a 35 degree heat. For a volunteer budget, Valpierre wine gets a thumbs-up.

In the years when Ivory Coast was known as the “Miracle of West Africa” The Biggest Basilica in the world was built in Yakro, as people called the political capital. Houphouët-Boigny is portrayed next to God in the stained-glass window. When I made a remark of this portrayal of Houphouët-Boigny being “a tad arrogant” my AIESEC friends were about to punch me. After all, the first president of an independent Ivory Coast was responsible for the “Miracle of West Africa”. The former doctor turned into politician reminds Ivoirians, in a way, what Cote d’Ivoire could have been before the conflict.

I had the opportunity to visit, “the American Corner” a US-Embassy sponsored media center with information regarding American universities and possibilities to study abroad.  While the US presidents’ portraits where taking two walls of the Corner, less than one of the corners sufficed for the portraits of Ivorian leaders. Seeing the vast difference made me realize how the concept of democracy is still foreign to African politics, as eager as the population might be for it. Also, Ivory Coast, like most African Nations are fairly young, compared to countries as the US and Ecuador. If Ecuador still holds grudges against its colonizer, 500 years later…How can we expect Africa to run at a much faster-pace? It is the complex and, in this part of the world, bloody world of politics.

Sally, a management student from the INPHB (Institut National Polytechnique Félix  Houphouët-Boigny),who was my neighbor during my stay at the institute in Yakro. She was quiet, barely laughed and had an interest to teach herself English. She had family in the district of Abobo in Abidjan, known by locals as Baghdad. She was the first person who clarified the conflict that caused the North-South divide: The Dioulas, mainly that tribe has a problem with Gbagbo( yet is not the only one). Not all Muslims have a problem with him. And certainly not all Dioulas are Muslim. Sally was very energetic when making this statement. 

My last night in Yakro, I went through this urge of going out, since I had never been to an Ivorian club before and I knew with the rumors of clashes in Abidjan (reason why we went back the next day) meant more curfew nights and the possibility of clubs not operating for a while. I was taken to Dreams discotheque, a club owned by a Lebanese coupe decalé singer, Nabil La Star. Mirrors are common in bars, and people make a line to dance in front of them. Coupe decale, known by expats as the chicken flu dance, is a quaint dance that involves moving one foot back and forward. Seems silly when explained by words, but as this pictures shows, Ivorians dancing to Magic System and Bebi Phillipe’s tunes make the chicken flu dance seem effortless and beautiful. I hope this is the sight I get to see, rather sooner than later, on my return to Abidjan. 

On my arrival back home to Abidjan, I asked to have this picture taken, the day before I left the house, when I found out my host family was discussing the idea of fleeing Abidjan. A family that gave a new meaning to the word hospitality. As my host sister (not in the photograph) , a fellow AIESECer said to me: You are not a burden. I asked Maman to host you and she said yes because my English would improve and it would be cool to have a foreigner. In Africa, hosting someone is not a problem, is just an extra mouth to feed and there is plenty of food. Ce n’est pas grave.
This picture portrays African Hospitality at is best: I am between my host sister’s sister in law and her son, who fled the district of Riviera because of growing insecurity and the risk it represented for her pregnancy. To my right is my uncle Jean-Pierre (my first blog post, in Spanish was devoted to him,as his story needs a whole entry) a Woro-woro driver who fled Abobo.
I hope to go back home soon. As many Ivorians like my uncle hope. For the crisis, now that there is only one president to end. For the lootings, the insecurity and the water cuts to end. As many Ivorians and residents of Abidjan, I hope to be able to go home, eat, go to work and sleep.