Crepes and Cadeaus: A Cote d'Ivoire Story

After hours of discussion and a reluctant agreement, two fellow Americans, Ian and Lindsay, and I headed to the chaotic Kaneshie station to find transportation to the West of Ghana en route to our ultimate destination: Cote d'Ivoire. Once one of the more stable countries in West Africa, Cote d'Ivoire boasted a prosperous economy and a considerable community of European expats. The capitol, Abidjan, was coined the "Paris of Africa," and dazzled the visitor with glitzy highrise buildings, expensive French restaraunts, and wide-lane highways. Cote d'Ivoire is, unfortunately, a shadow of its former self. Ravaged by coups and civil war, the country now joins the ranks of nations such as Liberia and Sierra Leone, whose people suffer the imminent human rights abuses and atrocities spawned by senseless war. With this in mind, we changed tro-tros in the western port town of Takoradi and headed for the Ivorian border at Elubo. Like most border towns, Elubo was not a terribly pleasent place to linger: money changers hissed and yelled as we passed, waving handfulls of CFA Francs in the air, the dispossessed huddled under the corrogated tin roofs of delapidated buildings, and hustlers, pushers, and muggers patrolled the rough, unsurfaced roads. Nevertheless, it was getting dark, and we knew our destination, the colonial town and former capitol, Grand Bassam, was 200 kilometers, 8 roadblocks, and a hellish border crossing away. That considered, we located accommodation in Elubo, a place described as being "clean, comfortable and very affordable" by our guidebook. It was a dump. The receptionist, a boy probably no older than 12, greeted us with the few words of English he understood, and showed us to the small, dingy room where we were to spend the night. I tried to lighten the moods of my travel companions by joking that we at least had the company of a pet, pointing to a scampering cockroach, but our complacency was curtailed by the peeling walls and musty smells of our surroundings. We decided to spend as little time as possible in the room, electing to find a restaurant (which ended up being the only "restaurant" in town - a little place with pumping rap music and images of a nude waitress and mickey mouse crudely painted on to the walls, next to a framed portrait of Jesus) and eat dinner. The rest of the night was spent mocking Nigerian soap operas on the one fuzzy channel picked up by the hotel. In my mind, a countdown to 8 am (when the border opened) was fast approaching. Early the following morning, we left Elubo and its problems behind for an entirely new place of troubles: the Ivorian border. We passed through Ghanaian customs quickly (as always) and proceeded across the 500m or so track of road in "no-man's land," between Ghana and Cote d'Ivoire. Arriving on the Francophone side, it initially appeared as though we would have to endure no real hassle. The customs officer accepted our passports, casually flipped through their contents, and pressed in that ever-so-satisfying stamp of entry. On the way out, however, we catch the eye of some obviously bored Ivorian military personel, who asked to view our papers and questioned us when they failed to find an "Ivorian visa" in our passports. We lied that we had contacted the Ivorian Embassy before our arrival and that they had told us no visa was requied for American citizens, and I pointed out that my travel book confirmed our story. We called their bluff. To save face, they three soldiers told us they would have to wait for the orders from their boss. In the meantime, we were shuffled from place to place, asked questions, asked for our papers, etc. I do not believe the "boss" ever arrived, but the soldiers eventually figured that we wouldn't play to their game and give them a "cadeau" or bribe. So, two hours later, they released us into the insecurity of the Ivorian nation. Finding that no mass transport was available to shuttle us to our destination, we opted to pay a man who was transporting produce to give us a ride. We jetted off along the road, passing green forest and brown rivers as we sped along the smoot paved road. A roadblock spoiled our confidence about 20 km into our journey, and we were asked to alight by three men sporting aged kaleshnikov machine guns over their shoulders. We were ushered to a nearby hut, where a seated captain received our papers and searched the contents of our bags. With a look of confusion on his face, he shot a glare at me from behind his thick glasses. "Why are you hear?"
"We're on holiday. We are on our way to Grand Bassam." Was our reply.
"Do you realize we're in the middle of a war? There are mercenaries and soldiers walking around with machine guns! Do you see this?"
"Yep."
The captain next asked to see our "tourist cards", which we explained were not issued by the US government. The captain sighed, saying that we could not continue if we did not have tourist cards. Lucky for us, he was willing to write us one if we were willing to spot him two thousand CFA (four dollars) each. Knowing we would otherwise encounter this problem at the next roadblock, we agreed. He scribbled out a note (which I could not read, as it was in French), and jotted his name and title at the bottom. Before we could take out the money, a busload of Ivorians entered the hut. He waved us away, unwilling to have the nature of his business revealed to the new arrivals. We escaped back into the man's car and continued away, two thousand CFA and a "tourist card" in my hand. The note turned out to be a lifesaver, and we encountered no other problems at the remaining seven roadblocks we were stopped at. We arrived in Grand Bassam around 2 pm, and immediately dropped our bags at a beachfront hotel and went in search of a "maqui" (open air restaurant usually serving great French and Ivorian cuisine). Grand Bassam is, in actuality, a conglomeration of smaller townships built in close proximity, with each town sharing the name "Bassam". We chose to stay in Ancien Bassam, which is situated on a long, narrow jut of land that separates the Atlantic ocean from Ebrie lagoon, and Ancien Bassam from Novou Bassam. In the time that Grand Bassam was the capitol of Cote d'Ivoire, the French colonials used this isolating feature to segregate themselves from the native village people, constructing beautiful buildings with large, ornate balconies and pastel colors along the sands of Ancien Bassam. On our way to the maqui, we were able to see what was left of these magnificent structures. To me, the delapidated condition of the mansions, offices, and courthouse, only a faded memory of something once grand and inviting, well represented the state of the country in which they existed. The town was incredibly tranquil, I mast admit, and walking the pretty cobblestone walkways along the tidy roads and historic buildings was quite pleasent. We chose a place for a late lunch, and selected a spot to rest overlooking the quiet and picturesque lagoon. Among the long grasses and ever-present palm trees, fishermen paddled through the dark waters of the lagoon, periodically stopping to place a fishtrap or untangle a net. While we waited for our food, I wandered into town, in search of a craftshop I had read about in my Lonely Planet guidebook. I found it, and it turned out to be a treasuretrove of old masks and antique woodcarvings. The owner was incredibly friendly, and we were able to communicate rather well considering he did not speak a word of English. I returned to the restaurant some time later, washed my hands, and sat down to a great lunch of grilled chicken prepared with a tomato and onion sauce. We spent the remainder of the day wandering Bassam's charming backstreets and admiring the aging buildings overtaken by forest and plant life. The Ivorians were incredibly pleasent, and we enjoyed the company of several young boys who were racing sardine can stockcars along the dirt paths. Hard to imagine this idylic place like this ever being close to a war zone. After an evening spent wandering along palm-fringed beaches, we took in some...interesting...tunes at a local bar, and wandered back to our hotel to rest for the night. I woke with the sun the next morning and sat reading my travel book on the deserted beach as the sand slowely warmed beneath me and the world, rather suddenly, began stirring around me. We wandered through Bassam one last time, found transport to the border with the help of several genuinely wonderful and helpful Ivorians and munched on baguettes and pastries the remainer of our time in Cote d'Ivoire. No tales of bribery, trechery, violence, or other misforture in this entry. Just a pleasent surprise. Cote d'Ivoire is a country of warm, welcoming, and resilient people. It's a shame about the war, but I sense a burning desire for peace in each individual...well, most of them at least...and a yearning to rewelcome the thousands of visitors Ivorians all-too-quickly had to wave goodbye to. Africa is an interesting place.

Anyways, I'll add my pictures soon. Stay tuned, all!

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