Un peu, Un peu...

Uh oh, I'm falling behind a little... will do my best to keep the updates coming, but there's been a hell of a lot going on!! So, right to it then...

On Saturday I was woken by the serene chirping of my mobile, signaling to me the end of sleep at the glorious hour of 5 (and a half...). If you know me at all you are probably having a schadenfreude-fuelled chuckle at the thought of Fifi awake before 9am, and what that would mean for my coherence, both then and later in the day, when the lack of sleep really began to catch up. Which it did, but that bit comes later... The reason for my being quite harshly denied my requisite 8-10 was so that we might get a jump start on the road to the day’s activity: The opening ceremony (yep another one) of the ASK Program in Dabou, a town just outside of Abidjan. Now, I arrived on campus at 6:45am, the time I was requested to arrive, but got dropped off a bit of a way away from where I was supposed to meet people, so had to hot-foot it to the office. I arrived by five to 7, bright red and covered in sweat. Of course, we then didn’t leave until at least 8am, but I did have the benefit of hanging out in the air-conditioned AIESEC office... eventually we hopped in a taxi and made our way to the bus station in Adjame, which is a suburb which is kinda half slum, half bustling market place. If you’re gonna get mugged, it’s most likely to be here, and I was told to hang onto my bag, even in the taxi, because apparently arms reach in through the window and nanoseconds later your stuff is long gone. I did try to explain to Franc and Alex that, as a ninja, there’s no way that would happen to me, because my lightening reflexes would result in the aforementioned arms getting a swift and well deserved chomp from my waiting Jaws of Death® (I’m a biter) but they seemed unconvinced. The craziest thing to happen on the taxi ride there though wasn’t me munging on the locals, but the locals literally climbing on the back of the taxi and hitching a ride for ten meters or so before hopping off again – and the taxi driver not batting an eyelid. (You have to go ridiculously slowly through the market at Adjame, because of traffic and indeed people wandering along the road)... 

We arrived at the station and hopped on arguably the most uncomfortable bus I’ve ever come across (this week at least). My legs were too long to fit in without bashing the seat in front of me, and the bus was packed to the teeth, so there was no sitting side-saddle. We got there eventually but it was pretty hairy. The ceremony went from about 11am to 3pm, with much sitting and waiting for it to begin, sitting and not comprehending what was going on during it, and sitting and waiting to leave again after the ceremony. It was very, very hot. And as a refreshment, I was offered ginger juice, which I assumed was cordial, and took an enormous gulp, burning the living daylights out of my poor esophagus. Fail. I’m sure the content of the ceremony would have been fantastic, but for the fact that it was all in French and still a bit much for me. There was, however, two rather entertaining dance competitions between the kids which took place early on in the day, some pictures of which are in amongst the shots of the day – I may try to put up a video as well...

After the ceremony we discovered, much to our dismay that there would be a bit of a wait for the next bus. I assumed this meant 20 mins. 2 and a half hours later was in fact when we eventually boarded the bus to go... but in the meantime we wandered around Dabou, taking loads of photos, including down by the lagoon, which was fun.

The bus-trip back was a bit crazy, the AIESECers started singing and clapping early on in the trip and didn’t stop for quite a while... the other passengers were not amused. When we finally got back, it was well past dark, but the fun was not over yet. Franc decided that it was my shout at a little outdoor pub place on campus which we visited when I first arrived and at which, upon receipt of a beer from Franc, I had vowed to one day return the favour. So I agreed to buy him and the guys a round. Now when he bought that first round, when I first arrived, it was me, Yadan, and him. This time, however, it was me, Yadan, him, and about 5 others, all of whom had beer and food... which was apparently part of my offer... still, the whole thing cost me about $10 so I can’t really complain, and it was nice to sit and relax for a while, in spite of my exhaustion. The next day I was far too knackered to go to the beach with the other interns, which I do kind of regret, but there was just no way I was getting out of bed at 8am...

The next couple of days saw a return of the sickness, though I still have no idea what it was I did to bring this on. By Tuesday evening I was more than fed up with being housebound, and finally starting to feel better, so I went out with Coumba and her mates, which was a lot of fun – and it turned into a big night out at a nightclub – not wise considering I had work the following morning...

And indeed the next day - which was really the same day by the time we got home - I was wrecked, but preceded along to work for the first time in a week. The ladies were so lovely to me, and that afternoon (after a snooze on a mattress they set up for me!) I went again to hang out with some of the local kids – I’ve since discovered that these kids are in fact what are called OEVs – Orphelins et Enfants Vulnérable – Orphans and Vulnerable Children, so classified because of one or more of their parents’ HIV status. It was a different school to the one from last week, and many more kids. At first I played a bit of Ludo with a couple of them, but then I got out my camera to take a few pics, and that’s when the crazy began. Everyone wanted to be directly in front of the camera, and no matter how many times I asked them to stay put while I moved backwards in order to get more than 3 of them in the picture, they were having none of it. The result of which was a considerable number of photos with a fine perspective up the kids’ schnozzes. I did manage to get a few gooduns, as well as a few I took the following day... (it was a big week for photos...)

On Thursday I hit Amepouh determined to figure out a plan of action for my time here. In the back of my mind was a vague thought about mentioning the need for a website, as I had had a great deal of difficulty finding any information on the place before I started working there. I still wasn’t 100% sure of exactly how they operated, funding-wise and function-wise. Upon my arrival, I sat myself down and waited for my supervisors to arrive (I was early, apparently!! Yeah y’all shuddup with your laughing...) and was busy taking advantage of the free wi-fi when a little boy shyly appeared by my side, playing with the spinny chair next to me and grinning broadly whenever I smiled at him. I decided to give him a push in the chair, spinning him around and around, much to his delight. By the time I left that afternoon, my computer was virtually off-limits to me; I had introduced my little 6 year old shadow (whose nickname is “A Pitchou”, which roughly translates to “little darling” or something of the sort, and whose real name seems to have escaped everyone) to my laptop, and while at first he was hesitant to go anywhere near it, a mere two hours later I was no longer allowed to touch it myself because I clearly didn’t know how to use it properly (the proper way is apparently to mash a bit at the keyboard and move the mouse around a lot, whilst muttering softly, before closing the lid down, unplugging it from the wall, and walking out of the room – only to come back in and repeat the entire process. Eventually I figured out that he was playing office.) The cutest moment was when he kissed the apple symbol on my laptop and covered it with a scarf in order to “put it to sleep”. Eventually I did have to put the computer away, at the risk of it malfunctioning due to heavy concentrations of melted tim-tam getting in amongst the keys. (I brought the Amepouh staff a packet to thank them for being so patient with me during my illness, and “A Pitchou” found the wrapper which naturally needed licking clean...) but all afternoon he would softly ask me about it again and again. His mum, I later discovered, is a member of Amepouh staying at the NGO – meaning she was HIV positive, and had nowhere else to go. She was also pregnant. Upon closer inspection of my little mate, I noticed that he was actually wearing a pair of very old, rather dirty Barbie pants that were too big for him, and a shirt that resembled a tent, on him at least. It is fairly heartbreaking to see such a sweet kid, so full of life, in such a precarious position. He continued to hang around me for the rest of the day, giving me hugs and kisses and sitting on my lap, playing with leggo. In the afternoon, we went to buy some afternoon tea together from a street stall. One of the perpetual problems I have here in Côte d’Ivoire is the currency situation. The bank gives you your money in 10 000 CFA notes, and when most places have issues with you giving them a 1000 CFA note, what hope have you of breaking a tenner? Anyway so we got to the street stall and naturally all I had was a 1000 CFA note, for sweets which cost 50 CFA each – of which I wanted 2. The women didn’t have any change, so she gave me 500 CFA and told me to come back later on that day, as she would give me the rest then. On the way back in I had to giggle, as the Amepouh staff asked him, in mock surprise, who this lady was that had bought him the sweets, he answered happily that “la blanche” (the white woman – ie me!) was his wife! Later that day, when I was chatting in earnest with one of the guys that works here (more on that in a bit), I failed to notice my little friend and another little girl go missing for about 10 minutes, only vaguely registering the sudden lack of noise. By and by they returned and deposited some sticky coins ceremoniously in front of me, and pressed half a lolly into my mouth, muttered “Merci!” and ran off to play... it would seem that my little friend had gone to collect my change from the street stall and taken a cut in commission for his trouble, helping himself to another treat...

On the flipside, the conversation that I mentioned earlier, with T, one of the guys (originally from Togo) who works for Amepouh was incredibly helpful, and I finally started to feel as though I was getting somewhere as far as establishing how best I could help out here. T is a staunch activist for people living with HIV/AIDS. He himself is a sufferer and works tirelessly to secure the best possible treatments, and to advocate for the rights of those with HIV – to break down stigma which is rife in the community (this is how Amepouh became necessary in the first place it would seem...) and to assist in prevention, without demonizing people living with HIV, amongst other things. He is an incredibly inspiring guy, whose English is excellent, and he was able to give me an excellent picture of the main issues facing Amepouh and other NGOs in Côte d’Ivoire and West Africa in general. It seems that there is a great deal of widespread difficulty getting the money past the middle-man. Funding provided by the US government, through the PEPFAR program (the President’s Emergency Plan for AIDS relief) often goes first to larger organizations, which, in turn, distribute funds down to the grassroots level – supposedly. It seems that often, these umbrella organizations do a bit of clever accounting and give figures back to the higher authorities that would suggest their money is making a difference, when in fact large cuts of it never get past this creative management stage. In the case of Amepouh, the money gets here, however the umbrella organization which receives and distributes the funds has it’s own agenda and objectives, and will only distribute money for use towards those goals, instead of assisting with activities that the organizations on the ground see as most necessary. For example, one of the organizations from which Amepouh receives funds places a lot of emphasis on HIV testing, and neglects to give funding towards things that Amepouh recognizes to be necessary for the treatment of those living with HIV. Good nutrition, for example, is vital for the ARV (Anti-retroviral treatment) to work at an optimal level, and is something sorely lacking at the NGO. It seems that there is cause for some kind of shadow report to the good people at PEPFAR, advising them of where the money actually goes – so I’m thinking I might do a little research into whether or not there is a reporting mechanism for the grassroots level and go from there. I’m also going to check out whether we can apply for direct funding from PEPFAR, in the same way that I was thinking AIESEC might be able to... I also mentioned that it might be an idea for the NGO to have a website, and they got incredibly excited about me building one... except of course a year and a half of media and communications does not a webwiz make... In spite of this I have spent the last week or so trying to remember how HTML works and fiddling with various google apps... but it’s nice to know that I’m being useful. A website can be a powerful advocacy tool, as well as a source of vital information. Plus I showed T the videos which Virginia gave me as well as showing him how to create a youtube account so that he could use them in his work... I’ll also be putting some of the videos up on the Amepouh website... It’s great to know that the media which can so often be a waste of time can also be used to help spread a worthwhile message and help those who badly need it...

I’d better leave off here, I’m still HEAPS behind (It’s Friday of the following week and I have a LOT to cover) but I’m sick of this entry now... :D

Love to you all and hope all is well!! xoxo

Maladie et moi....

Welcome back kids, for week 2 (in effect) of my bloggage. This week we’ll be visiting the Italian Embassy of Côte d’Ivoire, getting yelled at by a Bacca driver, catching CAF fever, meeting toffee Englishmen at opening ceremonies, dodging cringeworthy corny lines about our eyes, and finally sorting out internet issues – to name but a few of the ensuing adventures. Please, sit down, grab a (potable) jug of water and join me...

Ooh, which makes for an excellent place to begin. I found out for sure and for certain that yes, I have been drinking rebottled water, and yes, it is perfectly safe – as I am yet to get sick from it, and indeed everyone around me is fine too. In fact, the above mentioned Englishman told me that they did some sort of UN water testing study when there was a toxic leak into the supply in 2006, and they found that the water here is far superior to that of many European countries. I guess that should come as no real surprise, afterall we were warned not to go near the water in Italy and Greece on Contiki back in the day, and I reckon it tastes heaps more betterer than the crap they call water in Germany (no offence Deutsche readers... if ye do exist... )... plus Armidale water wouldn’t have a prayer in comparison...

But enough about ze water. A bit about the opening ceremony I mentioned, perhaps... The AIESEC Cocody club has recently had a much needed facelift, and now looks pretty spiffy, including new computers, fresh paint, desks and cabinets and such, and last but infinitely not least, an air-conditioning unit :D The refurbished digs is courtesy of some local businessfolk, possibly an NGO as well (the whole explanation I was given was in French, so there are holes), and significantly this French woman who has been here some 14 years was pretty involved (I had a quick chat to her and was surprised to find her a little patronizing – “I mean, zey could have done some scrubbing ‘ere and zere to make zeh place nicer, but zey just don’t think! I’m doing my best to teach zem...” out of politeness I neglected to suggest that perhaps they had more important things on their minds than scrubbing walls – like organizing projects to help those less fortunate...). This being Côte d’Ivoire there was a fairly lavish opening ceremony on Saturday morning, which, having been to another ceremony for a different but similar organization the night before, I was not terribly keen on. (Actually the one the night before featured some amazing dancing performance, as well as a parade of fantastic outfits, some of which I took pics, and will include here – it was just that it dragged on for the non-Francophiles in the audience. Which I’m pretty sure was just me.) This ceremony, however, was done pretty quick, and was good times. They did what they call a “rollcall” (another AIESEC thing) which I was invited/pushed to join, and which I assumed was going to be a bit of the old:

“FIONA?!”

“PRESENT!”

But indeed I was mistaken. It was, in fact, a dance, which naturally I had never seen before but joined in as best I could and was duly complimented on thereafter. It wasn’t a super complicated dance to be fair, a bit akin to the good old fresher dances of college, and fun in spite of the heat. As soon as the ceremony wrapped up and we grabbed “cocktails”, it started to cack down rain, and we were stuck under the marquees until it stopped again. (It seems “cocktails” is something which has been a bit lost in translation – I was excited at the prospect of actual, delicious, tropical cocktails, and my mouth watered for their sweet, refreshing, alcoholic release. Alas, here, “cocktails” means food and soft-drink, generally taken after some form of ceremony-related torture. I guess it’s a bit akin to the cocktail dress. The intent to indulge in cocktails is not actually a prerequisite for wearing the aforementioned dress... but the sentiment is there, or something. If a tree falls in the forest... birds of a feather and stuff... What am I saying, the simply fact is I was tricked!! I was promised cocktails dammit...) Anyway during the deluge I had a bit of chat with a chap who had come up to me earlier, when I was “inspecting the new room” (ie loitering in the air-conditioned comfort) and said, in his most wonderful Lord-Chiddingfold-of-Moorstone’s-Manor-esque accent: “I don’t suppose this lot are having a great deal of success understanding your rough Aussie way of speaking?!” Presenting: Craig Hitchcock, ex-RAF, ex-pat, jack-of –all-trades and champion of Anglophonic activities in Côte d’Ivoire. Really a lovely guy, he gave me some great advice on everything from malaria (“I’ve had it 4 times in 10 years! Not bad eh?”) to his love of Africa (“You know, there’s a saying, one that’s been around since well before the times of air transport and such, and that is that there’s an invisible insect that bites you when you first visit Africa, and you react in one of two ways. Either you react badly to the bite, detest the place completely and leave as soon as you can, or you catch a sort of fever, fall in love with it and never leave. I’m the latter!”) He gave me one of his ump-teen business cards and assured me he’d be happy to help me in any way he could. And with a finger in every pie (including the UN, the local media, business, NGOs, etc) I just might have to take him up on that one!

Speaking of bites, diseases, etc, I should probably at this point mention one of the more feared illnesses one can catch here – one that I was vaguely aware of before arriving, but never thought of as something to which I’d be susceptible. CAF fever – perhaps not your conventional tropical disease – spreads like wildfire amongst young and old around this time of year, and certainly reaches epidemic levels in Côte d’Ivoire when les Éléphantes come out to play. The Ivoirian strain, a result of infection from the pachyderm-borne parasite specific to Côte d’Ivoire, is highly mobile, making the illness severely contagious, and no amount of opposition supporter gear (in the case of the first match, that of Burkina Faso) can quash the mania that ensues once the illness sets in...

Yes in my round-about way I’m talking about soccer, specifically the African cup, and the associated malady that accompanies the onset of such an event. It is a bit exciting actually. Everyone’s pretty psyched. The first game was apparently a shocka for the Ivoirians, tying nil all with Burkina Faso – most peeps were a bit devo. See I don’t consider that to be so bad in terms of a result, but it does reinforce what I’ve been saying about soccer for a number of years now, and that is: it’s designed to frustrate. 90 minutes where it’s possible that NOBODY scores? (plus injury time – but at the very least, this competition doesn’t feature the Italian national side, so there’s probably a bit less injury time) Seriously, why don’t you just invent a game where you pound your head against a brick wall 12 times, pause for a half time hotdog and then repeat?? Then when you’re so giddy from loss of brain cells and angry at the pain you’ve been put through, go roll a few cars and set fire to your local police station/pub/homeless guy? This end result (and, arguably, the loss of brain cells in the interim) is pretty similar to how things end up for frustrated soccer hooligans world wide – and at least this way you can shorten the time for which you suffer...

I’m just saying...

Ok ok for what it’s worth I don’t entirely hate soccer – after 12 months in Germany during which the European Cup was played (and for which Germany got to the final), watching endless soccer matches under duress, I have seen games which were more exciting, and maybe even worth half a warm beer. The fever is bubbling away somewhere in me I’m sure – it’s just a matter of time before I get my hands on some orange supporter gear and the disease rears it’s ugly head once again... (hey, I like dressing up. And orange is the new black, I hear...)

Meanwhile, while we’re on the topic of embarrassing tropical maladies, it seems the secret to avoiding biblically epic diarrhea episodes kids, is to ensure you do not eat on campus or buy anything from a street stall. Ok perhaps not but as yet, the points tally is as follows: incidences of gastro from Fatou’s cooking: 0; from street stalls: 3... On the brightside, I am now officially a victim of traveller’s diarrhea, and hereby declare myself a medical-tourism statistic – hooray! One more thing to cross off the list...

To the menfolk. Now, I like being complimented as much as the next girl, and tend to respond entirely appropriately (blushes scarlet, mumbles a quick thankyou and runs for the hills) and as sweet as it is I’m a bit confronted here by the pushy boys and their penchant for blue eyes. When I’m not blushing and quietly freaking out, I’m laughing out loud, literally, at their comments, and then apologizing for being so callous. But you try being told by a guy with a thick French accent that he’s “drrrowning in your byewdiful blue eyees” and keep a straight face... I mean, really?? I was having real trouble with one guy who keeps talking about getting me a gift, and asking rather pointedly what I’m going to give him in return – he then started eyeing off my phone and decided that we would be swapping mobile phones when I went home (mine is a pretty recent model Motorola, his is a crappy old nokia) and if I did so, each time I used my phone it would remind me of Côte d’Ivoire. How sweet, thinks I – yes, each time I look at my phone I’ll remember Côte d’Ivoire, and then heave said phone at the wall, recollecting just how much I miss my old phone. He also likes my perfume, and wants it too, to remind him of “this beautiful gift I was given when I first met you and smelt your perfume – for me this experience was a gift”. And I’m thinking keep the experience, you can’t have the perfume mate... and then the hand holding began, him trying to interlace his fingers in mine... and that’s when I urgently had to go see a guy who was passing by at that very moment how convenient. Unfortunately, this potential rescuer of mine seems also to have taken an interest and started asking some pretty personal questions about what he calls my “sentimental life” – which apparently refers to my “love life” (a term I positively detest) – rounding out the day by asking me, when I put a pair of sunglasses on, “why you want to coverr up your byewdiful blue eyes?” Sigh. It was fun on the plane, less fun the first couple of times... getting awkward now... Perhaps I’m just an ungrateful wench and I’m sure I’ll appreciate all this once I get back to Oz, where the nearest thing to a compliment from a guy is “jeez you can crack open a tinny Sheila” (yeah, I went there. But I refuse to use the term cobba. That’s just silly.) but for now it’s difficult, especially when I’m supposed to be working closely with these guys on a day to day basis. I guess this is what Zoolander was talking about when he pointed out that there is more to life than being really, really, really, really, ridiculously goodlooking. (And blue steel: annnnd fade out.)

Hmm, what else did I mention in the intro which I’ve yet to include here... oh yeah, I got yelled at by a Bacca driver first time I took one on my own. That’s actually the whole story. Not so exciting, but thought I’d throw it in to keep you guessing. As for the internet, I now have wireless which is actually the greatest invention ever for my mind, forget sliced bread, I’m ok with tearing chunks off it anyway...

Now to a definite highlight of the week – visiting the Italian Embassy. The ambassador, Giancarlo Izzo, happens to be married to an Australian and a friend of the family, Virginia Ryan – an extremely gifted artist. After years living in Ghana, Virginia has done extensive work involving all kinds of African themes, and as I understand it, started a program for female artists, though I’m unsure of the details. She and Giancarlo have a son and daughter, whom I vaguely remember from many years ago. I was welcomed into their new home (they’ve only been in Côte d’Ivoire for a couple of months) for lunch, and spent a really lovely afternoon in one of the most beautiful residences I’ve ever seen. The place is filled with artwork and beautiful artifacts from their travels all over the world, and it was so nice to have an afternoon of conversation with fellow English speakers! I hadn’t realized how much I missed stimulating conversation, but alas it is something of which I’m just not capable at this point in my French speaking career! ;) It was also nice to relax and watch a film (again, not in French!) – we watched Sweeney Todd, which, in spite of it’s gore, was very entertaining, and Virginia gave me this fantastic DVD set for use in the schools, a series of short films on HIV/AIDS related scenarios based on ideas of young Africans and directed by acclaimed African directors – plus, it’s in multiple languages, and isn’t even copyright protected, as the films are designed to educate. It couldn’t be more perfect for the program I’m doing, and the best part is, it’s so much more relevant to the kids than a bunch of statistics on AIDS in the US – or even just on AIDS in Africa. Stats are so dry, and on their own they don’t always have a great effect... so I’m really looking forward to starting the school visits and using these valuable films to boost the program and engage the kids’ interests. I know I always love my lecturers more when they break things up with a video... anyway, I’m looking forward to visiting Virginia and family again, she has already invited me to a gallery opening but unfortunately I was at work when it was on, and in any case she has said she’s happy to help me should the need arise... it’s great to know I have even more people here for support!

So finally, a bit about work. I eventually started at the NGO, after a number of hiccups (Monday there was communication issues about where and when I was to meet people and go; Tuesday I had the abovementioned gastro issues...) yesterday I finally made it, only to get sick today (not gastro this time, but a lovely throat infection, it seems – my glands are like tennis balls!) which I have a feeling was actually brought on by my first day. A bit of background first though. Intially I was going to be working at “Le Soutien”, an organization for orphans and vulnerable children, but apparently there’s some sort of problem (no-one will say what it is...) and so I’m at “Amepouh “now. At first I was pretty annoyed, as I signed on in large part to work with these kids, and not to do “marketing”, as was apparently my focus at Amepouh. But after some wheeling and dealing (and a very patronizing speech from one of the guys – I mean really, he doesn’t think I can see through that?) it was determined that I would “get to work with my kids”, and they would make sure marketing wasn’t the focus, though I will still have to do a little. It seems that on my CV, they read “Certificate of Speech Communication Australia” to mean “She can do marketing and communications”... I tried to explain that it’s really more of a qualification for public speaking and performance, but I do seem to be having rather a lot of trouble making myself understood this week... anyway, it looks like Amepouh, which is an NGO helping women effected by HIV/AIDS, often runs activities for kids, which is great, and I should be able to do some work on women’s empowerment as well, so it may have turned out even better. And when I arrived yesterday (after well over an hour’s ride in various Baccas – that will probably be the most challenging part I’d suspect!) I got my wish to work with the kids. It was a lot of fun, but exhausting – I spent a lot of time laughing when, after their initial shyness, the kids became bold enough to see if my pasty skin was real by pressing on it – and discovering that it changes color from pink to white then back to pink again when you do this – a source of joy for generations of folks back home too, I have found. After that though, it was on for young and old, and I was being poked and prodded by a thousand little hands all over, to a chorus of giggles. They seem to have managed a slightly more permanent colour change on the surface of my skin today – a nice shade of purple bruising. I’m not entirely sure of the kid’s situation – they didn’t actually come to the centre, we went to a catholic school to play games and draw pictures, etc. and they all turned up. The area in general is in noticeably worse condition than in Cocody – it’s in another suburb altogether, called Yopougon, and many of the children were dressed in borderline rags. There was a sort of attendance taken so I assume their mothers might be involved in Amepouh somehow, but the women at the office don’t speak much English, so it was hard to tell. A few of the kids had shocking coughs, and that, coupled with the sub-zero setting at which they keep the aircon in the office, and my coming in and out, covered in sweat, from freezing to hot, and doing a lot of walking seems to have weakened my defenses to their current state of non-existance... also on most days there’s no hot water, which at first didn’t bother me at all, but apparently I have started to acclimatize to the heat a bit, as the cold showers aren’t as nice as they once were... On the bright side though, it seems you can buy antibiotics over the counter here, so hopefully I’ll be back fighting fit soon – indeed, I have yet another opening ceremony to attend on Saturday (for the ASK project in the town of Dabou, outside of Abidjan) so I want to be ready.

Hahah and here I thought I could keep the blog entry a bit shorter this time... my apologies again, and thanks for sticking with it as far as you have, assuming you’re still here! (If you’re not, then you’re not reading this. Or this. Or even this...)

Hope all is well with you and yours!!

Love Fifi x

C'est très chaud...

Ok.

I am writing from under the comforting wing of my new love, the fan. The fan and I are planning to elope, so don’t try and stop us, our love can transcend traditional marital conventions, such as both parties possessing some form of heartbeat.

Having established that, I suppose the first thing I can say about Côte d’Ivoire is perhaps now somewhat obvious – it’s HOT. I think I’ve only ever been this consistently sweaty once in my life, and that was when I visited Cairns in December.
In fact it’s probably no hotter than Sydney in terms of degrees, but at ridiculous levels of humidity, my first and most important phrase of French that my amazing new family has taught me is “c’est très chaud” – It’s very hot.
No arguments here.

But it might be worth starting back from where I left off – at the airport in Dubai. Without going into too many details, the ride from Dubai to Accra was similarly lengthy and I had my suspicions it would never end. The entertainment system on the A380 was crazy, there were literally hundreds of things to watch. I opted for “High School Musical 3”, the remake of “Fame”, and “District 9”, with mixed results – see ‘District 9’, it was awesome... “High School Musical”, however... ... ah who am I kidding, I loved it. Possibly not so relevant, but threw that one in for all those fans of “the Castle” – “What movies did they show on the plane Trace??”. Ahem.
On the second, smaller plane, t’was not quite as luxurious, and by then I was just keen to get there already. Sat in the plane on the tarmac when eventually we did make it to Accra, (kept myself amused by poking my tongue out at the ADD kid being restrained by his parents, and giggling when he responded in kind) and finally after the shortest international flight I’ve ever taken, we arrived. (literally the flight was less than an hour, and you should have seen the Emirates attendants screaming around trying to feed us in that time... hilarious. Side note: Emirates have the finest male flight attendants in the world (as Jeremy Clarkson would say.) One of them told me I had pretty eyes, and that he had mates in Chatswood. Gotta start going to those more northerly suburbs more often...)

Anywho... where was I? Yeah so we landed in Abidjan, had our yellow fever vaccination cards checked by medically masked officials, and then began the business of warding off ‘helpful’ folk. One guy, dressed well but conspicuous by his lack of ID tag was hell bent on helping me, but I insisted that I had people waiting outside for me, and that I’m more than capable of carrying several tons of luggage by myself, thanks. He wasn’t real impressed, but left me alone eventually, and when I finally got through the gate, I was assailed by a myriad more incessant helper folk, wanting to sell me SIM cards and take me to hotels, etc. I wandered around for a bit, trying to look as though I knew what I was doing and looking for some sign of Franc the AIESEC guy. Eventually he and a guy called Yadan showed up and were like “we were wondering if it was you – we watched you walk around for a while.” Cheers guys.
Really though they are both incredibly friendly and helpful, and I’m so glad to have their support!

The second we stepped out of the terminal the heat hit me like a slap in the face with a boiled fish. Seriously, it was hot, wet, and less than pleasant smelling... ok a little dramatic but it was a bit confronting, in spite of extensive mental preparation. We wandered up the road for a bit, and I was pretty shocked to see right away, the very images of African poverty which are on our TV screens in the docos, right there in the flesh. Rubbish everywhere, shacks on the side of the road, skinny naked children sitting in the mess, mangy street dogs and chickens roaming free in the streets...

This was my first impression. My initial moments of blindness, where all I saw was poverty and misfortune. But quickly, very quickly, I began to see more to it than that. People here are resilient, so much more resilient than that for which they’re given credit. It may only be early days as far as my experience goes, but the hopelessness that people so often associate with this kind of poverty is, to some extent, manufactured. At least that’s how it seems to me. People are so entrepreneurial here! Everyone is selling something, from peeled oranges to computers, and often right there on the street. The streets themselves are total chaos, with cars all over the place, horns bleating incessantly, and people walking practically amongst the traffic. It’s incredibly vibrant and alive. The craziest thing is how public transport operates here. There’s buses, which are literally packed, an utter sea of humanity, with more and more people trying to get on, shoving their way in. There’s no way the doors are gonna close, so then more and even more people get on and they’re hanging off each other and out the door... it really has to be seen to be believed. Next time I do I’ll have to take a picture... then there’s the Bacca, which is like a mini bus, it has a specific route and stops, and is the cheapest option for transport (with the possible exception of the bus – but I doubt I’ll be catching it any time soon, I like my lungs to at least partially function when I take public transport). Most of the Baccas (and for that matter all the other vehicles) have seen far, far better days – they’re battered and old, and it’s often a battle to get in and out. The conductor, for want of a better word (dude who takes the money and yells at people on the street is perhaps more appropriate) is in and out all the time, and as the Bacca leaves a stop, he will literally run along side it, grab onto the open door, and ride along on it, door wide open. Unbelievable!

Finally, there’s taxis. The local Taxi is the Warru Warru, it’s usually yellow, very old, spews black exhaust everywhere and only goes around the suburb you’re in (in my case, Cocody). The coolest thing about taxis here though, is that there are thousands of them, and you pay for the distance, not the time (except in the red ones, which I’m getting to...) so one person might be in the Warru Warru, and someone on the street can signal to the driver (by making this loud kissing noise) and they get in too, complete strangers, sharing taxis, getting in and out all over the place. How the cars actually even run is completely beyond me, most of them are old Corollas and Peugeots, in far worse condition than Mr. Bib, my lovely old Camry, ever was (may he rest in piece – they haven’t chopped him for parts yet I’m assuming...). The red taxis are more like at home, and are more expensive, but still next to nothing, really. To put it all into perspective, US$1 is about the equivalent of 500 CF. A ride from “Carre four la vie” the “junction of life”, which is near me house, to the Cocody campus, is 100 CF. With a Warru Warru, I think it’s around 200 CF, and with a red taxi, about 800 CF. So it’s still less than $2 for a 10-15 minute ride in the most expensive form of transportation. I heart Africa...

So, onto food. And if I thought I might lose me some weight on my trip, I do believe I was mistaken. Apart from the fact that the food is thoroughly awesome, my family keeps making me eat more and more! The first night I arrived was a little scary, there was an entire fish cut into 4 pieces lying on the table... face, tail, spinal chord and all. (there’s no messing around with cuts of meat in Côte d’Ivoire it seems – Fatou, (spelling?) the girl who works as housekeeper and cook for my host family, was taking apart an entire chicken earlier... I walked in and was intrigued to find myself staring at some rather intimate parts of the chook formally known as lucky – ie, her kidneys... and a shiny pair of chicken feet to boot... Mum you’d be proud, not even a gag!) but where was I? Oh yeah, entire fish. So poor Nemo had been fried to within an inch of his life – actually probably more, really – and next to him was what is fast becoming my favourite Ivoirian dish – Aloco, or fried banana. It’s awesome. They put a tomato condiment of some sort with it, and something ultra spicy which I didn’t dare touch, but it’s delicious on its own anyway! Finally there was this cous-cous type of stuff, made from Cassava, called Attièkè, also yummy. I actually did have a little nibble on Nemo, and although I’m not a seafood girl, and indeed although it was chock full of bones (apparently the edible kind...) I actually didn’t mind it. I think I’d have to work up to it again though... The other night we had fresh sugar cane to mung on, it was the coolest thing! You literally chew it and all the sugary juice comes out, then you spit out the fibrous cane part. Awesome...

Other than that, the other afternoon the AIESECers grabbed me some very late lunch in the form of these deep fried cakes with more Nemo inside (less pleasant than the initial serve was – this time Nemo was curried). Not sure what it was called but will find out. It would be far nicer if it weren’t so fishy methinks... wondering if it comes with anything else in the centre... these are the things that plague me...

I should probably mention a bit about AIESEC itself while I’m here. It seems that AIESEC has a bit of a culture all it’s own, which became fairly obvious to me when, at the welcome party, people would start their introductions with “Hey AIESEC!” to which the crowd would respond “Wassup?!”; then they’d go again, “Hey AIESEC!”
Crowd: “Wassup?!”
Speaker: “Hey AIESEC!”
Crowd: “Wassup?!”
Speaker: “How do you feel?”
Crowd: “Excellent!”
Apparently one of a series of chants which people do throughout the course of meetings, often to get the crowd’s wandering attention. At the welcome meeting there were 5 Nigerians and myself being introduced, and they seemed to know the ropes a bit better than I, although they’re a bit disgruntled about having to pay for all their transport everywhere – apparently they paid an awful lot to get here by land, (crossing borders is expensive in Africa, you generally have to pay) on the understanding that they would have most things taken care of once they got here. They were positively mutinous the first day I met them, and where talking about going home because they’re completely broke. The welcome ceremony too was interesting; some of the local AIESECers used the opportunity to attack Nigerians in general, with questions like “how come you Nigerians only ever stick to yourselves, how come you are so defensive of your women at AIESEC conferences”... etc. One guy even asked about the bungled Christmas day terrorist attack by the young Nigerian guy whose name now escapes me... I thought the Nigerians handled it pretty well, explaining that not all Nigerians were like that, and just because he was from their country originally (he didn’t actually grow up there at all) was no reflection on them and their views and practices. I threw in that the guy was at uni in Australia for a semester, in an attempt to help stave off the attack... interesting that such ignorance exists everywhere.
Anywho, so I told them a bit about myself, about Australia, what I study, etc... dunno how much sunk in, apparently I speak very quickly in English... never been accused of that one before...

Before the opening ceremony, however, we took a ride across town to a place called Marcory, where we met with a guy from an NGO who was to train us up for our presentations. The NGO works on FGM (Female Genital Mutilation) as well as HIV/AIDS prevention, and I was incredibly relieved to find that much of his presentation, which focused on the latter, was fairly easy to follow despite it’s being in french, partly because the bigger more medical-y words are similar to English or easily figured out, and partly because I’ve done a bit of research into this recently. I did have to stop him to ask what he meant by “putting moral values back into the community” in fighting against HIV/AIDS... I later found out that this operation is funded by PEPFAR, the President’s Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief, an initiative of the former Bush Administration... certainly that explained the “moral values” clause... and the heavy emphasis on abstinence... but I digress...

I had a chat with Franc later, and mentioned that the ARV drugs (antiretroviral) used to fight HIV are free because the program is funded by PEPFAR, and he got all excited and decided that my task, should I choose to accept it (and by the way I have no choice!) is to see if a grant from PEPFAR is possible for the AIESEC Cocody club, and or any other grant I can find. He went on to make it sound terribly heroic if I could manage it, a legacy if you will... and I have a week in which to secure it. I was like, um, sure. I’ll do my best... now with a rather uncooperative internet connection, I’m not too sure that’s gonna work, but I’m actually working on that too... we shall see...

One other thing I should mention before I sign off (as I think I’ve taken up more than enough of your time...) is how amazing my host family are. They are incredibly obliging, and hell bent on making my stay comfortable and enjoyable. My Papa doesn’t speak English, but is so enthusiastic and sweet, and Mama speaks a little. Mama apparently does makeup for film and television here in Abidjan, which is pretty cool – she just got back from the set of a new film a day after I arrived. Papa is retired, but I think he used to work in a bank. Ismael (spelling?) is the eldest, and their only son; he and a mate, Loic took me to this tiny bar in Cocody this afternoon, where he and his boys were dancing, laughing, drinking and smoking (not a big fan of the smoking...) it was awesome. Loic is forcing me to speak French, and every time I try something in English, he looks at me blankly, all “Je ne comprends pas”... though he speaks it pretty well from what I can tell... the family have a constant stream of visitors, people popping in and out all the time. Friends, family, etc – it’s nice. The younger sister, Rokia (spelling...?), speaks a bit of English, and was home for a few days before going back to Ghana to study (she had the good computer and unfortunately it went with her... so now it’s back to ice-age speeds with the family’s old Compaq.) So that’s the family, bar Coumba, whom I still haven’t met in the flesh - I’m looking forward to her arriving back, if her family is any indication, I think she’ll be awesome company too...
Oh yeah, As I mentioned before, the family has hired help, Fatou, who is very sweet but very quiet – I was amazed to find how she has to carry out the cleaning – there’s no washing machine so everything is done by hand, she cooks everything pretty much from scratch (note the chicken episode above) and washes the floor, walls, everything with a washcloth and tub! There is an amazing fusion of cultures here, it’s fascinating – old methods and new are all around. Everyone, and I mean everyone has a mobile, and they sell credit on the streets (that’s how you break bigger notes if you want to take a Warru Warru or something, cos they don’t take the big cash) but babies are still tied to women’s backs with cloth, and huge bundles of heavy cargo are simultaneously perched high on the mothers’ heads... it’s pretty cool.

Ok, I’d best be closing this incredibly lengthy entry... I’ll try to make future ones a little less intense! At least it’s reflective of the whole, thus far overwhelming but very exciting experience...

Please do keep in touch kids, and stay tuned for round 2...

Love Fifi x

Dubaaaai!!!! (Gobsmocked...)

Crap, well didn't manage to farewell everyone, but if you know me you'll know organisation: not my strongest suite. Having said that though, I did think I was doin ok this time round. Everything was ready weeks in advance (with the possible exception of the blog...) moneys, visa-age, etc. Or so I thoughteded. Turns out my master plan to get a debit Mastercard was less than masterful - or indeed fortuitous - even the Westpac lady was, as she pointed out - "gobsmocked" that Mastercard is literally everywhere in the world - except the Ivory Coast. And possibly North Korea. On the flipside though, I now have a new saying - I'm thinking this entry shall hereinafter be known as the "gobsmock" edition. Trademark pending...

Anyway, long story short there was some running around organizing ye olde Visa alternative, and while a tad stressful, twas sorted in the end. I'm now in Dubai airport, taking advantage of their Willie-Nelson-Roadie-Slow-Arse wireless (yeah yeah, it is free) and admiring the extravagance - there'll no doubt be more of that at the other end of the trip, when I'm here for more than an hour......

Speaking of, better go - the line is moving with some speed to enter le gate... whooo... wish me luck and see you on the other side kids...

X-O-X-O - Gobsmocked Girl. :D