African Anecdotes #6: Welcome To Gnatroa – Population 300 (or so)

So nothing in Ivory Coast is quite what you expect and nothing ever really goes to plan. Getting to Gnatroa, was an example of this. We’d arranged to meet Rocheline’s mother, Agnes, in Gagnoa, stay there a couple of days to see Rocheline’s two sisters Clemence and Nicole, and then go on to Gnatroa (30 km away). Most people don’t have telephones so we couldn’t phone to say exactly which time we’d arrive in Gagnoa (we’d initially said the afternoon around 3 p.m. but we didn’t arrive there until about 9 p.m. – Agnes had given up waiting around 8 p.m.).

This fiasco was further complicated by the fact that there were about four different bus stations in Gagnoa, and also that we didn’t know where they lived (addresses are usually BP – boite postale – numbers, i.e. post box numbers at the post office, which are not much help when you’re trying to find a place). Hanging around bus stations at night with a lot of luggage is not advisable, so we decided to check into a cheap hotel, then go to check out the other bus stations which were a quick taxi-ride away. At each one we asked various people hanging around if they’d seen someone resembling Rocheline’s mother waiting.

Luckily, at the final bus station, there were a few young guys, with whom she’d left a message, and one of them knew the place where Rocheline’s sisters lived – he was their neighbour – and so was able to take us there. So it all worked out all right in the end, except we had to pay a night in a hotel (we decided to stay there since we’d payed anyway, and moved our stuff to Nicole and Clemence’s house the next morning). A couple of days after that, we decided to take the trip to the village of Gnatroa for a day or so, and mother and sisters assured us that there was no problem to get a bus there (i.e. there are buses every 20 minutes, and it only takes half an hour – translation: there are buses every two hours, which take about one hour and which stop 5 km from the village, leaving you to walk the rest of the way). Eventually we managed to organise a taxi-collectif (me, Rocheline, Agnes, and Nicole’s small son – Bijou) with a few other people, which took us right into Gnatroa (and also arranged for him to bring us back to Gagnoa the next day at 5 p.m.)

Gnatroa was a bit smaller than Gu�dyo, and didn’t have any electricity, but was more or less the same deal. It had more brick or concrete houses; indeed Rocheline’s uncle Lambert’s house where we slept had about four bedrooms, and a large living room, and porch at the front.

Having no electric street lights, you really did need a torch or lamp to see your way around at night, or use moonlight if the moon was visible. The night we were there was very clear, but let’s face it, most nights are clear since clouds are a bit of a rarity. It only rained once during our whole month there, although there are supposedly rainy seasons: May to November in the north, May to July and October to December in the south. Anyway, that night you could see thousands of stars, the most beautiful star-lit sky I’ve ever seen.

The next day there was a funeral in the village, and I got to witness the ‘dance of death’ – all the women paint their faces and arms with white mud, and dance in a kind of slow shuffling movement through the main road of the village.

Here, like in Gu�dyo, Rocheline’s aunts greeted me with great enthusiasm, calling me brother-in-law and giving me hugs. When I practised the few words of B�t� that I’d learned they were all smiles. I also tried my hand at ‘pilling’ the rice – you take a big piece of wood, shaped kind of like a big baseball bat, and pound the rice in a big standing wooden bowl, until all the yellow husky stuff has been removed from the rice, and it appears white. It’s quite hard work, although seemingly some villages now have machines to do this (but I didn’t get to see them).

Benedicte, one of Rocheline’s beautiful female cousins, kind of took a fancy to me (and vice-versa, although maybe I shouldn’t admit that since I am married!). She was very cute though, only about 18 or 19, talking French in the way a lot of people do in the villages, i.e. without using articles. I let her try some of the whisky which we’d given to uncle Lambert (her dad); not being used to it, she coughed a bit, and said it burnt her mouth. She cut me down a coconut, and we sat in the shade of a tree drinking the milk, and chatting / flirting a bit. She asked me if I’d like to stay in the village and become a farmer; I asked her to come and travel with us for a bit. Since I was already married to Rocheline, she said she’d like to marry my brother (I said I’d send her a photo of him, but I haven’t yet). Eventually we had to say our good-byes when the taxi-driver came at 5 p.m., and Rocheline, Agnes, Bijou and I (accompanied by a couple of live chickens) headed back to Gagnoa.