Côte d’Ivoire. What an exotic name for a country that I have only read about in the news, usually shrouded in mystery and conflict. Yet, here I am in Abidjan, known as “The Paris of Africa”, a modern skyscraper-studded former capital of Ivory Coast, the country’s economic and business center, and the most populated West African French-speaking city. Businessmen and skirted women walk the streets with purpose, and shops seem to cater predominantly to men’s clothing and custom tailoring from bolts of light tropical wool.
In the city’s banking and business center of Le Plateau, the Grand Mosque’s blue dome stands out among tall straight, nondescript buildings, where one third of the population is Muslim, one third Christian, and the rest a mixture. I walked a loop around this area, greeted by men I passed, who offered a sideways glance and a “Bonjour Madame”.
I happened upon a high-rise shopping mall with a food court on the first level and browsed the local department store, with racks of clothing, shoes, and stacks of the typical brightly patterned West African textiles that are sewn into men’s tunics, women’s dresses, and head wraps. People gathered in the fenced city park to sit or stroll in the shade as I passed by the open gates.
Having seen enough of this concrete jungle and tired of the heat, I hopped on the shuttle, with it’s cheerful driver, back to the ship, as the people of this Ivory Coast city went on about their business as usual, which I would read about again in the news back home.