I started this blog to document my experience here as any aspiring journalist would feel the need to. But I’ve struggled the past couple months deciding what my purpose for writing here should be. This is not the first time someone has visited Abidjan and written about it, so I don’t want my writing to be cliché and as a tourist would write about a short-term visit. And I also don’t want to get involved with political writing, as my family works in the country.
Rather, my purpose here is to document my family’s mission in Abidjan, write compelling features on those I meet and work on my photography skills. But I can’t discredit my experience either and I want to blog about it as well. That being said, I’m sure some of my work will be subjective, others, objective.
The journey across the Atlantic was difficult. Our layovers were long and the moment I felt like breaking down was when I decided to lay on the floor of the Paris airport and sleep. When I awoke, we found out the plane to Abidjan — the last leg — was a double-decker airbus … terrifying.
The only two moments I remember being at peace in the Abidjan airport was in the visa office and when we stepped out of the airport altogether. Getting a visa can be a stressful experience and we didn’t want trouble.
Photo: Our rabbit, Cotton, sitting next to the banana plant my family planted before I arrived.
We sat down waiting for our number to be called and amidst the loud voices and children crying I recognized something … it couldn’t be… but was it… Snoop Dogg?
Yep. Snoop Dogg was quietly playing from a nearby laptop of an airport employee and we all started laughing from fatigue and relief. No, I’m not a Snoop Dogg fan, but anything from home was comforting at that moment.
After the visa office, my parents’ ministry seemed to start the second we stepped into the chaotic baggage claim. Almost 500 people clamored over each other reaching for trunks and suitcases.
Though we wanted to find our 11 checked bags, the man my father was sitting next to on the plane became very ill. He was standing near us at the baggage carousel and his face started swelling.
His lips were so swollen one burst and started bleeding. The sound of his concerned voice and the sight of his condition worried us all and was a scary reminder of where we were. So my father wrapped his arms around the man’s shoulders and started praying in the middle of baggage claim until we could find police to escort the man to medical care.
PHOTOS: Scenes from our backyard and our dog, Biscuit.
I didn’t catch my breath until we stepped outside the airport with all our bags and members from my parents’ church holding our hands. The reception brought a tear to my eye.
Since then, we’ve had a restful time at our home in Cocody-Angre besides the fact we’ve had a neighborhood water cut and I haven’t showered for a while. Typical.
The first night we arrived, our friend Patricia had already made “chep rice,” which originates from Senegal and is what I remember eating as a child the last time I came to Africa.
I’ve included pictures of Patricia, as well as pictures of our yard which wraps around the house. Also pictured are Biscuit, our dog, and Cotton, my sister’s rabbit.
I’m looking forward to meeting more Ivorians and traveling a bit so I can widen my photos and writings outside our home’s walls.
— Sarah
