on the road: cote d’ivoire
One of the first things I noticed while driving through Abidjan, Cote d’Ivoire’s main city, was the traffic—or rather, the lack thereof. Abidjan is surrounded and intersected by a well-designed and well-maintained road network. The highways have proper overpasses and six glorious lanes allowing ample room for all vehicles. This was a welcome relief from a city like Accra which is constantly as congested as my sinuses during allergy season. To travel just a few kilometers in Accra can become a two-hour ordeal, making me certain it would be faster to walk to most destinations. Not so in Abidjan. During my short stay we cruised through the streets, stopping only at dutifully-observed traffic lights.
These wonderful roads envelop a significant number of high-rise buildings, giving me the feeling that Abidjan is far more developed and well-planned than Accra. The smooth blacktop continues for about an hour outside of the city, when it finally givse way to the potholed pavement to which I have become accustomed. Still, the trip to Abengourou, where I was staying, was much faster and more pleasant than an equidistant journey in Ghana.
My first day in Ivory Coast showed me some of the best roads I’ve seen in Africa; the following day presented me with some of the worst. On Wednesday morning I met with members of the Rainforest Alliance and headed to a village about two hours from the large town of Abengourou. (The whole purpose of my week-long stay in Cote d’Ivoire was to accompany the Rainforest Alliance to learn how they audit cooperatives who are trying to get certification for their cocoa). It had rained much of the night before and continued to rain throughout the day, which made a very bad road so much worse. It was all dirt roads which I’m very used to from Ghana, but I definitely realize rain could wreck so much havoc.
On the road there were pools of water stained orange-brown from the iron-rich dirt. As we drove through the giant puddles the water level usually reached the halfway up the doors. However, on several occasions I was surprised to see a deluge of water rushing over the hood of our sizeable Toyota Fortuner. While it was initially a bit startling to see three-quarters of the car covered in water, we always made it through without incident.
The water also made the hills extremely muddy, such that you had to slam on the accelerator if you had any chance of making it to the top. I saw two small buses lose momentum and control, hurdling down the hill in reverse with no brakes to speak of. They both came very close to rolling over, coming up on two wheels and bouncing wildly about, but remarkably they finally settled at the bottom of the hill on all four wheels. Thankfully, our vehicle fared much better. We lost traction often and slid until we were completely perpendicular to the road, only to swing violently the other direction in time to maintain forward momentum. It was simultaneously exhilarating and nerve-racking, with huge, relieved fits of collective laughter after we knew we were safe. The terrified looks and frantic scrambling of the people alongside the road who we easily could have hit only intensified the experience.
In addition to the dirty pools and the muddy, frictionless hills, the road also had plenty of the usual holes and ruts due to erosion. All of these factors combined made for a rather uncomfortable ride, especially as I was always the one sitting bitch (sorry Mom, it’s the commonly-used and, in this case, very appropriate name for the middle seat in the back of the vehicle). Having no seat belt and no handles to clutch, I braced myself against the front two seats the best I could. It was of little use, however, because all the turbulence and being thrown unexpectedly from side to side still made me feel like overcooked spaghetti in a blender.
We made this trip (in and out) two days in a row, each time less grueling than the last. Still, at least in this case, I think I would have preferred a little less journey and a little more destination.
