That’s the first thought. They were doing something decent.
In a country were me, as many others, would not go for ‘political’ reasons (and we are not so intransigent anymore) and for security reasons, they went for a good cause and stayed in spite of the risk.
Let’s hope reason would prevail.
PS it has
At the market most of the women still wear the colourful pagnes, contributing to an extraordinary human patchwork.
Nevertheless, also here the local manufacture of cotton fabric is endangered by the cheap productions from Asia, often under the administration and property of European companies.
Faso Fani the legendary factory of Thomas Sankara’s land of incorruptibles has been closed under the pressure of the stabilisation policies enforced by the international economic institutions.
Consequently, Africa loose not only one of the rare opportunity for industrial production (and jobs) but also an important instrument for the construction of national identity.
Togo, Malawi and many other countries do not produce any cotton fabric yet.
Abidjan market’s retailers react with surprise when asked for local materials, and only Woodin, an upper market production destined to a wealthy public, has got some reputation.
You may see some exemple below.
One month has passed without harms. I do not know better the town neither the people, but I keep feeling at ease.
Today is raining and I have not solved any of the logistical issues I should have tackled, I hope tomorrow the sun will shine.
I have some projects, but any program requires energies.
One task has been accomplished. I am the happy owner of a ping pong table (with a carton-paper net).
woro woro is the yellow taxi.
It’s the collective one, goes on prefixed routes, claxoning all the time to attract passengers.
You pay among 150 and 250 CFA francs, not too much.
It is better than the orange taxi (the personal one), as you travel with other people and feel more inside the picture.
The other day the woro woro drivers organized a strike to protest against the police. Police (allegedly) take advantage of the check points and the verification of documentation to ask for money.
Abidjan seems to be a good place where to stay.
This season is always cloudy and not very hot, so that the onset is smoother.
The town is westernised, but I got the impression that are there places and things to discover.
Of course, there are militaries on the road, check-points and the ‘traffic managers’ are heavily armed, but, all considered, the atmosphere is quiet.
I still didn’t get to know the people, but there should be no problem.
I’m looking for an accommodation, furniture, may be a car.
The Ivorian flag is everywhere, similar to the Italian one, but with orange instead of red.
I went to the National Assembly, a nice space. The debate was harsh but ordered.
I am watching for fabrics, they produce a lot of them, and looking for a tie tailor, for the new collection.
I am happy I was born in Lucania. It is a small region in the South of Italy, quiet and still undomesticated.
Picerno is not the smartest village, but the air is fresh, the food is good, and just in front of it lies the Monte Li Foi, surrounded by woods.
Our house is just on the piazza, where life goes on regardless.
All the characteristic figures are disappeared: the goats’ shepherd, the lady wearing the traditional costume, Mastro Vicienzo the local inventor.
The countryside has changed dramatically, especially after the earthquake.
I generally come on Christmas, sometimes in summer, once I came by motorbike.
Today there is a balmy, congenial sunlight.
Roma is always the same. Many things do not work well, but it still is a fascinating place.
Furthermore, Cigno’s cornetti are again the same as before.
Anyhow, I am on my way to Toscana, Lucania and Ivory Coast.
An exciting month of August.
I drew the picture above, entitled la bagnante (the bather) some years ago.
Being summertime, I thought it was a good idea to expose it now as homage to life on the beach.
For an optimal enjoyment, you should smell suntan lotion and put a cup on your ear while watching.
Life is also made of minor pleasures.
One of them is breakfast’s pastry.
In Roma the choice is obvious: cappuccino and cornetto. The best is the cornetto baked by Il Cigno, especially the old way, before they changed confectioner.
On the other hand, in Barcelona you have a satisfactory alternative proceeding from the South: churros. Thin or bold, with sugar, coming hot from the pan.
Churros and cornetti contribute to make mankind better than it naturally would be, and the cooks would deserve a Nobel prize for peace. A big medal made by chocolate.
Travelling through Spain you can’t avoid remarking the big black figures of bull disseminated along the road.
Starting as an advertisement for an alcohol company, the bull has become the symbol of a certain Spain, and you can find it stuck on the back of many cars (mainly red cars).
Then the donkey came, spreading out from Catalunya in order to propose an alternative identification of Spanish soul.
As shown below, the outline is not dissimilar, the bull’s horns matching the donkey’s ears, but the message is rather inconsistent.
We opted for the donkey (our car is gray).
Riferimenti: Catalan donkey web-site
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