I was working hard learning the language and culture of the Anyi in the village of Ayébo in Côte d’Ivoire—memorizing the greetings, transcribing folk tales, hanging out with our neighbors.
Witnessing people working over a corpse trying to resuscitate it—unsuccessfully.. Observing festivals with dancers gyrating every muscle in their bodies simultaneously in unison under the hot sun. Seances with everyone clacking bamboo sticks — kpa kpa cha, kpa kpa cha—until the medium fell into trance and got answers to the questions plaguing the village. Prayers shouted at the divinities demanding health and wealth, throwing chickens with their throats slit into the air. If they landed belly up, the sacrifice was accepted, down no-go.
Visitors showing up at all hours of day and night to keep us company—and to see this curious white family firsthand.
The Anyi had vowels we know not of, that depend on whether your tongue root is advanced or retracted. What? My son was 3 and mastered it without even noticing. Me, I never got it despite all my efforts.
On and on—surprises, joys, tragedies.
We were covered in sweat day and night. Our electric fans moved the humid tropical air around, providing some relief but not much.
Every once in a while, our family would load up in the car for a day at the beach in Grand Bassam. It was heaven. An artsy mix of old colonial mansions and local artisans, strolling vendors with little pineapples held by the leaves like a popsicle, fresh breezes off the beautiful blue ocean, shells to collect, swimming pools under palm trees, and wonderful meals served on china with tablecloths and cloth napkins right on the beach. What an escape!
A frolic. Sometimes it does a body good!
But don’t forget the sunscreen.
