When the veil is thinner
Halloween and the Day of the Dead in Abidjan
“Don’t you just wanna wake up Dark as a lake Smelling like a bonfire Lost in a haze? If you’re drunk on life, babe I think it’s great.” Too Sweet by Hoozier
Dear Reader,
I watched a young family enter the Abidjan Embassy Halloween party and approach the first table that was loaded with candy.
One of the kids ignored the candy, saw a teenager dressed in a skeleton outfit and started to cry.
His mom looked at me and laughed as she tried to assure him it was safe to enter.
“It’s like the kids who cry every year on Santa’s lap,” I joked.
Then she said with a slight grin of embarrassment, “Um. that’s us too.”
Fortunately, he wasn’t crying looking at me.
I was dressed as a she-devil with a wild red wig and makeup, but really could have gone as little Orphan Annie’s deceased mother.
My favorite costume was worn casually by a man originally from Chicago who was dressed as his Uncle Ron, a White Sox fan wearing a jersey and baseball cap standing around in his backyard with a can of lager in his hand, talking about the Sox to anyone who would listen.
It made me feel so at home being around Uncle Ron.
His wife was handing out candy as well as a basket full of jokes that the kids could draw from and read.
“What’s a mummy’s favorite type of music?” she asked a child dressed as a mummy. “You should know this one!”
“Wrap?” he asked timidly.
“That’s right!” she said with a glorious giggle.
I thought, “The only thing that can ever beat a good dad joke is a good mom joke.”
I wandered amongst the families.
The kids had cookies to decorate, chili to eat, candy to fight over.
We watched them chase each other on the grass, and nearly impale themselves on scissors and other sharp objects.
The adults (no kidding) talked about their vasectomies (or lack thereof) while watching the kids.
Good times.
Then my friend Amber, the Queen of Hearts, who I am staying with here in Africa, took me and her daughter Lilly out to a rooftop bar to see the city of Abidjan at night.
It’s a city of 5 million people and beautiful at night.
This week I was reflecting that I feel a lot like that little kid who cries when he sees a teenager dressed up like a skeleton.
Often the things that scare me in my mind are not actually scary.
Before I left for Africa, a Portuguese friend told me not to overthink things.
“Americans always overthink things,” she said. “The rest of the world just gets on with their life and works.”
I had stereotypes in my mind about Africa, nearly all of them were not true.
The world is a much friendlier place than we imagine in our minds.
We create the scary monsters.
Staying afraid of them keeps us safe … and bored.
It’s much more fun to face the monster and see it dissolve when splashed with water.
Talking to my friend Jen today I was telling her about my idea of traveling within Africa while I’m here, and realized that my life right now often feels like some sort of science fiction because I say things like, “Well, I could go to Senegal, Kenya, or South Africa for a few days.”
My friend Amber has done a lot of solo travel and we talked about places she has felt completely comfortable and safe by herself.
It was actually a long list.
Yesterday was a national holiday here.
School was out. Banks were closed.
I asked Amber’s driver if he knew what the holiday was about.
“I don’t know,” Rodrique said with a shrug.
“Is it religious?” I asked. “Historical? Ceremonial? National?”
“Ummm I don’t know,” he said in a French accent, which reminded me of all the French people who answered, “Eeehhh …. no,” when I asked for something in Paris.
As an aside, Rodrique is an incredible person who learned to speak English fluently by watching Steve Harvey clips on YouTube.
He was a former tailor and dress designer in Ghana whose father taught Spanish and whose sister has lived in Italy for 20 years.
He’s teaching me some French.
I mean … c’mon. Aren’t people’s lives so fascinating?
“I love English,” he told me, as did my hair stylist yesterday who helped tone down the bleached blonde look I got in Portugal to one more approaching my normal hair color.
She also sold me a homemade parsley oil solution to help my hair grow faster.
“I prayed to God,” she told me, “so that I could learn English. It was so hard. But I listened to music and that helped.”
Her husband is the dean at the African school of economics at the university down the street. They lived in Saskatoon Canada for over 10 years while he taught there.
She loved Saskatchewan, even the cold. That’s where she learned English.
“The whole year is cold there,” she told me, “but I loved having seasons.”
She said an American missionary found out about her services and told the expat community here and became her business angel.
When I asked her what the holiday was about she said, “It’s the Day of the Dead.”
‘‘Oh! All Saints’ Day!” I said.
She said, “Yes, one of the busiest days in my salon all year. Lots of walk-ins.”
“Got it,” I said. “Guess that’s appropriate for the Day of the Dead.”
Lots of walk-ins.
Happy Day of the Dead.
Love,
Janelle
P.S. Here’s a pic from the rooftop bar in Abidjan called, appropriately, “The Rooph.” Thanks for reading!
Hi Janelle, I'll be in Portugal in April and want to do a LIVE Happy Hour with my Portugal subscribers like Carol from Our Portugal Journey and you. Will start advertising that soon. Cheers, Tricia
Stay well and thanks for checking in from your corner of the world.