I travelled to West Africa last winter. Except for some French-riddled mishaps where my luggage was left behind in Lomé and I found myself stranded in the Abidjan airport with nothing except my hand bag and a set of gestures to make up for my lack of French skills, I loved every bit of it.
I found both countries to be so much like my own, yet so different. The days passed in a blur of dusty red roads, colourful dresses, jumping children, happy villages, markets laden with pineapples, bursting at the seams with bananas, plantains, cassava, baobab, cocoa, coffee, palm oil plantations.
Fish with bunny teeth.
On the island of Gorée.
Strip weaving in Ivory Coast
My beautiful host
Tea vendor in Abidjan.
The Basilica of Our Lady of Peace in Yamoussoukro.
Rubber plantations
Lake Retba, the pink lake.
Fishing boats in Saly.
Industrial salt being packaged on the shores of Lake Retba.
Dried bissap flowers make the best juice.
The village elders and I.