In The City

(cue Joe Walsh)

Over the weekend I was able to see more of Brazzaville and begin to get my bearings. I live in the Plateau neighborhood of Brazzaville, centrally located just south of the airport and north of downtown. Getting downtown doesn’t take very long in a taxi, but here in town there lacks any principal artery that connects downtown to the outlying quartiers; the route is a bit circuitous though there’s much to see en route: embassies, hospitals, government buildings, the French Cultural Center, various UN branches, military barracks, hotels, schools and more. Those taxi rides have truly been some of the most pleasant moments thus far in Brazzaville.

Downtown is beautiful and calm. There are several tall buildings, most of which are either regional/development banks or government buildings. The variety in architecture is striking – some buildings are elegant, while others are perhaps more, uh, functional, and the passage of time is evident with the weathering of facades, fading paint and dusted glass windows. Were I to spend the day downtown (I hope to this weekend), I would most likely spend my time in some of the handful of nice cafés and ice cream shops, obvious tourist destinations. There is also the renowned memorial for the city’s (if not the entire French colony this side of the Congo River) Italian-French founder, Savorgnan de Brazza.

Saturday afternoon one of my colleagues, Valdie, stopped by to accompany me to the largest market in Brazzaville – marché total – to pick up what nonperishable foodstuffs we could find in bulk. Until now when my cook, Sophie, would head out each morning to buy the ingredients for the day’s meals, she would always buy small doses of oil, garlic, onions, pepper, seasonings, and other things that are much cheaper in bulk. Prices at the marché total are cheaper than at the market in our neighborhood. The market was enormous, and at 5 p.m. Saturday evening the ground was littered with wrappers, paper, discarded food and puddles of water from washing out the market stalls. As Valdie and I weaved through the maze of stalls she introduced me to two of her cousins who work there as hair stylists. The scents of smoked fish and raw meat were overwhelming and exhilarating, and we stopped at one stall after the next as Valdie explained all the local fruit and vegetables to me. I even caught a glimpse of a vendor walking past us with a large pot and hot coals beneath. That, Valdie explained, was Congolese coffee. Not many people drink it here, and it’s not really an export crop, but I hear it’s really strong and tasty (with enough sugar). For the time being I'll continue to enjoy my instant Nescafé with sugar and yellowy powdered milk.

Sunday was very calm and quiet. The electricity was out and since we weren’t technically working we didn’t pull out the generator. After church Valdie came to the office to prepare a traditional Congolese dish, pinto beans served in a sort of stew with tomatoes, onions and other vegetables. The final product was suspiciously similar to homemade chili, but with different spices. I ate it served over rice; Valdie ate it the traditional way: served by itself with a side of cassava.

I took a long nap after lunch. After I woke up, I walked across the street to the canteen, bought an Ngok beer and read a book on the terrace until dark. Not a bad life here in the city. (Fade-in Joe Walsh, again...)

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