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Abidjan: The Heart of Francophone West AfricA City of Prosperity and Past Challenges

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During my many visits to the city of Abidjan , I have had some interesting experiences mostly good, but also, a few bad. My many sojourns led to my increased familiarity with and knowledge of this remarkable Francophone city. As you will later note, they included enjoyment of the culinary and many other delights Abidjan has to offer. My first visit was in My first impressions were not good. They plucked at the bags and luggage of incoming passengers, offering assistance loudly and with alarming force. I escaped the throng and jumped into an old rickety taxi. About two kilometres from the airport, I experienced my first African police roadblock: torches shone into my face, questions about what I was doing in the country, a quick look into my luggage, and then a tired wave from a stern gendarme indicating that we could proceed. Not what I had expected in such a reputedly peaceful and stable country. Then the receptionists at my hotel could not find any trace of my reservation. But they finally allocated me a room. My vision of a vibrant, modern and mystical city was restored as I looked out of my fourteenth floor window. In , it handled 32 million tons, which was an increase of over 4 million tons over the previous year. A few years ago, I arranged a visit to the port for my visiting business delegation. The port authority could not provide a bus for us, and requested that we use our own mini-bus. Our delegation was too numerous and only half the delegation could proceed at a time. The second group never got to see the port, as the first took too long to pass through almost-impenetrable truck traffic that had built up at the port entry points. Port congestion is clearly a problem. Two visits in particular entrenched my impression of Abidjan as a bustling logistics hub. The truck, bus and taxi depot situated on the outskirts of the city stretched for miles. Vehicles overloaded with cargo, luggage and passengers were constantly arriving and departing for the interior of the country as well as to Burkina Faso and Mali. The city has an insatiable demand for meat and most cattle are trucked in from the dry savannah of Burkina Faso. Thousands of long-horned cattle, sheep and goats were crowded into rudimentary pens outside the slaughter houses. The heavily-littered roads in the abattoir area were filled with trucks, cargo bikes and other transport means taking the produce to the city markets and eateries. The crowds comprised meat sellers, animal feed suppliers, drivers and beggars. An officious abattoir official in an untidy uniform stopped me from entering one of the slaughter areas. Environmentalists have expressed their concern over this activity. We also found time for the odd visit to the nightspots in the Treichville neighbourhood. Our culinary adventures included eating at the maquis — usually car parks and beaches that in the evenings are converted into large open-air eating areas where ladies barbecue chunks of meat, and large bottles of beer are served on rough wood tables. Musicians wandering between the tables keep the diners amused. A special treat was a quick drive to the coastal town of Grand Bassam the former capital , where my clients and I joined the locals in the beach bars, bought rounds of Flag beers for all, and enjoyed passionate debates about football. It was mid The atmosphere was crisp and tense as the threat of civil war between the north and south of the country gained strength. There was some uncertainty around whether the road to the airport would be open. I was staying at the Sofitel Hotel in the Plateau central business district near the headquarters of the African Development Bank. Small groups of armed soldiers stood on the street corners. One group stopped me, and ordered that I produce my identity document. They scoffed at my explanation that I had left my passport in my hotel room, and asked me where I was from. They crowded in on me pushing their fists into my ribs and back. My return to my Sofitel safe-haven was more of a sprint than a jog! The prize for completing the run was a few sponsored Flag beers. Tradition dictated that our large group of runners would be led through the forest by a local who knew the area well, and who would occasionally blow a trumpet to signal and guide the way. I suspect that our intrepid guide was more interested in getting to the crates of beer as fast as possible than ensuring our safe passage on the narrow paths through the thick vegetation. The trumpet blasts soon faded, and it did not take long for some of us to become totally lost. After an hour of walking in apparent circles, the sun began to drop and the shadows lengthened. We had heard that bandits operated here in nightfall. Our anxiety levels were high, and we were greatly relieved to finally stumble back into the park that had been our departure point. My last business mission to Abidjan was in October He wanted me to identify possible Ivorian partners who had relatively sophisticated plastic moulding capabilities for the local manufacture of his product. Our visits included factory inspections. We were both surprised by the size of the industry in Abidjan , as well as the high level of manufacturing technology. Some of the production units were world-class. I made the safe assumption that the other manufacturing operations we came across in the industrial zones were also of greater sophistication than we had surmised. August 2, Abidjan Evening. Port of Abidjan. Foret Banco Abidjan. Plastic Industry. Stade Alassane-Ouattara. Previous Next. Related posts. September 13, July 14,

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