"The Quest: In Pursuit of an Avocado Sandwich"

(Originally written on Thursday, January 28, 2010)

Our heroine, Katie, has just reached Bohicon after a long journey of spending an exhausting 28 hours in the big city: Cotonou. Tired and hungry, but mostly hungry… well, maybe not, but nevertheless- she has one thing on her mind to accomplish before heading home to her village: to find an avocado sandwich. This is her tale.

Scene: The Bohicon taxi gare, located in the middle of the marché. There are approximately one gazillion men, women and children in the gare. The women sell bread and fruit from atop their heads; children sell traditional Beninese fare, also on display on their heads; men stroll around selling tissues and pens, packages of cotton swabs and toothpaste. There are countless stalls along the perimeter of the gare in addition to these travelling salesfolk. Zemidjan men sit against their motos, waiting to rush incoming taxis so that they can bombard passengers with expensive offers to take them to their next destination while the other men herd anyone arriving into the nearest taxi for Cotonou… even if the person wants to go elsewhere. Filthy, ancient cars and vans are clustered in the dusty, sandy lot; their gutted insides ready for too many passengers.

The deep, red sun is beginning to set and the dust in the air is thick from the constant movement of people and vehicles. Our heroine arrives to the familiar and dreaded landscape of the taxi gare. Before she emerges, she can already hear the question, Ou vas-tu? (Where are you going?), as the zemidjans run along with the slowing taxi, beating on its windows. With a groan, then a deep breath, she steps out of the car.

Zem #s 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,etc.: Where are you going? Where are you going?*
Katie: No, thank you. I’m going to the marché, I don’t need a zem right now.
Zem #11: Ah! I know where you live! Are you ready to go?
Katie: No, thank you. I’m looking for an avocado sandwich. I’m going to the marché. I don’t need a zem.
Zem #13: Where are you going? Where are you going? Are you ready to go?
Katie: NO. I’m looking for an avocado sandwich. I don’t need a ride.
Zem # 14: Are you ready to go? Where are you going?
Katie: NO! I AM LOOKING FOR AN AVOCADO SANDWICH! I AM NOT READY TO GO! I DON’T NEED A RIDE!

Katie exits the gare, a bit miffed with the persistent zems. But in the marché, which conveniently surrounds the gare, her spirit is renewed with the idea of a delicious avocado sandwich. She readjusts her backpack and purse and moseys down the uneven lane, eyes peeled for a familiar basket- one that unites baguettes and avocado, the mushy mix safeguarded in a small plastic container.

She stops at a nearby vendor to ask where the nearest avocados can be found.

Katie: Good evening! How are you? I’m looking for avocados. Avocados and bread.
Marché Maman #1: Hello! How are you? Avocados? (She turns to the next marché maman.) She wants avocados.
Marché Maman #2: Avocados? Oh… (She turns to the next marché maman.) She wants avocados.
Marché Maman #3: Avocados? There’s a lady by the roundabout over there.
Katie: The roundabout over there? Thank you.

Katie knows all about the avocados at “the roundabout over there.” She has delighted in many sandwiches purchased from her avocado sandwich-selling friends at this particular location. At the present time, however, our heroine is not altogether pleased about the slight trek it will require of her to get to “the roundabout over there.” Still, she is determined. As everyone knows, it’s hard to relinquish a hankering such as this.

Katie continues her journey through the marché, greeting her neighbors and hoping to discover avocados before she arrives at “the roundabout over there.” She does not see any promise of such a discovery, and to her even greater chagrin is her discovery at her destination: no avocados… no baguettes… no friendly vendors who always sell both together just the way our heroine likes. Abandoned. Deserted.

Katie: Bah! Ah! No avocado ladies! Wah!
Neighboring Vendor: They left.
Katie: They left? Bah. Is there any other place around here I can find an avocado sandwich?
Neighboring Vendor: The bus gare.
Katie: Bah! The bus gare! That’s far! Okay. Thank you. Bye.
Neighboring Vendor: Goodbye.

Down, but not out, our heroine secures her backpack for the long haul and rechecks that her purse is zippered shut. She retraces her steps through the marché and glances back as she passes the taxi gare on her way to the bus gare. She stops occasionally to shake pebbles out of her flip-flops; the little rocks tossed onto the surface of her footwear from the sand with the perpetual “flip” and “flop” of her tired step. Katie nears the bus gare with a heightened sense of spirit and optimism. She can almost taste her long-awaited avocado sandwich.

Katie: Good evening! How are you? I’m looking for avocados. Avocados and bread.
Gare Maman #1: Hello. How are you? Avocados? Over there.
Katie: Wee! Thank you!

Katie, in all her glee, practically skips “over there” to make her purchase.

Katie: Good evening! How are you? I’m looking for avocados. Avocados and bread.
Gare Maman #s 2,3,4: Ah! Avocados! Here! Here!
Katie: Whoa, so many! Derrr…

Our heroine swiftly scans the goods that the three mamans have just claimed to include avocados and bread. One clearly does not have avocados. She decides to buy her sandwich from Gare Maman #2, because she’s closest. Katie breathes a deep sigh of relief at her recent victory. She found her beloved avocado sandwich. The quest is complete! In her joy, she glances around to take in the scene- the vendors collecting their food, preparing for the end of the business day; a troupe of traditional dancers bustin’ some moves; naked babies running around their mothers; motos zipping by in each direction; the sun, still a deep red, continuing its descent. When she looks back to the status of her sandwich, our heroine immediately regrets allowing herself to be distracted by the view. Her sandwich is not adorned with the avocado mush mix with which she is so familiar. In fact, Katie has NO IDEA what kind of sandwich this is!

Katie: Hrm. That’s not avocado. What is that?
Gare Maman #2: “Sandwich!” You said “sandwich!”
Katie: Yes, I know I said I wanted a sandwich. A sandwich with avocado. Here’s the avocado. What is that on the bread?
Gare Maman #2: It’s “SANDWICH!”
Gare Maman #3: It’s “sandwich.” You asked for “sandwich,” right?
Katie: Yes, I asked for a sandwich with AVOCADO. What is THIS?
Gare Maman #3: It’s “SANDWICH.” FISH!
Katie: FISH? I don’t want fish! I didn’t ask for fish! I said I wanted avocado on bread- that is called a sandwich! I didn’t ask for FISH!
Gare Maman #3: Well, that’s money right there. You have to pay for it.

FISH! Oh, has our heroine fallen? This grave miscommunication seems to be a major setback, especially because it smells awful. When the gare mamans heard Katie’s request for a sandwich, they thought she was asking for the fish that they call “sandwich” also! Never mind the fact that Katie specifically referenced putting the avocado on the bread, pointing to the plastic container of avocado mush mix. There is no way, she decides, that she will walk away from this situation without a sandwich… an avocado sandwich.

Katie: I am not paying for that. I did not ask for fish. I’m sorry we misunderstood each other. I want avocado on my sandwich.

Gare Maman #2 proceeds to spoon up the smelly “sandwich” fish concoction and deposit it back into its holding tank. After scraping the bread sufficiently free, in her opinion, of the fish, she redecorates the soiled baguette with avocado. This may come as a surprise, but even more surprising might be our heroine’s reaction. She accepts the original baguette with more than just a trace of malodorous fish goop. Katie asks for a little more avocado mix than might be given for the standard price, no longer deterred and now ravenous. Gare Maman #2 obliges.

Katie: Thank you. Goodbye.
Gare Maman #2: Eh. Bye.

Katie walks off into the sunset toward her village, her little black plastic bag of avocado sandwich swinging in hand. Drained of vim and at a complete loss for vigor, she is ready to dine on her sandwich in the comfort of her home. She approaches some zemidjans. NOW she is ready for a ride over the longer distance. She begins price discussion with one and must immediately reach into her deepest reserves of patience and energy. When are these discussions ever quick or easy? Unfortunately, it would be some time before our heroine got to enjoy her sandwich. But that’s a story for another day…

*Dialogue translated, as appropriate, for your convenience