Eve White: Literary Agent

from THE FURY OF THE GODS - TRAVELS IN WEST AFRICA

And so I arrived, wide-eyed and shockingly naive, in the chaos and oppressive heat of Abidjan airport. It was already night-time, but so hot and dank and airless in the heaving arrivals lounge that I started sweating immediately. I was swept along with the tide of people swarming towards the luggage carousel, where excessive numbers of blue-uniformed porters fought each other for customers, immediately targeting the few white passengers (a harried-looking mother with her three young children, two nuns, a handful of business types, and me). I managed to grab my rucksack and push my way doggedly towards the exit, resolutely refusing all offers of assistance. Outside it was still breathtakingly warm, with the merest tantalising hint of a musky breeze. I hailed a taxi and simply asked the rather bemused driver to take me to a cheap hotel. "C'est Madame ou bien Mademoiselle?" he asked me brazenly, looking at my left hand. At that point I did not realise that the appropriate response, given with a measured laugh, was "Mais, c'est Madame, bien evidemment", while flashing an ostentatious faux wedding ring. Instead, I told the truth. The driver duly took me to the aptly named Aime Ton Prochain in the quartier populaire of Marcory. It was a decrepit building, accessed via a dark courtyard filled with whispering voices and the occasional giggle. There was a faint but definite smell of raw sewage. The driver insisted on accompanying me inside, where he talked with the man sitting at the dimly-lit reception desk. The man glanced at me coolly, handing me a key and nodding towards the stairway. I thanked him and said goodbye to the driver as I went to climb the stairs to my room. “Mais, allez!” exclaimed the driver, indignantly. “On va prendre un verre!” he said, trying to put his arm round me. I managed to shake him off, insisting I was far too tired, and ended up giving him a $20 dollar note to enjoy a drink in someone else’s company. He eventually accepted, but left looking somewhat offended. My room boasted a semi-clean bed, a creaking fan, and a washbasin replete with used condom, hair-filled comb and small colony of cockroaches. I would find a better place tomorrow, I told myself cheerfully, and fell immediately asleep.