Blog Post 2
Kaitlyn D. | 4.15.2025
We Made It
It was late at night on December 31st, 2023 when we stepped off of the airplane and onto Ivorian soil for the first time together. It was my first time ever, and Parfait’s first trip back home in seven years. Between layovers and flight-time, we had been traveling for almost 24 hours. As I walked, my eyes grew heavier and my feet dragged the ground behind me, but we were finally in Côte d’Ivoire.
As we traversed through the airport in search of the visa booth and customs lines, I couldn’t help but remember how often I had dreamed of this moment in the past 10 years. I had imagined visiting Africa – anywhere in Africa – since I was 15 years old, and now that dream was my reality.
I wish I could say that my heart was racing with anticipation as I stumbled through the airport, or that I had a divinely-inspired moment of angels singing in a Heavenly chorus of dream-realization right there in the customs line, but neither of those things happened. We were exhausted from travel, I still had to get my visa stamped into my passport, and navigating crowds in a country in which I could barely speak the language was daunting.
It took us a short while to find the visa booth – a small, nearly hidden room adjacent to the customs lines. Here, I handed an airport official my pre-printed visa, after which he took my picture and fingerprints, and placed a visa sticker in my passport. Afterwards Parfait and I, both sweaty, achy, and sleep-deprived, finally made our way to customs, where we had to separate into two different lines.
Parfait, as an Ivorian citizen, was sent to one side of the room. I was sent to the other, in a significantly longer line. We both knew Parfait would make it through customs much quicker than I would, and it was at this moment that reality struck: when I made it to the front of the line, I would have to speak to the customs official. I stood there, growing increasingly nauseated at the thought, and began scourge my sleep-deprived brain for any semblance of the French language I could muster. I had been studying French for several years at this point, but I hadn’t yet had the opportunity to practice my skills in this context.
The line kept moving. People kept chattering all around me. I kept thinking of Parfait, waiting on the other side of the wall for me.
Eventually, I made it to the front. After some confused looks, hand-signaling, and attempted French on my part, the customs official stamped my passport and I made it through. As I pushed through the door leading out of customs, I saw, just as I knew he would be, Parfait waiting. From there, we went down the hall to baggage claim.
After finding our luggage – and scanning all four of our suitcases and both backpacks again – Parfait’s brother greeted him with a hug and took us to their sister’s home.
I couldn’t see much on the drive, but it was clear that Abidjan was a large city. There were people out and about walking along the streets, tall buildings on every corner, and an overall sense of life and activity outside my window, despite the late hour.
When we arrived, there were many people in the home: family members and friends, people coming and going as they celebrated New Year’s Eve. Parfait’s sister met us at the door and hugged us both. Seven years is a long time for someone to be away from home, and the smiles on the faces of Parfait and his family, their excited conversations, made that 24-hour trip worth every second.
I’m not sure how long we stayed, but we eventually went to a hotel down the road, where we immediately cranked up the AC, threw on some comfortable pjs, and collapsed onto the bed. That is, until 12:00 AM hit and we were greeted with the sounds of what seemed like thousands of fireworks exploding throughout the city of Abidjan in celebration of New Year’s Day. Although neither of us were asleep when they started, and we couldn’t see them from our hotel window, they brought with them a sense of joy and newness as they welcomed us into 2024.
On The Road Again
We overslept – by a lot – the next morning. When we finally awoke around 11:00AM, we had dozens of missed calls from Parfait’s family. I can’t truthfully say we were regretful, though. A comfortable bed and a good night’s sleep was exactly what we needed after such lengthy travel.
After got up and dressed for the day, we ventured outside to wait for Parfait’s brother to pick us up. The sun was bright, the air was starting to get hot and humid, and we could hear the distant sounds of car horns honking and people talking just up the road. Palm trees and brick walls lined our hotel street, with the occasional car making its way down the slightly bumpy road.
We ate breakfast at my sister-in-law’s place, where she had prepared omelets with tomatoes, that were eaten between baguettes and served with café au lait. We ate this meal for breakfast most days while in Côte d’Ivoire, but it was delicious each time. I also met more of Parfait’s siblings that morning, and attempted to speak to them as well as I could – they didn’t speak English, and my French skills were subpar at best. Nonetheless, our conversation went well and I learned more about Parfait as a child.
We didn’t talk for long, though, because it was soon time to load ourselves and our suitcases back into the car and begin the five-hour journey to Presso, the village where Parfait grew up and where I would meet his parents in-person for the first time.
It was on this drive, too, that I experienced my first culture shock of our trip. While preparing to leave, we loaded our suitcases into one car, and Parfait and I were in another car with two of his brothers and a young lady who prepares meals for the family. In our case, there were five people in a five-passenger car for the duration of a five-hour road trip.
This may sound uncomfortable, but it truly wasn’t. It did, however, reflect a piece of Ivorian culture that I questioned Parfait about later: people do not travel anywhere alone. Not out of fear, but due to a sense of collectivism and unity found in Côte d’Ivoire. Anywhere we ventured for the duration of our two-week trip, near or far, we always had people with us. As someone who grew up in the United States, I was more accustomed to doing things individually. I wasn’t used to moving in a group at all times, but this gave me the opportunity to both learn more about Ivorian culture and get to know Parfait’s family and friends more.
During this drive, I couldn’t help but grow increasingly nervous the closer we got to Presso. It’s a universal truth that meeting a partner’s parents for the first time is intimidating, but Parfait and I had been married for two years at this point. Not only did I want to make a good first impression, but I was also concerned about the language barrier. I wanted to be able to talk to them and connect with them, but I knew there would be some linguistic challenges along the way.
In preparation for this, I spent quite a bit of our journey repeating a particular phrase over and again in my mind: Bonjour monsieur et madame. Je suis très content de vous voir. I wanted to greet my mother-and-father-in-law in French when I met them, and I wanted to do it correctly. Although the phrase is a relatively basic, Hello sir and ma’am. I am very happy to meet you, it occupied the most space in my mind while driving.
As we left Abidjan, the scenery gradually changed as we distanced ourselves from the city-scape and entered more rural territories. Red dirt kicked up behind our car has we traversed our route, most of which was lined with thick, bright green trees and farmland growing everything from cassava to mangoes and pineapples. We drove through small villages and towns, passed by markets, and wove in and out of the gradually decreasing traffic. Parfait’s brothers were playing Ivorian music in a language I couldn’t understand, which added to the overall sense of adventure, newness, and anticipation I felt as I sat, pondering and repeating, in the back seat.
In Presso
Eventually, we reached our destination: a compound just walking distance from the village, consisting of two buildings directly across from one another, surrounded by grey brick walls and a gate that closed at night. This compound sat adjacent to one of the family’s chicken farms, with several buildings housing thousands of chickens used both for meat and eggs. As we drove through the walled entrance, we also passed a rather large building filled with sacks of something. I later learned this was where the chicken feed was made. A flock of goats feasted on a plot of nearby grass, children dressed in their New Year’s best milled about, and adults continued their work, occasionally stopping for a break.
When the five of us finally got out of the car, Parfait’s mother was the first to greet us. She hugged Parfait, overjoyed to see him again after such a long time away from home. She then hugged me, after which I greeted her with my over-practiced phrase: “Bonjour madame. Je suis très content de vous voir.”
While someone unloaded our luggage and took it to our room, we went inside my in-laws’ home, where Parfait’s father was waiting. We exchanged greetings, shook hands, and sat down to eat with our family. Although they speak French – the national language of Côte d’Ivoire – they also speak several local Ivorian languages and Fon, a language from Benin. As a linguist, I enjoyed listening to them speak to one another, taking in the sounds of these languages, even though I couldn’t always understand what was being said. Parfait translated for me when necessary, but we were all able to relax and “break bread” together despite our linguistic differences.
Parfait’s parents were gracious hosts. They ensured I had everything I needed, prepared delicious food for us, and went out of their way to make sure I was comfortable. I consider it a blessing to have a mother-in-law and a father-in-law who treated me as if I were their own child. I never once felt out of place or in their way, which made my previous anxieties seem incredibly trivial.
Learning Curve
The next day, we were sitting in my in-laws’ home, finishing breakfast and conversing together, when suddenly we heard the an awful, high-pitched, nonstop scream. I remember looking at Parfait and whispering “What is that?” He mentioned something about a goat, and the three of us – Parfait, his father, and myself – made our way outside. Standing in the doorway, I saw a man pulling a resistant goat on a leash, still screaming.
I learned then that it’s customary in some places to show guests the goat that will be prepared for them. Apparently everyone found this goat satisfactory, because we ate fried goat and a goat stew for dinner that same night. I don’t believe goat meat is a delicacy in the United States (though this was not my first experience eating goat), nor am I accustomed to meeting my dinner face-to-face, but this culture shock is one that I don’t believe I will forget any time soon, if only for the humor of the situation and the tasty dinner we gained from it.
Before we travelled to Côte d’Ivoire, Parfait educated me on several important aspects of Ivorian culture that I needed to know. He told me that we can’t shake hands with our left hands, as this is considered rude. I shouldn’t call his parents by their first names because it is disrespectful – I called them monsieur and madame. And we had to bring gifts to his parents and family members due to the cultural norm of bringing a gift when meeting someone for the first time, or seeing someone after being away for a while. During our week in Presso, I experienced each of these Ivorian customs firsthand.
Because Parfait had been out of Côte d’Ivoire, and thus away from family and friends, for seven years, it was important for us to visit as many people as we could during our trip, giving gifts or small amount of money in the process. I am not sure how many people we visited in Presso or the nearby city of Agnibilekrou, but we stopped by multiple households nearly every day of our trip. In each instance, the host offered us drinks – usually water, juice, or soda – and chatted with our extended family members for a bit.
Each time we visited someone’s home, we shook hands with each member of the household before we sat down, and again before we left. In some cases, the hosts initiated additional handshakes throughout the visit, always shaking with the right hand. Everyone was greeted and goodbye’d individually.
In the midst of meeting our extended family, we also had the opportunity to see Parfait’s elementary school. This school was on the opposite end of the village from my in-law’s home, but was still within walking distance. To visit the school, we walked through the village, stopping to see people along the way.
We eventually made it to the elementary school, shoes covered in red dirt and slightly perfumed by the coffee farm we passed on our route. School had been dismissed for Christmas break at this time, so there were no students around, but we were able to go inside to see the large classrooms, filled with wooden desks and a green chalkboard towards the front. The Ivorian flag sat in the middle of the school’s campus, in-between all of the classroom buildings. It felt like a full-circle moment, in which Parfait was reminded of his childhood, sharing his memories and experiences with me in the very same place they occurred.
Having the opportunity to travel to Côte d’Ivoire with my husband, meet my extended family in-person, and experience the beauty of Ivorian landscapes, languages, and cultures was an incredibly special blessing that allowed us to build memories and more strongly solidify our goals of one day working full-time in Côte d’Ivoire.
Check back soon for Part 2 of our first trip to Côte d’Ivoire together!
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