20 Sept., 1980

Dear Dad,

Where can I begin? Where am I? In Abidjan, of course. Abidjan again. Abidjan, Abidjan, Abidjan. Say it as fast as you can and you come up with a mumbo-jumbo word. What can I say about these boogies? They aint boogies. They's Betes, Dioulas, Gueres, Ebries, Baoules, Agnis, etc. You name it. The night watchman at the C.A.F.O.P. was Gourou. He taught me a little Gourou lingo: manama idale (I say, come here), manama igo (I say, go away). He didn't know how to write. He spoke French like Gourou. He wanted a gift from me because I was leaving. He wanted a photograph so he could kiss it. He imitated a television by clenching his fists and bringing them up and down together. He did this along with making a funny sound. Houphouet Boigny wants at least one T.V. in every village in the Ivory Coast. This is what I've heard. In Daloa I saw a T.V. on a table with everybody watching it on a porch. They were watching the "Muppet Show" in French.

"Serigne Touba Benna-reck-la", is what you say to a Muslim Senegalese while shaking his hand. If he laughs you say, "Serigne Touba Amoul Morom." This means that "Serigne Touba is one" and "Serigne Touba has no equal". Serigne Touba is some famous Senegalese Muslim leader. It's Wolof lingo. It's guttural like Arabic. I met this Senegalese Muslim in Gagnoa. Before I knew it I was praying with him on his mat facing the East. Now I'm a card carrying member of the Gagnoa section and my new name is Seydina, who was the first man to say yes to the Prophet Mohammed. He couldn't understand why I didn't pray. He asked me if I wanted to. I said yes. He was tall and very charming. I received a very warm feeling from him. I felt safe with him and I trusted him. I felt that he would never hide anything from me. He invited me to his humble house three times for dinner with his friends. His wife was Bete. One eats with one's right hand when one eats Senegalese cuisine, and at any African meal, for that matter. One always washes one's hands before eating in a bucket of water with soap. Then everybody gathers around the large pan filled with rice in a tomato sauce with manioc, fish and indigenous eggplant. The rice is moist enough with the tomato sauce that one can squeeze the rice into a ball. It is difficult to do, the simple act of squeezing a ball of rice. I heard her speak Bete to her brother who came to visit her one night. Her husband doesn't understand it. Truly, French is just the surface of all these lingos underneath.

My school is in Duekoue ("Joe-kway") in the west in the forest region near Liberia. It is a sub-prefecture with a doctor and a telephone. It is a town, not a village. I will be leaving for Duekoue this Tuesday with Phillipe, the driver of the Peace Corps, and with a Peace Corps representative. I deserve a formal introduction because I will be the first Peace Corps volunteer to go to this town. It is in Wobe and Guere country. Phillipe told me not to mention that they have eaten human flesh in their past history. I will probably be eating a lot of monkey meat.

The photo enclosed was taken in Daloa before we became volunteers.

I've been writing in a journal as much as possible. There is so much to write down. One's memory surely is an uncertain asshole.

That postcard you received which was in French is for Mitchell Imhoff, the French graduate student. I don't have his address so I sent it to you.

How is everybody? I got the birthday card from Mary Ann. Thank you, dear. I got the one, with the photos, from Mom too. Thank you, mom. Keep writing your dull letters, mom. They are a real booster. And, of course, keep sending your letters, Dad. They keep up my spirits.

Love,
Matt