La Sorbonne: Where Ivorians Stretch Free Speech to the Limit
With a few skirmishes with the authorities, it has succeeded every regime since Boigny’s demise. Even the reprehensive regime of Robert Guéí managed to turn a blind eye to what happens at La Sorbonne located within a decrepit 12-storey building along Boulevard de la Republique on the other side of the lagoon called the Plateau […]
With a few skirmishes with the authorities, it has succeeded every regime since Boigny’s demise. Even the reprehensive regime of Robert Guéí managed to turn a blind eye to what happens at La Sorbonne located within a decrepit 12-storey building along Boulevard de la Republique on the other side of the lagoon called the Plateau and home to a flurry of commercial concerns of Abidjan.
Here is one building which like others on the Plateau, is in dire need of a makeover. It is eerily silent at night and residents swear that the things that go on there once darkness falls could be the subject of anything ranging from pulp fiction to hardcore pornography. In the daylight, La Sorbonne takes on a different air of boisterousness. First, the adjoining shops are open and so are the myriads of television sets, GSM accoutrements and bootlegged videos as well as computer accessories.
On the putrid and soothe-covered inside are conundrums of culinary activities, ranging from maidens selling Athéké, a staple food to tea and baguette or croissants to roasted plantain and groundnut or stewed rice and fish. But nothing disturbs the quadrangle, half the size of a football field on which is laid a hundred or so plastic chairs in a round formation. ‘Students’ begin to arrive at 9.00 a.m. but perhaps unknown to them; activities here start about an hour earlier. The direction or administration of the open air university gathers very early to review the day’s press. There are a motley of twelve to 22-page newspapers appearing every morning on the Ivoirian landscape. These are quickly read and digested by the director which consists of a bloated stomached president, a gangly looking scribe and several other officials. The headlines are then reviewed with inside information, said to be provided by security officials loyal to the ruling government. Then, the classes begin – a three-tier session which is expected to take the gathering to feverish frenzy and close at 6.00 p.m. or so it seems.
Truth is, La Sorbonne closes, but its ideals are replicated shortly after close to be regurgitated in several other similar gatherings dubbed le parlement and scattered not only across Abidjan, but other major towns of Cote d’Ivoire’s 19 prefectures, the equivalent of states. The people who gather here are mostly young below the age of 40 years. Chief Scribe, Madje Abel, swears most of them are degree holders unable to find formal employment. But when they speak, it is not against the system that makes them jobless that they rile. No, it is against colonialism and French influence as if political independence was not pronounced in these shores fifty years ago. When the speakers speak, it is not against Laurent Gbagbo, the man who has held their country and future captive for ten unbroken years. No, it is against the French.
The building itself looks like something out of a civil war, except that it does not have the pock marks of bullets riddled through. There are windows without windows and doorways without doors and being invited to the secretariat of la direction takes as much courage as jumping off the point of no return. I clung firmly to my bag feeling with my fingers for my laptop, my camera, my purse, and asking why I had not left them where I lodged. A part of me asked what I was doing here but the reportorial part responded that I was on my daily beat.
As our feet felt for the steps in this totally dark stairway, the putrid smell of human faeces and urine nauseatingly obstructs my nostrils cutting off supply of life-giving oxygen. My chaperon tries to calm my nerves with an apology for the unlit stairs but on my mind was the hope of making it back in one piece with my instruments of work intact.
Madje who received me warmly setting aside his share of maize for after the interview, describes the arena as a university and every speaker as a ‘lecturer’ who get’s ‘paid’ out of the generosity of his ‘students’. There are mornings, afternoon and evening sessions, interspersed with commercial breaks during which hawkers of all sorts of products ranging from herbal medicine to pirated recordings of famous videos or documentaries and speeches of political allies are sold in the open.
My mind went to the last speaker I had just listened to. “My dear friends”, he quips, “before the advent of Gbagbo, the Ivorian government used to be run by the French. In fact, there used to be a tunnel, running through the presidential palace and the residence of the French Ambassador. Imagine the absurdity. This ambassador was received and accredited by the President, but whenever France wanted to say anything, it would summon the president and he would run through the tunnel to answer the ambassador’s call. When Gbagbo came to power, he was thus summoned, but he asked the ambassador to wait and while he was waiting, Gbagbo sent for the Chinese envoy. When the Chinese came, Gbagbo asked him to please bring him cement from China. When that was done, he asked them to help him block that passage and after the deal was done, he (Gbagbo) sent his wife (who is a man in a woman’s appearance) to ensure that the work was well done. Simone, Gbagbo’s wife, certified that the work was done. So, today, Cote d’Ivoire is free from the stranglehold of the French…the ambassador knows now where true power lies. That is the truth my people.”
His speech underscores the rapprochement towards the Chinese who have a beautiful cultural centre overlooking the Plateau on the other side of Cocody and are said to be the new brides of business under Gbagbo. This speaker, dressed in a shirt made of Ankara and a green trouser to match would not go like the others. He openly requested for donations and as he faced different parts of the square, he levied them. ‘I need 500CFA from this side’, he’d say and turning to a larger crowd ‘and 1000CFA from here’ to which the jingling of coins rained from all sides. A young urchin gathered the coins for him and he makes sure that they enter into the safety of his pocket before he continued his harangue.
Back in the secretariat, it was beginning to rain and the windowless crevice was proving to be no deterrence to the howling wind. We find a spot away from the rain and with my recorder, we began a long boring interview after eliciting an assurance from me not to make the transcripts available to any French news channel. It must have been the RFI sticker on my tape recorder giving the impression that I was an agent of the French.
He explained that only a few weeks back, the French Channel, France 24, had clandestinely set up its cameras on the adjoining Hotel Tiama and filmed the entire proceedings beaming it live to its international audience. The anger was palpable. On Abel’s voice is an air of support for Gbagbo and his government, anger against the opposition whom he accused of being stooges of the imperialists and hope that whenever an election was scheduled, Gbagbo would beat his opponents and la Cote d’Ivoire would continue on its march towards progress, peace and development.
It was difficult to envisage this. On its own website, the result of 3,285 voters showed Henri Konan Bédié in the lead with 41.3% of votes. He is followed by Gbagbo with 33.9% and Ouattara in the third position with 23.3%. Yet, Abel would want to see nothing but a Gbagbo continuation. The Ivoirian constitution gives Gbagbo another term of five years in spite of the impasse which has lasted five years after his first term expired. These youths are Gbagbo’s legmen. La Sorbonne uses the communist inspired cell system to expand its followership and propagate its ideals. But observers say that they are no match to the opposition who have silent followers too scared to profess their loyalty in public.
For all the angst against the French, in Cote d’Ivoire, the Euro is the currency of international commerce, not the US dollar as is in other lands. For most educated families, there is a citizen resident in France, repatriating the much needed fund that makes the family gets by and there are scores of others waiting on the queue for visas.
Madje chucks at talks that his group gives no platform for the opposition. “It is a platform for all. The only difference is that, here, you don’t come and tell lies and go unchallenged. We have people who know the truth and who would challenge your tissue of lies. So perhaps, the opposition are afraid of getting exposed. But they do come from time to time.”
The platform has fought a losing battle with la Mairie or the Mayor’s office. The Mayor wants to take over the building for its administration, but with support of the group from the central government, his ultimatum have come and gone and la Sorbonne continues to thrive.
Aren’t they, as youths ashamed to pitch tent with the political class whose acts have ruined a once buoyant economy and scared investors? Madje jumps at the reporter with his tongue – “We are Ivorians. We want our country to progress but what have others done for us? For example, what did your great country, Nigeria do for us in our moment of crisis? What did Obasanjo do for us? We were told that he was going to send some troops here to protect us against the French, but once he spoke to the French authorities and they warned him to steer clear, he withdrew his planes. Do you think we do not know what is happening in your country? We read all the stories, the entire political crisis and the ritual murders. You people should go and solve your problems in your own country.”
While the average Ivoirian struggles for daily existence, the administrators of La Sorbonne continue to enjoy state support and to feed fat on state resources for the sustenance of the status quo. The last set, he explains with a smirk on his face, are the new captains of industry who refused to be satisfied to follow in anyone else’s footsteps but chose to go where no-one else had trod and left their footprints. These are the merchants of Abobo-Kouté owned and controlled by the Ibos as Abidjan’s modern spare parts hub. They bring in their wares from Nigeria, but have import routes going as far as Dubai. These set include the residents of Adjame where the Yorubas run the show dealing in the plastic business. They are the occupants of the three hectares of land at Yopougon trading in the largest second-hand market, perhaps in Africa.
Chief Simeon Adeyemi, a first generation Nigerian and President, Nigerian Community in Cote d’Ivoire, could be a typical example of the first set of migrants. He came to Abidjan in 1957 and has remained have except for frequent returns home to marry and to see to the welfare of his family. The new set of Nigerian business migrants have proved extremely powerful. For instance, back in Treichville, when a native advertised his parcel of land for sale, a Nigerian and a Lebanese expressed interest in buying. In such deals, the highest bidder wins, and that bidder was Angus, the Nigerian who beat the Lebanese to the deal and within three months, erected a three-storey marble plastered building which stands as a monument to the influence and economic prowess of the enterprising Nigerian spirit.
Chief Adeyemi speaks in past tense of business days. He is bound to do so. He belongs to the old school of migrants without the educational savvy to trade in an ever-competitive business environment. His shop in Kumasi, another quartier of Abidjan with a large swathe of Nigerians, is quite modest although from it he keeps body and soul together. He recalled the days when Abidjan was the financial haven, but laments that the war has reduced the towering economic giant to a struggling leprechaun. Adeyemi’s two wives and children call Nigeria home, though their father has houses in Cote d’Ivoire. Everywhere Nigerians go; they leave an indelible mark, but hardly forget their home. They also stick together, vanished are the usual squabbles and ethnic brick brats that characterize politics and social life at home. The Nigerian community in Cote d’Ivoire appears to stand for each other.
If you ask Chief Patrick Opara, grand patron of the community and its former president, Nigerians are a good people, even though he beefs the younger generation for insubordination, he agrees that Nigerians in Cote d’Ivoire are a bunch to be proud of. The evidence of the resilience of Nigerians dates way back. For a country with a strong catholic background, it was not easy for any other denomination of religious persuasion to thrive. But the Nigerian spirit saw to the establishment of the first Baptist Church in Macoury, another suburb of Abidjan. It took its founders a tortuous trip to Dakar for approval and not getting it, they moved on to Ghana where they eventually obtained the approval. Today, the church stands and within its expansive compound also stands a primary and secondary school with a long distance NCE programme in its second year. Perhaps, the next step would be a Nigerian built university. It is not an impossible dream.
While keeping local politics at arm’s length, Nigerians in Cote d’Ivoire are not impervious to the political manoeuvrings at home. Twice, Chief Opara had attempted to launch a local chapter of the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP). The last effort even came with posters and was scheduled to have taken place at the Centre National des Arts et de la Culture (Arts and Culture Centre) in November, but the hot political climate at home and the eventual death of President Umaru Yar’Adua scuttled it. Opara has not given up on making it happen. He launches an appeal to the PDP national secretariat to give it a concrete date and explains why, in his mind, Nigerians abroad should belong to the ruling party. He says it is to present a united front to any known or imagined enemy of the country and portray a positive image.
The Nigerian community in Cote d’Ivoire are so organized they will stand up for any citizen that is stranded either in transit or otherwise. Emmanuel Meregini is the protocol officer who liaises with the Nigerian embassy to ensure this. He says that ethnic and religious considerations peter out once a Nigerian needs help and suggests that perhaps, given the rancorous political climate at home, it would take a Nigerian resident in Cote d’Ivoire to come and help us build a nation where ethnic and religious considerations would have no meaning. Danjuma, a Kano-born Nigerian, is secretary of the community. Together, they run the enviable Nigeria house in the true spirit of a people with one destiny. Perhaps, Meregini’s wish would be the next project – after Goodluck Jonathan.