For the first few nights in Abidjan, the Embassy put us up at the Capitol Hotel, where I completed the bulk of my existential crisis. After that, Tim had booked us at another hotel for a few nights to buy me some time at the start of this adventure. The place was excellent – a cheerful little hotel named Villa Mango with great outdoor space, fantastic breakfast included, and a top-notch group of people who run it. Being in this new place was the antidote to my freakout. But still, the next task was to find housing for the year. I knew this would be challenging, but I retrained my brain to believe this task would be no big deal. Truth: My retrained brain often sucks at seeing reality.

With the help of a new colleague from my university, we set out to look at some apartments. While the apartments were very nice, each had a fatal flaw, mainly the price. As it turns out, generally, the price quoted for apartments is well over the asking price. The expectation is either a) you are an American and can afford it, or b) you are an American who can’t afford it, but you don’t know how to negotiate respectfully in French to get a better price. I fell solidly into group “b” in this scenario. (I have also learned that the quoted price includes the cleaning person who comes multiple times per week to clean your apartment. Delightful, but unnecessary and expensive.)

We looked at a couple of apartments that were way out of the price range on a Friday, but one smaller apartment would be available starting on Sunday. We set up a time to go back to the complex to view it, assuming that it would be more affordable because it was smaller. Assumptions……you must know how this goes by this point. Ha! Wrong again!

After we left, I thought I would check in with the landlord by text to see the price and be sure it was in my range. Shocker! It was not. I lamely attempted to negotiate by text but quickly recognized that I was out of my league. In an effort to educate myself and get a local opinion about all of this, Tim and I spoke to the super nice owner of Villa Mango and explained the situation. He agreed that I was being taken advantage of and advised me on how to proceed. Then he said, “It’s too bad that they make you go through all of this for only ten months. It’s not that long. They should have a good place for you to stay, one that is safe and comfortable. Kind of like this place…….”

So that is essentially how I began to live for the next 10 months at an adorable hotel (I’m actually going to be moving to his other property called Villa Cacao, which is less hotel and more guesthouse). This place is like a colorful, African Wes Anderson-inspired film set with an even more colorful group of people in charge. The best part is that there are many people (both workers and guests) to chat with, my French is improving every day, and my minor fear of feeling lonely is a nonissue. Yay for good luck!