Since arriving in Abijan, I’ve wanted to visit the artisan’s market, which has handmade goods from around Côte d’Ivoire and other parts of Africa. I had seen pictures and read about it but had yet to visit. I knew going would be challenging because all the prices are negotiable, and negotiation is not a strong skill for me. I had read enough about the market to know that I would have to use every ounce of my capacity in French to make some purchases and pay the correct price. That’s why I put off going for so long.

Finally, one Sunday morning, I woke up feeling brave. This day was going to be my market day! I reasoned that if I went on the earlier side of when the market opened, I would have more success because it would be less crowded and, therefore, less stressful.

I took a Yango across town to the market. When I arrived, I saw how uncrowded the market was, but I failed to consider that my Whiteness was even more on display in a less crowded market. Within seconds, people called out to me from every stall and walked toward me to lead me back to their stand. Um. No.

My amygdala (the fight or flight part of the brain, as we know from our trauma-informed teaching ;)) turned itself up to 11. “Do not run!” my brain said to my feet. My feet listened, but only barely.

Less than 5 minutes after my arrival, I took another Yango home. I was not brave that day.

The next day at my English class, my students asked me what I did on the weekend. When I told them that I went to the artisans market, they screamed in unison, “By yourself?!?!?!”

Apparently, Ivorians know that White ladies need an escort at the market.

A scene from my local bakery: Happy birthday, Amir! I hope your party was great!