Reading comics yesterday evening reminded me of some of the joy I found in reading the Aya series during the spring. Although I had first encountered the series several years ago, I foolishly dismissed reading it until several conversations with comic book aficionados led me to consider it. And I am glad I did so. Marguerite Abouet and Clement Oubrerie's collaboration produced an excellent comic series in a setting usually ignored by most Western graphic novels or comic books. The series and the film based on it tell stories of normal, everyday people who happen to live in Abidjan, Ivory Coast.
Although much of the Western media conception of places like Ivory Coast would lead one to think there is nothing there but misery and suffering, stories like Aya demonstrate the humanity and complexity of lives in Global South places often overlooked. Through the central character of Aya and her family, friends, and acquaintances, the series also manages to confront social issues (sexism, racism, immigration, homophobia, single mothers, marital infidelity) while delivering entwined stories imbued with the local color, sentiment, and vibrancy of 1970s Abidjan.
The artistic style likewise succeeds. The lively use of color, line, and detail brings the dusty-streets of Yop City and its denizens to life. The film, unfortunately, fails to capture this magic, but brings with it the sounds of 1970s Ivory Coast to great effect. Oubrerie's artistic style, however, manages to avoid the zany, over the top cartoonish feel of The Rabbi's Cat. His stylized approach to drawing the human form, capturing a variety of details, hairstyles, and non-cliched backgrounds is simultaneously realistic and abstract. There's an almost hazy, uneven color palette and design that almost captures a 1970s feel, perhaps akin to a harmattan season in Ivory Coast.
The late 1970s were perceived to be an era of prosperity for Ivory Coast. Unlike other countries in West Africa, the nation's economic growth, political stability, active musical scenes, and beginnings of consumer advertising (represented by TV ads in the film adaptation) suggest a highly sophisticated, cosmopolitan Abidjan, connected to Paris, the US, and international developments in popular culture. Indeed, the homosexual hairdresser looks like Michael Jackson, while Aya and her friends exhibit a cultural chic and style that's hard not to love. Their slang, expressions, and desire for youthful entertainment (dancing, dating, socializing with their peers) are universal and particular.
Yet, Yop City is no beaming city on the hill. Social inequality exists, with Moussa's father being a great example of a self-made bourgeois who thinks little of Yop City's working-class and poor. The disconnect between the seemingly "modern" capital and village life is similarly stark, as those left behind in the village seem to fester in poverty or superstition while their urban migrant kin struggle to find work. Some, like Aya's father, work for a company and achieve status, others toil as mechanics, barbers, market vendors, domestics, or, in one case, a delinquent pretending to be a successful man in France who lives off his mother. Aya's friend, who becomes a single mother who cannot rely on her child's father for support, is forced to grow up faster by working as a fried food vendor in the local market.
In addition, the characters must confront sexual harassment (Aya and her biology professor), homophobia (the hairdresser who confronts it both in Ivory Coast and France), bigotry (the hairdresser's travails in France to find lodging, love, acceptance), unfaithful spouses (Aya's father), and "traditional" values in a rapidly changing social context. No longer moored in the "village," and living in the topsy-turvy era of superficial economic progress, Aya and friends experience all the contradictions of modern life in the Global South. Perhaps that is part of the success of the series, its universal features. Indeed, while reading it, I could not help but think of Haiti, perhaps a Port-au-Prince of the 1970s captured so well by Dany Laferrière. There a similar dynamic of young people struggling to make their mark in the world while uncertain political and economic conditions threaten to unravel every decision. Aya achieves this for young women in Abidjan while ravishing the reader with the complications of quotidian existence in a place not too different from one's own background.
Unfortunately, the only major flaw to Aya is the lack of a proper resolution for the series. The film drops several storylines and, unsurprisingly, feels rushed. The comic, however, also feels like it ends prematurely, without a proper send-off for the characters. What happens with Aya's half-siblings? How about Moussa and his father after the latter is finally tracked down? There is a conclusion, albeit fleeting. It's almost as if these engaging characters are only willing to share the stories of their lives with you for an afternoon, then disappear without a trace. I know Abouet continued the series through Aya's younger sister, but I was hoping for a greater climax and emotionally satisfying ending. There are several possibilities for a sequel, too, such as the Ivorian migrant experience in Paris. Or what becomes of Aya in adulthood, presumably finished with her university education and a professional? Will she still see her best friends, despite their different outcomes and ambitions? What about the status of young women in Abidjan of today? I suppose the only thing left to do is to try Commissaire Kouamé for Abouet's other comic series set in Ivory Coast.
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