Listen Hear
February 29, 2008 | Filed Under Uncategorized | 3 Comments
I’ve decided Fridays are a good day to let people know about cool music, movies, recipes, etc. that I’ve encountered here in Senegal. And in the way that I’ve always been inclined to push my opinion on others, cultural suggestions are no different.
WATCH: Yesterday I read about a new movie out by Youssou N’Dour (Senegalese singer — great). His documentary is called “Return to Goree,” and in it he takes a look at the relationship between American jazz music and the island off of Dakar where many American slaves came from (I already blogged about my trip to Goree). I haven’t seen it yet, because it was just released in the States, but I’m gonna go ahead and blindly recommend you see it if you’re in New York, Chicago or LA (where it’s been released as of now).
LISTEN: Ali Farka Toure is a Malian blues musician who will change your world if you let him.
READ: This one’s got nothing to do with Africa, but it is about a jungle. My friend Katie “to witty for her own good” DeSplinter just landed a gig blogging on the “Tyra Banks Show” website. Her column’s about being single in LA, and I feel lucky enough to have been witness to many of DeSplint’s stories back at Big12 on a Mizzou Friday afternoon (when we were supposed to be in J-school classes. Whoops). Click here if you want to laugh:
http://telepicturesblog.warnerbros.com/tyrashow/2008/02/single_fierce_meet_katie.php
And, for the totally unrelated picture of the day—yesterday my friend invited me to spend the night in the guest bedroom of his swank pad, because he knew I hadn’t had a hot shower and a decent salad in way too long. Besides the Western comforts, I also got some great conversations. Ronnie has worked for the World Bank for nearly 20 years, so we talked a lot about development in Africa, as well as our thoughts as ex-pats living abroad. He’s seen A LOT of the world, so I got to pick his brain. Good times. PLUS… I got to wake up to this view this morning…
And eat breakfast with this view… 
niiiiiice.
Fish Fry
February 28, 2008 | Filed Under Uncategorized | 1 Comment
The first task Saturday at Toubab Diallo involved some nice beach time..
And here’s me.. ummm… Rocking Out? No? Too cheesy?
After Daria and I left the beach, we met back up with Ibson and Jose, because they wanted to show us how to cook fish the Senegalese way. First, we walked about a half mile or so along the village paths to a woman’s house. Every night, the fishermen come in from the shore to sell their fish to the women, who then sell it to the rest of the public.
After we bought the fish, we walked to a local boutique to buy the rest of the supplies: butter (a few scoops dipped out of a plastic container and put into a plastic bag), onions, pepper, mustard, vinegar, and the secret to all Senegalese dishes: Jumbo (a spice). We also bought a couple loaves of bread to accompany the meal, but I convinced them that we did not need white rice, too.
Then we continued walking to Ibson’s house…
After arriving, Daria began cutting up the onions, and Ibson built a fire where we would cook the fish.
The dish we made is called “Poisson Braze,” and to make the sauce, we simply cut up the onions and mixed them with the spices, mustard and vinegar. After the fish was finished, we had three plates: One with a bunch of fish (whole fish – with the scales still there, heads and everything), one with the sauce, and one with the pieces of the bread.
The four of us sat over the plates, and we’d pick the meat from the fish (it came off easily), then take a handful of fish and dip it into the sauce. I decided to make it into a little bit of sandwich by putting it on the bread slices. I can’t IMAGINE being ok with this process of eating with my hands over a couple big plates with three other people just a month and a half ago. But under the midday sun, while we all sat outside and could hear the ocean nearby and birds chirping, it made me so happy. It seemed so natural, and at the risk of sounding like a little hippy, it made me feel closer to my food and where it comes from, as well as the people whom I share it with.
After a full meal, we all walked back down and jumped in the water for a bit. Not a half-bad day.
My favorite picture.
February 26, 2008 | Filed Under Uncategorized | 2 Comments
To continue on with Friday night, which included the taking of my most-favoritest picture—ever (at bottom of post)… After stopping at Ibson’s house, the four of us walked down the dirt path on toward the local party.
On the way we stopped at large house on the beach, and Ibson and Jose told us it was a Bifall House. Bifalls are Muslim men who dress in patchworked boubous and pants, and their lives are dedicated to Marabouts. Marabouts are spiritual leaders whom many Senegalese will go to for guidance. The theory behind a bifall is that they ask for money, and they give all their money to the Marabout. Then the marabout is able to live off that money and dedicate the rest of his time to dispensing religious wisdom and aide. So basically, the way I can relate it to my world, is that Bifalls are full time Church Ushers. It is of course more complex than that, but that’s the best analogy I can develop within my world.
Turns out, Ibson and Jose are Bifalls. Each summer, they go to their Marabout’s home and work the fields for him. Then, after the harvest, the Marabout gives all of his food to neighboring villages to help feed the poor. My impression of BIfalls is they are very hippie meets Rastafarian meets Muslim meets African. Peace is their main motto, and from the time we first met Ibson and Jose, they would constantly remind us, “We just propose ideas, we don’t impose.” This applied from everything to dinner plans to religion.
At the Bifall house, most of the men were sitting on the terrace, which was a large stone porch on the sand, just 20 feet from the Ocean. It was a nice moonlight view:
The Bifalls were all preparing for the Magal—the religious pilgramage to Touba, which is actually taking place today. Touba is Senegal’s religious city, and every year many of the Senegalese Muslims take a few days to a week to drive for hours and visit the Mosque in Touba.
But we were on our own ‘pilgramage’ to this dance party that night, so we said au revoir to the Bifalls and continued down the beach. We could see the house where the local party was from the bifall house, and we could hear the Jimbe drums calling out rhythyms.
Once we stepped inside the open air terrace, I was immediately entranced. There were about nine or 10 Jimbe players on one side of the stone porch, and they faced about 12 dancers. The dancers faced the drums, as if the music and the movement were in some sort of dual.
The party was a celebration of the end of a dance school graduation, so there was a group of like-dressed women, who were mbalaxing in a choreographed routine. It was great, but my favorite part came afterward, when the routine stopped and the improvisation began.
After the large group of women left the “stage,” the area opposite the drummers was left empty, and a large group of people stood around the space bouncing to the rhythym and facing inward. The jimbe continued, and so every minute or so, someone would jump into the open space, and aggressively dance toward the group of drummers on the other side. Let me take this moment to try and exlplain Mbalax, though I’m not sure how words can do it justice.
The drums are frantically fast, and at first listen you can’t imagine how someone can dance to that beat. And often they don’t—rather they’ll find an underlying rhythm to move to instead. Whether they choose the fast or slow beat, it’s amazing. They bend and flail their arms and legs frantically, they THROW their bodies into the music. It’s a dance that seems almost convulsive—joints bend and arms and legs are hurled outward in a passionate frenzy. Somehow through the violent jolts of movement, the dancers exude a strong grace through the chaos.
It’s a dance of opposing forces—it’s disciplined yet liberated, it’s graceful yet frantic, it’s uninhibited and strong while at the same time controlled and loose, and the dancer throws her arms and legs toward the audience and the drummers, while keeping a steady core in the center of the her body. It reminds me of how life in Africa seems so free from constrictive rules and regulations, but that freedom can lead to unpredictable chaos, so if you can’t find the zen and patience within yourself, and keep that zen and patience within reach at all times, you most likely will let that instability overcome you.
SIDENOTE: This is my favorite picture that I have taken thus far—in my life. Usually it’s hard for me to choose favorites, but this one is it. Hands down.
Ridiculously Beautiful Weekend
February 25, 2008 | Filed Under Uncategorized | 4 Comments
Africa gives me all these moments I never knew I wanted to have. This weekend was a long series of those moments “flabbergasted to be in each other’s presence.”* Thus, the next few days’ posts will be dedicated to 48 of the best hours I’ve probably ever had.
On Friday afternoon my friend Daria and I set out for Toubab Diallo, a tiny village on the coast, south of Dakar. We had already made reservations at Sobabade for Friday and Saturday night, and I was excited for the petite vacance.
But first we had to get there, which is always a fun game full of bargaining, navigating and mostly good guessing and going with your gut. From our neighborhood we took a taxi to the Gare de Pompeii, which we knew to be the hub for vehicles that are heading out of Dakar. That part was easy.
Once we got to the Gare, which I foolishly thought might have some sort of station or building, we were bombarded before we even stepped foot out of our taxi by a man asking where we wanted to go. The Gare de Pompeii is a large parking lot, packed to the brim with rusty, ancient station wagons that look like they should have been put to rest along with Great Aunt Edna, back when she stopped driving it in 1987. In between the haphazard rows of non-congruently parked cars; vendors, drivers and riders fill any free space there is—all focusing on their own targets.
We told the aggressive dude that we needed to get to Mboor (we were actually going to Toubab Diallo, but from Dakar we had to get a car toward Mboor. Along the way, we knew we would be dropped off (though we didn’t know where) and we would have to catch another ride to Toubab Diallo (though we didn’t know how).
But at the Gare, it was our lucky day. The aggressive dude lead us straight (well, after he tried to get us to hire a private car), he lead us straight to a Sept Place that had just two spots left. One for me, one for Daria. Let me take this moment to explain the splendidness that was this Sept Place. First of all, a Sept Place seats seven people and the driver (Sept means seven in French). The system goes like so—the Sept Place takes on person by person until it is full, then it is ready to go. That’s why we were lucky to get one with just two spots left—no waiting. There are no air conditioners in a Sept Place. I sat in the back row, in between Daria (who swore the exhaust pipe was actually being funneled back into the car through her window), and a very nice Senegalese woman. IT took two men to close the back door, because it was basically off its hinges, so they had to lift it up and push it in. It took three men to close the trunk.
The roads in Dakar are full of potholes and random large rocks, and I doubt most people from the U.S. would even call them roads. (To prove this point, the other day my friend and I were walking down the street, and we were commenting on how nice the road we were walking on was, and we could just not get over how amazing the street seemed and how it reminded us of home, but we didn’t know why. Then we realized—it had a line down the middle of it!)
Ok.. now, I’m not complaining here. I’m just doing my best to explain the situation. IN all honesty, I was loving every minute of it. The only thing I was worried about was the fact that my camera bag was in the back, and what if that loosely hinged door flew open and my D300 ended up underneath a large Senegalese bus? Besides that, I really didn’t even mind the heat. And Daria’s always up for an adventure, so we were both just content enough.
Two and half hours later we checked into our hotel—hot and sweaty, but pumped for the weekend. The hotel was made up of five or six buildings, mainly outdoors underneath huts, and the décor was a specatalce of swirling shell patterns clinging to windy stair cases and turqouise stones dotting the entire façade. Earthly beautiful.
Here’s the view I directly from the window just above the bed..
After showers, we went on a food hunt. The moment we stepped outside the hotel a Rasta-looking man—tall with shoulder-length dreads and a blinding smile—greeted u and asked us what we were up to.
WE told him we wanted to walk around the village and he offered to show us the sights. Now here’s where you can either hit the jackpot or step on a land mine. If you say yes, you might get a nice local who will divulge great places to eat, local knowledge about culture and exciting places to dance, in exchange for the occasional food and drink. Or you might get some dude who won’t leave you alone an dinsists you do this or that during your stay, all the while trying to rip you off.
Daria nad I were both starving, so we were too tired and too desperate to stave off the one-man welcoming committee, Jose. We complied and followed him down a path into the village.
It started off as a small tour, and we walked through the Grand Place—basically a small open, sandy space that serves as the town square. The children were running, playing, laughing and dancing. One boy was on the roof, shaking his booty. Daria pointed to him and said; “Look, a Little Mousa!”
We told Jose we were really hungry, so he walked us down to the beach to a small seaside restaurant, Chez Baby. Daria ordered Bissap juice, I got a coffee and Jose asked for a Coke. After a quick menu glance, Daria and I decidd to split two crepes—one with chicken and one with banans and chocoale. While we waited one of Jose’s friends, Ibson, showed up and we all began a lengthy discussions about traveling, because Ibsopn hass been to Europe many times with his Reggea band.
After travels, the subject turned to langagues, and Ibson and Jose began teaching us some new Wolof phrases. The Wolof discussion continued after we ate and left the restaurant, and we headed down the road. We were going to stop at Ibson’s house and then continue on to a local dance party.
As we walked, the small village pths, the sole light was the full moon, and I kept making everyone stop while I took photos.
… to be continued…
*Note: I stole the “flabbergasted to be in each other’s presence” part from the movie, “Waking Life.” It’s a great film, you should watch it.
Tea Time
February 22, 2008 | Filed Under Uncategorized | 5 Comments
There I was—sitting on a Dakar rooftop with three bunnies and a few friends as I learned how to make Ataya. The moon was pretty bright, but it would soon be blotted by a lunar eclipse.
Here in Dakar, most people take Ataya (tea) about three times a day. But it is by no means the iced tea Americans drink on a hot summer day. This is tea on steroids. This is tea emboldened with so much flavor and strength you must sip—or slurp, to be polite—as you tip the small hot, clear glass to your lips.
Every day at the Baobab office, I’ll walk through the kitchen and witness Mousa (the guard, who doubles as Tea Master), boiling water in a small tin tea pot and pouring the condensed tea back and forth from small glass to small glass as he prepares one of the three teas of the day. The process has fascinated me from the first time I saw it for two reasons: One it takes FOREVER, and a great deal of patience to make about 4 ounces of tea, and two—it tastes SO GOOD.
The first tea of the day is strong and bitter—to give your day a jump start. The second round is laced with mint, and on the third go-round they add jolts of sugar for a sweet end to the journee. All three rounds are (usually) using the same tea they began with, while adding ingredients and water as they go along.
I don’t remember whether I told Mousa (my brother—not the guard), that I wanted to learn how to make this tea, or whether his offer was just a good effort, but his friend Moudu has become mine (and a couple of other Americans) “Prof d’Ataya.”
Every day everyone will gather at our house, huddle around the small propane tank that is the typical Senegalese stove (admission: when I first arrived and saw these propane tanks everywhere (people make Ataya for themselves in the streets all the time), I actually told someone I wanted one of those “cute little stoves that everyone makes tea on” when I got back to the States. Those “cute little stoves” are what nearly every Dakar resident uses as their one and only stove, because…umm…I’m in Africa. Duh). Anyways, so everyone gathers at our house for Ataya making, and occasionally a couple of the Toubabs join in for a lesson.
The first time I tried to learn, I kept searching for some “recipe” or “system” to how this was done. The process seems so complex to me—so much pouring back and forth, waiting, adding sugar, etc.—I only thought I could wrap my head around it if there was a method to the seeming madness.
One thing that’s always true: you use four little clear glasses each time:
There is rarely a definite method to anything here. One of our favorite American sayings, when something goes haywire is, “Ah, well—everything here is just a suggestion.” In the U.S., when you ask for directions you receive specific instructions: “Turn left at Main Street, then take a right at your second light and the store is on your left.” EVERY single time I’ve asked for directions here I’ve gotten the same response: Someone outstretches their arm, points their finger and says, “La bas,” (Over there). In the States when you want to know when someone will meet you, they’ll give you a time: “9:45” Here it’s always: “A tout a l’heure.” (Basically—“Later”…if you’re lucky you might get a “Bientot,” which means “Soon.” But my FAVORITE is when you ask when something is going to happen and you get an “Apres.” (After). To which I always respond: “Apres QUOI??” (After what). And to which THEY always respond: “APRES!”)
That all being said, why should the tea process be any different? During my first tea lesson, I watched as my Tea prof kept on pouring and repouring, adding some sugar, and I searched for some recognition of a formula I could recognize and remember and repeat.
A few things I gleaned:
You use Chinese green tea (loose)
You measure out one glass of water for every two people
When pouring the tea back and forth, go slowly and raise your hand up high.
I never noticed this need for a method, recipe, maps that I had, until I came to Dakar. I am constantly searching for the specific way to do something or get somewhere. But here in Senegal, you are more apt to figure things out as they come along, because that’s the ONLY option. You watch the kettle, and when it boils, you add the sugar. There are no timers or measuring spoons. You wing it.
The entire Ataya process is unreasonably awe-inspiring for me. ME! The girl who thinkgs a microwave is the only cooking apparatus you should ever need, the girl who one college friend decided to nickname “Iggy”—instant gratification girl. I can’t believe I relish waiting and watching nearly an hour to make a few ounces of tea.
The longest part of Ataya making is the constant pouring back and forth from glass to glass. This is done to mix the tea, but it also creates a foam (Mousse), and that’s where the real artistry comes into play.
To get this mouse just right, you pour the tea back and forth from glass to glass, but you must pour it slowly, raising the glass you’re pouring from up high above the other glass as the tea waterfalls below.
Through the MANY repetitions of this, you get the mouse to come to the top. There are many subtleties to the process: put three fingers on the glass, and your pinkie on the bottom. Leave a little bit of Atay in the other glass.
And after it’s done (how do you know when it’s all done? You just know. The mouse is just right, basically). But after that you pour a little water over the outside of the glasses, being careful not to spill the mouse, and voila, you serve. I even started to get kind of decent at it. Patience and all.
As my friend Daria said, “I think it’s a multi-houred thing.”
Fighting Malnutrition
February 21, 2008 | Filed Under Uncategorized | 1 Comment
On Monday I photographed an event for the World Bank. One of its projects is “Cellule de Lutte contre la Malnutrition.” It’s an effort to combat malnutrition and reduce the infant mortality rate. My friend Ronnie at the WB said it’s an inspiring program that’s actually making a great impact. After a press conference in the afternoon, the powers that be convened in the evening to announce its advancement and have a small celebration. It was a new challenge for me to do the party pics thing in French, but all in all it was a great experience. Plus I met some great women from D.C. who were in town to coordinate the press conference. Here’s a couple of shots from the musicians during the evening. I have to go through more of the photos later, but these are the purtiest/most artistic. 
Sew Good
February 20, 2008 | Filed Under Uncategorized | 2 Comments
A few weeks back I went to Pikine with a case worker from Dakar to photograph the schools out there. I posted a few photos afterward, but I didn’t get the chance to share these from the girls school that teaches embroidery and sewing. One of my favorite aspects of these photos is that these girls just have these looks on their faces like every teenage girl in the world has most of the time. The “Man, I would so rather be doing something COOL.” face. I guess some things are just universal. 
Kicking Stereotypes in the Arse
February 19, 2008 | Filed Under Uncategorized | 4 Comments
Disclaimer: This is my opinion, and my humble opinion only. I know it’s probably a big no-no to talk about my thoughts on both race AND religion, but well, I want to. Also—right now in Dakar the big news story is the Muslim community’s reaction to homosexuality (their formal response is that homosexuality is NOT acceptable, at all). Ok–those are my warnings—now read on.
Last night a Senegalese friend and I were talking about the United States (he’s never been), and when I told him he should visit sometime, he casually responded:
“Mais, tout les Americans ont peur des Muslims.”
“But all Americans are scared of Muslims.”
This subtle wave of sadness washed over me.
There was no malice in his voice, and he wasn’t blaming or condemning, he was just stating what he thought to be fact. (Race, religion and gender are addressed differently here. They’ll often say a white person is like this, or a black person is like that. It’s rarely ill-spirited, it’s just less PC, and honestly quite refreshing. Because, in fact, YES I am a white American.)
I told him that “No, not all Americans were scared of all Muslims,” and I kind of went into American defense mode (even though he wasn’t being offensive). I asked how could he say that, when in the U.S., there are plenty of Muslim communities—in addition to black, white, Latino, Jewish, Christian, etc. I said it’s easy for him to say that, because here in Senegal, literally almost 100% of the population is Muslim and black, so there’s not that tension that might exist in the U.S. And despite the tension, for the most part we all peacefully get along. That’s pretty impressive, I tried to tell him and defend my country.
But my journalism experience has taught me that when someone becomes defensive, it’s usually because they have something to be defensive about. And as I listened to the words coming from my mouth (in broken French), I knew why my initial reaction to his statement was sadness.
I realized I was sad not just because he thought it, but because for a large part, it’s true. Maybe not in a “When you see a Muslim walking down the street, you automatically freeze,” way, but there is an unease at times. I can say it’s true, because I WAS SCARED when I came here. Yes, the thought did cross my mind many times that I was coming to an almost completely Muslim country, and what if that meant I was putting myself at risk for harm? The logic part of my brain would kick in and I would remind myself that the extremists who want to harm Americans are the MINORITY, and that I was just giving into some hyper-propagated idea of terror. But when you’re alone on a plane, surrounded by no one who speaks English, and everyone is covered in religious garb and you are being served food that you can’t pronounce, going to a country that you’ve never seen, where you know that nearly everyone in that country does belong to the same religion (in name, if not in practice and ideology) as a group of people who have decapitated and killed people just for being American, well when you’re in that situation, sometimes logic gets drowned out by emotion.
But now, it makes me so incredibly sad to think I was scared of the Senegalese people before I knew them, that I was scared they might want to harm me. Nearly every person I met here has been more friendly and welcoming than I could have ever anticipated.
And the religion—I’ll come home at night and someone will be kneeling on her prayer mat, facing east—and when you see her, you wouldn’t even think to interrupt, because it looks so private and peaceful. And the people here are so laid back and forgiving, because of their faith. Through conversations I’ve had, people will tell me that yes, they want this or that for their lives, but they know the best they can do is try. And if God prefers it another way, then so be it. (Still hard for my self-determination mindset to fully accept this, and I know it will most likely never be the way I completely view life, but it is important to remember that sometimes things DO happen beyond our control. And I honestly believe it’s the way we deal with the things that happen to us—the ones we can’t control—that determine who we are as human beings).
Anyways, I told my friend that if everyone in the U.S. could visit Senegal, I think much fear would subside. And as naïve and simplistic as it sounds, I meant it. So that’s MY foreign relations plan: Required visit to Dakar (not all at once, please) for all US citizens (perhaps instead of paying part of your income taxes one year?).
Oh, I’m SO ready for a White House run in November.
Here’s some of my favorite peeps in all of Dakar—my little brother Mousa and Sister Aminta..
Peace, yo.
February 18, 2008 | Filed Under Uncategorized | 5 Comments
This weekend was full of happenings, but I’ll have to hold off on sharing the news until tomorrow. I’m off this morning to photograph a World Bank event (my first paying gig – yay!), so I’m short on time today.I do want to celebrate the fact that this weekend was my one month Dakar anniversary, which means I’ve gone one month without a warm shower (only cold water here) and a flushing toilet (at my house anyway—the work restrooms have flushing devices). But I could devote an entire post (or 7) to the bathrooms (And I plan to later), so for now I’ll just give a quick shout out to my favorite phrase here:One of the Wolof phrases someone might ask you when greeting you is: “Jaam nga am?” (Have you peace?) The proper response is: “Jaam rek.” (Peace only). I like that it’s “Peace only.” Not just “Yes.” (Sidenote: The Wolof word for “Yes” is Wau, pronounced “Wow.” LOVE that, too.) Okay—that’s my random linguistic diatribe for the day. And to illustrate some “Jaam rek,” here’s a serene photo I took yesterday. (plus another photo of a cute kid—sorry, I couldn’t resist). 
It’s all about the Lighting
February 15, 2008 | Filed Under Uncategorized | 3 Comments
Today I will make my mother and grandfather proud and do a little math lesson. But I’ll do it my way (read: it has something to do with photography, and wouldn’t make much sense to Pythagoras).
Here in Dakar there are very few street lights and sidewalks along the roads, but there are always a plethora of people and cars. And usually there is a swirl of sand casually lingering among the crowds.
So that equation is:
Cars - Street lights from above (x) people + sand - sidewalks = AMAZING SILHOUTTES
It’s my new project to go out and catch these beautiful shadows, and I’m planning on putting together a series called “Dakar Silhouttes” when I get back. Here are a few of the firsts…
