We live in an area of Dakar called Ouakam. It’s nicely situated between downtown, where you’ll find my office and Tamara’s school, and the beaches of Les Almadies and N’Gor to the north. We’re tucked away from the main road by about 25 meters of gravel path ending at a wrought iron gate. Beside our little three-room home there is a bachelor’s flat where a Senegalese lady lives, and across from that there is a larger single story house used by vacationers usually coming from other African countries. Walking behind our house you pass a second story home where a family lives on the way to the main courtyard. In the courtyard there is a swing set and a pool, which these days is more of a larva puddle for mosquitoes than anything else, and past that you’ll find the crowning achievement of the whole property, a giant baobab tree. Across from the baobab is the school for handicapped children.
When we first arrived there weren’t any kids yet because it was still summer holidays. But with each passing week, little by little, the little people marched into school and now it is full. There are probably 15 kids all together now. In the beginning it took a little bit for them to warm up to our presence. We started with a salaam aleikum here and a na nga def there. One afternoon, a couple of weeks after school started, a few of the more adventurous children approached Tamara while she was using the computer in the shaded Wi-Fi zone (which we somehow lucked-out getting for free with a faint signal) in our yard. They asked her name and how she was doing and Tamara did the same, in Wolof and French. The kids smiled and laughed, some more shyly than others, and seemed pretty content to have a new playmate. They surrounded Tamara and proceeded to poke and prod at the computer screen. To avoid the laptop becoming the newest plaything for the kids Tamara gave a quick yet courteous au revoir and since then we have had a whack of miniature Senegalese friends in our backyard.
Proceeding to the back of the courtyard you will find what I would call the students’ quarters. There are about ten little rooms, five on each side, all with a screened door facing out to a walkway that encircles the building. At the far end there is a dining room and a kitchen. In the centre of the building all of the rooms give access to a hallway, which leads onto the shared bathrooms. Our friend Emile, a student of literature from Burkina Faso, is staying in one of the rooms. In three of these other pads live our French Canadian friends Anne-Marie, Marie-Helene and Mathieu, or as Tamara would call them, “the Kwee-bek-kwa and Anne-Marie”. The five of us have shared in a few trips, a few adventures and a lot of “Settling of Catan” since we arrived.
Walking up that path to the Cheikh Anta Diop highway we pass a Catholic school, a square of living quarters for nuns and the church Notre Dame des Anges. We rent out our home from the church and the sisters take care of the any maintenance issues. Sister Rita, or lovely Rita as I like to think of her, is the Madame who takes care of the property and collects our rent. One of the first times we saw her she was speeding into the courtyard at the driver’s seat of her SUV, tinted windows rolled down and shades on. She hopped out of the Ford onto her short legs and flipped open her cell phone; some business needed attending to. A formidable flip-flop wearing force of a woman, she is always issuing instructions and charging someone with some task. Whether it’s tending to the garden, fixing our lock or supplying us with purple, ant-eating gel, she’s perpetually a woman on the move. We think Whoopi Goldberg must have researched the life of Sister Rita for Sister Act.
So that is our little world, tucked away from the sputtering engines and black fumes of Dakar’s busy streets.
Tuesday 25 November 2008
Friday 7 November 2008
Obama-Maniafrica
Thank God for the BBC! And for portable, wind-up radios! All day Tuesday I was feeling more homesick than I have since heading out a little over a month ago. It wasn’t family or friends that I missed, nor was it even a craving for Second-Slice pizza on a Friday night. No, it was the idea of missing out on the biggest world event since the war in Iraq started. And by world event I don’t necessarily mean the most costly, the most fatal or the most terrifying. I mean what is on the tip of every tongue, “Obama-Mania” a.k.a. the US Presidential Election.
I was sad that I was going to miss CNN with Wolf Blitzer and those seizure-inducing flashes of red and blue across the sensationally named “War-Room” video screen. Or that I wouldn’t have a chance to flick between Peter Mansbridge’s baritone voice delivering insights into the race or Lloyd Robinson’s dour portrayal of US politics.
But luckily enough, and thanks again to BBC Radio, Tuesday night we found ourselves huddled around our wonderful little radio, playing cards and listening to the initial projections for the US Presidential Elections. By 1am we knew that Indiana was in the Obama camp and that South Carolina was with McCain, but not much else. I set my cell-phone alarm for 5am Dakar-time (GMT) and slipped off to sleep with the radio still chattering away in the soothing accents of BBC commentary.
We woke up at 5. I admit, my first feeling was of fear. What if McCain had actually won? What if when I turned on the radio I heard instead of reports of the promised parties in Ghana and Kenya, utter disappointment? But my worry was put at ease moments after I wound up the radio and flicked it on. Obama was giving his acceptance speech! A big smile came across my face and I felt as though Dakar itself was smiling as well. In fact it sounded like all of Africa was smiling. Throughout the BBC broadcast reporters situated all around Africa had been reporting how there was such a great sense of expectation. People were prepared to stay up all night to watch the results and to party all morning if it was an Obama victory. In Obama’s father’s town in Kenya they had set up a theatre-sized screen so the whole community could watch the election together. In Accra attentive well-wishers gathered together in bars and restaurants, where they could conveniently watch the results and then grab a beer to celebrate without having to give up their seats. And in the days leading up to November 4th every other conversation I had with people in Dakar had touched upon the election, Obama and their support for him.
During his speech Obama gave a shout out to those of us “in the forgotten corners of the world huddled around our radios”. Hah! That was us. It was nice of him to recognize his supporters all over the world. And he probably realized that if everyone who was listening and who felt that the US Election was important to their future all had a vote, the tens of millions counted in his favor would have been a drop in the bucket compared to the hundreds of millions or more he would have amassed from those states outside of the 50 that counted. As for McCain, he could only hope to pick up a few votes in Alberta.
Obama-mania is alive here in Dakar. Educated professionals talk about it with reserved optimism. The man on the street, in our case mostly taxi drivers, burst with enthusiasm when we bring up the topic. “Obama is good for the world. Everyone is tired of war.” Our taxi man said on Thursday. “Since the war gas prices have gone way up. We are tired of war.”
Many of my friends in Dakar have made the point that their support for Obama is not because he is black (where I point out that his mom is white, but he’s almost always referred to as black and only black), but because of his message. Vision and policy put aside, one did say that he didn’t like the stiff way McCain moved, where I explained that that was due to injuries sustained in his POW past. But it goes to show you, if you want the youth vote in Dakar it helps to dance a good Mbala.
A coworker stated the obvious that “Everyone likes Obama. Everyone appreciates his message.”
A friend gave the most pointed summary. “Now we know that the United States is truly a democracy. Now that they have voted for a black man. We know that really anyone can become the president of the Unites States, including a man who’s father came from Africa.”
I was sad that I was going to miss CNN with Wolf Blitzer and those seizure-inducing flashes of red and blue across the sensationally named “War-Room” video screen. Or that I wouldn’t have a chance to flick between Peter Mansbridge’s baritone voice delivering insights into the race or Lloyd Robinson’s dour portrayal of US politics.
But luckily enough, and thanks again to BBC Radio, Tuesday night we found ourselves huddled around our wonderful little radio, playing cards and listening to the initial projections for the US Presidential Elections. By 1am we knew that Indiana was in the Obama camp and that South Carolina was with McCain, but not much else. I set my cell-phone alarm for 5am Dakar-time (GMT) and slipped off to sleep with the radio still chattering away in the soothing accents of BBC commentary.
We woke up at 5. I admit, my first feeling was of fear. What if McCain had actually won? What if when I turned on the radio I heard instead of reports of the promised parties in Ghana and Kenya, utter disappointment? But my worry was put at ease moments after I wound up the radio and flicked it on. Obama was giving his acceptance speech! A big smile came across my face and I felt as though Dakar itself was smiling as well. In fact it sounded like all of Africa was smiling. Throughout the BBC broadcast reporters situated all around Africa had been reporting how there was such a great sense of expectation. People were prepared to stay up all night to watch the results and to party all morning if it was an Obama victory. In Obama’s father’s town in Kenya they had set up a theatre-sized screen so the whole community could watch the election together. In Accra attentive well-wishers gathered together in bars and restaurants, where they could conveniently watch the results and then grab a beer to celebrate without having to give up their seats. And in the days leading up to November 4th every other conversation I had with people in Dakar had touched upon the election, Obama and their support for him.
During his speech Obama gave a shout out to those of us “in the forgotten corners of the world huddled around our radios”. Hah! That was us. It was nice of him to recognize his supporters all over the world. And he probably realized that if everyone who was listening and who felt that the US Election was important to their future all had a vote, the tens of millions counted in his favor would have been a drop in the bucket compared to the hundreds of millions or more he would have amassed from those states outside of the 50 that counted. As for McCain, he could only hope to pick up a few votes in Alberta.
Obama-mania is alive here in Dakar. Educated professionals talk about it with reserved optimism. The man on the street, in our case mostly taxi drivers, burst with enthusiasm when we bring up the topic. “Obama is good for the world. Everyone is tired of war.” Our taxi man said on Thursday. “Since the war gas prices have gone way up. We are tired of war.”
Many of my friends in Dakar have made the point that their support for Obama is not because he is black (where I point out that his mom is white, but he’s almost always referred to as black and only black), but because of his message. Vision and policy put aside, one did say that he didn’t like the stiff way McCain moved, where I explained that that was due to injuries sustained in his POW past. But it goes to show you, if you want the youth vote in Dakar it helps to dance a good Mbala.
A coworker stated the obvious that “Everyone likes Obama. Everyone appreciates his message.”
A friend gave the most pointed summary. “Now we know that the United States is truly a democracy. Now that they have voted for a black man. We know that really anyone can become the president of the Unites States, including a man who’s father came from Africa.”
Saturday 1 November 2008
Watch out for the Cockroaches!
Last weekend Travis and I went to the movies. Along came Anne-Marie from Ottawa and Marie-Helene from Montreal. Together with another Canadian, Mathieu, they constitute our little Canadian family living with us at the Centre. We arrived a bit late at the theatre, so Mission Impossible 3 had already started. Yes indeed, no current blockbusters here! Admission was about $1 (since 6:30pm is still considered ‘matinee’), and after passing several ‘no smoking’ signs we were led into an extremely dark, large room. From the noise and rustling it seemed to be full, but it was impossible to see anything of the audience even though the screen was lit up. We sat down in some very dirty yet comfortable movie chairs (most of which were broken), and settled in to watch the show. Suddenly the sound of clicking filled the room as the audience as one lit up, the cigarette smoke wafting to the ceiling in a big cloud. The room was clearly some kind of old garage, because it was like watching a movie in a tin can. The echo and sound quality was so bad that even the native French speakers among us had a difficult time understanding. As a dubbed movie, the words didn’t match the lip movements, so lip reading was impossible also. Luckily about half of MI3 consists of Tom Cruise running, rather than conversing, so it was still entertaining for all. During the climax of the movie, Tom Cruise rescues his wife from evil-doers, and then electrocutes himself. He then lies motionless for several minutes while his wife performs CPR on his lifeless body. Just when you think all hope is lost, Tom gasps for air, sits up and grabs a gun. That is the end as far as the Senegalese are concerned. After this moment the entire audience got up and left the theatre, with a good 10 minutes of the movie left to go. Our small Canadian contingent stayed until the lights came on, at which time we noticed that all the seats in front of us were benches or chairs with no cushion! As we made our way to the theatre exit a big cockroach scurried under foot...
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