tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86310211982649320102024-03-12T22:41:05.653-07:00louiseinsenegalLouisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264622412570656602noreply@blogger.comBlogger243125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8631021198264932010.post-38793500243979886212022-07-21T13:17:00.004-07:002022-07-27T08:47:42.006-07:00the end (probably) of louiseinsenegal<p>So I have made the decision to try out the nomadic lifestyle, saying goodbye to Senegal.</p><p>OK, my temporary residence can still be renewed if I visit the Police des Etrangers in Dakar before 2 January 2023, but the likelihood of that is very low. I'm sad, as I liked so much about Senegal - the climate, the music, my local beachside bar with its resident pelican, the baobab juice ... and I should have liked the relatively cheap prices, had I realised that the UK had got so much more expensive over the last couple of years. But the status of older, single white people just made it too uncomfortable a place to live, always having to fend off the young men, and there was also the related constant intrusion of money concerns with other local friends, the reality being that every Senegalese person who has mattered to me, has ended up owing me money, none of which I shall ever get back.</p><p>Practicalities might have made permanent settlement there difficult, too. Medical cover, for example, could become an issue as I get older. & I have absolutely no idea as to the tax implications (if any?) of my temporary residency ever becoming permanent. </p><p>In any case, I want to see the world, and Senegal is not a good base from which to do that. So, whilst there is plenty I shall miss, it is time to move forward.</p><p>On to louiseinlimbo.blogspot.com ! (or, as I now find it listed as, louiseinlotsofdifferentplaces.blogspot.co.uk)</p>Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264622412570656602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8631021198264932010.post-71924712716601280662022-07-18T13:20:00.000-07:002022-07-18T13:20:24.619-07:00delaying the start of my new life<p>The point of returning to London was to do a few administrative tasks before setting out on the next phase of my life - but an unexpected email threw me off-course. It seems that a couple of colleagues I'd worked with some years ago had recommended me to the Executive Director of a small US-based NGO as the ideal person to go to Ghana to investigate a possible fraud. Difficult not to be flattered by such an approach, I couldn't refuse. So I was off to Ghana!!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBWJ8EnUV-r5cA8pj1vj1Z9ya3uKMsaICYMtvVhSgKFKYLknLbn5GJpKIPITDvKY4gzeivE9Ia7F61ZCveNJYdGUl77y6fdTYI-91S_O3ExANe6-dkZuP7wXydHJhpypHE_BBu8nK2Z3apMt5J1jl1XlJAifiSvJ1bFjdXbPXXNSM5JGuvxUsiW8i5/s4760/Accra%20-%20Black%20Star%20Gate.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3504" data-original-width="4760" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBWJ8EnUV-r5cA8pj1vj1Z9ya3uKMsaICYMtvVhSgKFKYLknLbn5GJpKIPITDvKY4gzeivE9Ia7F61ZCveNJYdGUl77y6fdTYI-91S_O3ExANe6-dkZuP7wXydHJhpypHE_BBu8nK2Z3apMt5J1jl1XlJAifiSvJ1bFjdXbPXXNSM5JGuvxUsiW8i5/s320/Accra%20-%20Black%20Star%20Gate.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p>They put me in a nicer hotel than I expected, but there was so much work to get through that I only found time to use the swimming pool once and didn't even find the gym, nor turn on the TV. But I did accept an offer from one of the staff there of a two-hour tour of the highlights of Accra, having realised that on all my previous visits to the country, whilst I'd been along the coast to see the slave forts, and into the interior to see some birds, I had not properly visited the capital city. Not that Accra has any outstanding tourist sites, but I got to see Independence Square and the nearby Black Star Gate (commissioned by the first post-independence president in honour of Queen Elizabeth II), to be driven past the parliament, theatre, etc, and through the more lively and interesting neighbourhoods of Jamestown and Chorkor.</p><p>But I also had to visit some of the partners they work with, one of which was on the shores of Lake Volta - another part of the country I hadn't been to before, and a nine-hour trip including the ferry across the lake, so plenty of time to look out of the window at the countryside but also some (final?) views of the typical life of the region, as we passed through villages and towns along the route. Of course there were birds around too, and a few baboons on the road at one point.</p><p>An unexpected event took place, however, whilst I was staying out in the town beside the lake. I heard a shout outside and the sound of someone running. Through my window I saw someone run past with a fire extinguisher in their hand. I poked my head out of the door to see smoke coming from the roof of the executive rooms, a few doors down from my room, so I grabbed my camera...</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgosHTmn7KYlhdl16mEMzTg8RgZTKWSVTKGo-4njSGsOJ-3nQVMPdUaAKIlk1D74sNBDWxIpKpZAqu3HeP9g3Gpo3xWl_5HZ6-0bn9C8Ua4mXdqYc5QO5WOWPa22U4bs0vCUhT50E_PG1RtnH2CgUn6Iu9N2nX21IruVewHACF37gbzALVej1k_fhCy/s4796/Kete%20Krachi%20-%20fire%20at%20the%20hotel%202.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4796" data-original-width="3522" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgosHTmn7KYlhdl16mEMzTg8RgZTKWSVTKGo-4njSGsOJ-3nQVMPdUaAKIlk1D74sNBDWxIpKpZAqu3HeP9g3Gpo3xWl_5HZ6-0bn9C8Ua4mXdqYc5QO5WOWPa22U4bs0vCUhT50E_PG1RtnH2CgUn6Iu9N2nX21IruVewHACF37gbzALVej1k_fhCy/s320/Kete%20Krachi%20-%20fire%20at%20the%20hotel%202.JPG" width="235" /></a></div>Within a frighteningly short time, that smoking roof had turned into a raging inferno in the hotel room below. The fire service were called, and hotel staff also ran around throwing buckets of water at the building, but by the time the fire was out, three rooms had been gutted, the roof burnt out, and the belongings of one guest completely destroyed. It was shocking to see how quickly a fire could spread.<br /><p></p><p>The colleague who'd driven me there was convinced that I must have found incriminating evidence at the partner's offices, and they were trying to burn the evidence I'd written up in my report, but in fact I'd found nothing wrong at that partner and the culprit was far more likely to have been linked to the comings and goings of the power supply during the time we were staying there.</p><p>In any case it didn't stop me completing the work - and thankfully, with all of the chaos affecting airports during this period, I was able to fly home as scheduled and my luggage arrived back in London only three hours after I did, on the next flight.</p><p><br /></p>Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264622412570656602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8631021198264932010.post-64648024989511917422022-06-12T03:19:00.001-07:002022-06-12T03:19:25.804-07:00in London for the Jubilee<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqZQk8pAHTotDSpwckoF4FOL7Kr0N84Frk4JKMRu_SSZqyU3pHZ_GnM-DH-Vkxk-WC5HBHBnRpTTyj6Ugd0HpokS73Sa17uWM0p3Spe_uzciTQn5BGKJlfYnpSIw_rRn1-gvOMVtUF_Z0dWglEZjU4dkBWeWqwlImlcby2m3AdxtpA9QUy6wR6vNkA/s2622/Platinum%20Jubilee%20-%20pageant%20cake%20with%20corgis.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1838" data-original-width="2622" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqZQk8pAHTotDSpwckoF4FOL7Kr0N84Frk4JKMRu_SSZqyU3pHZ_GnM-DH-Vkxk-WC5HBHBnRpTTyj6Ugd0HpokS73Sa17uWM0p3Spe_uzciTQn5BGKJlfYnpSIw_rRn1-gvOMVtUF_Z0dWglEZjU4dkBWeWqwlImlcby2m3AdxtpA9QUy6wR6vNkA/s320/Platinum%20Jubilee%20-%20pageant%20cake%20with%20corgis.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p>Whilst it wasn't my reason for being in London, I was happy that my visit coincided with the Queen's Platinum Jubilee weekend. In my twenty years of living in London I never once saw the Trooping of the Colour, and the jubilee seemed like the perfect time.</p><p></p><p>So on the Thursday morning I wandered out to the tube, only to hear the announcement that Green Park station was closed due to over-crowding ... a warning as to what was to come. Enormous crowds. Everybody in good humour, fortunately - no pushing, no complaining, no risk of a stampede - but what seemed like millions of people packed tightly along the streets. It became clear that there was no way I would get anywhere near The Mall, nor into Green Park where there were apparently screens showing the events (people had been camping out overnight to get their slots), but I managed to get a slot three rows back from the barriers on Horse Guard's Parade. So I wouldn't see the Queen, nor the actual ceremony, but I could see other members of the royal family setting off in open-top coaches and a few guys in fancy uniforms. Camilla and Kate waved in our direction but there was no chance of a photographic souvenir with all of the waving hands and mobile phones held up in front of me. A little while later we had the fly-past, however, and no-one could block my view of that!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUe0t3yn9Z9Lfk38ENfw4L6NUXc9GiQwIKbtWI1ocgQ2Vgw1_5P0oKpFMovG51IaDYCED8D4LuF600V8ygUB6jPFnz5jvGEplCzg5ci9oCdYzWJzRwjplJbg4JyAXmYpNeU2KY5pPyYjdMH5RL-b-FHkQUiegg3w7cR9hA_J6VfFHN2MwVKW5ZoNj8/s4859/London%20-%20Platinum%20Jubilee%20fly-past%201.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3572" data-original-width="4859" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUe0t3yn9Z9Lfk38ENfw4L6NUXc9GiQwIKbtWI1ocgQ2Vgw1_5P0oKpFMovG51IaDYCED8D4LuF600V8ygUB6jPFnz5jvGEplCzg5ci9oCdYzWJzRwjplJbg4JyAXmYpNeU2KY5pPyYjdMH5RL-b-FHkQUiegg3w7cR9hA_J6VfFHN2MwVKW5ZoNj8/s320/London%20-%20Platinum%20Jubilee%20fly-past%201.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p>I didn't bother making any attempt to see the Saturday evening concert in front of Buckingham Palace - clearly the crowds would be just as big again - but on Sunday I finally chose to miss the local street party (free food and drink!!) and try instead to see the pageant. Which was not too difficult, as I found a place in The Mall with a great view, and the only blocks to photography were the policeman standing guard and the waving arms of the man standing next to me - he'd been there since 6am to ensure a good spot, and was determined to whoop, holler and wave at all of the participants. It was good of him - nicer for the participants to be cheered and waved at than just to face a sea of mobile phone cameras - but slightly irritating at times!</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj443xuJxx8pD2zWJzcnsjvCBfVazqhrQr57ccZt6-LnllpmcI5ArFatQZvJqo7AQK1IVwHNhWVmcFFGgevYv9xnmJA8ys7JtpJZiH_T2lNyBV9DUpp1PntmOpcFSREIIvxAOGXlArVg-pmA_znIhyIsyW6QcygEpk7N6oB89uzABwFN4cHQCobNOrN/s4683/Platinum%20Jubilee%20-%20the%20State%20Gold%20Coach%201.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3409" data-original-width="4683" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj443xuJxx8pD2zWJzcnsjvCBfVazqhrQr57ccZt6-LnllpmcI5ArFatQZvJqo7AQK1IVwHNhWVmcFFGgevYv9xnmJA8ys7JtpJZiH_T2lNyBV9DUpp1PntmOpcFSREIIvxAOGXlArVg-pmA_znIhyIsyW6QcygEpk7N6oB89uzABwFN4cHQCobNOrN/s320/Platinum%20Jubilee%20-%20the%20State%20Gold%20Coach%201.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p>It was a great show - particularly, for me, all of the uniformed men and women from different regiments (representatives from all countries which have the Queen as head of state) who started things off - and this part included the State Gold Coach in the picture above, with a hologram of a younger Queen waving from the window, as the coach (dating from 1762) has no suspension and apparently is too uncomfortable for a 96-year-old woman to ride in for three miles.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD89TPlx9lFwONtktR11W1-0XUqExul4ud2eUjE3mF8ovuXWAfhkcWKnB76FmUgK4FvruzYxaz0B8xiDCIGdpldPEGtj1-t22itfap-SewkHeVczk7Zxx7SRH9Sh8eiCNy1AmJA4y7EDZ7Jbfpc0ZE_U4h-fKtuGMK68g97pTqVcZBksP7djnaG0Jc/s4602/Platinum%20Jubilee%20-%20pageant%2016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3310" data-original-width="4602" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD89TPlx9lFwONtktR11W1-0XUqExul4ud2eUjE3mF8ovuXWAfhkcWKnB76FmUgK4FvruzYxaz0B8xiDCIGdpldPEGtj1-t22itfap-SewkHeVczk7Zxx7SRH9Sh8eiCNy1AmJA4y7EDZ7Jbfpc0ZE_U4h-fKtuGMK68g97pTqVcZBksP7djnaG0Jc/s320/Platinum%20Jubilee%20-%20pageant%2016.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR103pa6KGYiOSMItP7HoYtf-Zl3-pS_YlQRBf0zwLefx0e4isLYKAsEzK2q5e9jLaf2ZmxUaQLfaYL_A-kurXeaEI_JKlAzIJj8vvQ3IpaExDQ-o_DbZ_vy2dCTLSdx98kgnLsnbDHXx8K13biNm4PQe4LSO-X7INZxpzhdkbOWsQpvhLXM7iJgd3/s4470/Platinum%20Jubilee%20-%20pageant%2020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3291" data-original-width="4470" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR103pa6KGYiOSMItP7HoYtf-Zl3-pS_YlQRBf0zwLefx0e4isLYKAsEzK2q5e9jLaf2ZmxUaQLfaYL_A-kurXeaEI_JKlAzIJj8vvQ3IpaExDQ-o_DbZ_vy2dCTLSdx98kgnLsnbDHXx8K13biNm4PQe4LSO-X7INZxpzhdkbOWsQpvhLXM7iJgd3/s320/Platinum%20Jubilee%20-%20pageant%2020.JPG" width="320" /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVXIX_X7Y2kiD-mYwqfjQaNx4hTfl8L8wYzeBTd4kTcd6xrdz0yvcGytYjFgcxAYSSP_HXvZXnc9txo8yK0GbAAUhfRU2vk_EQi-ByB3BgrJ01hlEfI6kA5dICUJtXwm_U_xGki0PKHauik_I0ZYNFjJfggb_oNHTA-0YB_4PLCF-1CUTPaRaWK_jV/s4854/Platinum%20Jubilee%20-%20pageant%2012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3610" data-original-width="4854" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVXIX_X7Y2kiD-mYwqfjQaNx4hTfl8L8wYzeBTd4kTcd6xrdz0yvcGytYjFgcxAYSSP_HXvZXnc9txo8yK0GbAAUhfRU2vk_EQi-ByB3BgrJ01hlEfI6kA5dICUJtXwm_U_xGki0PKHauik_I0ZYNFjJfggb_oNHTA-0YB_4PLCF-1CUTPaRaWK_jV/s320/Platinum%20Jubilee%20-%20pageant%2012.JPG" width="320" /></a></div></div><p>What followed that was a bit strange, although quintessentially English in its quirkiness. A showcase of British culture during her reign, from open-top buses with past and present stars (those I recognised included Tony Blackburn, Esther Rantzen, Chris Tarrant, Mo Farah and Chris Wickes) waving to the crowds, people riding the various forms of transport from the 70 years of her reign (different bicycles, mopeds, classic cars ... even a group jumping along on spacehoppers), representations of her favourite animals (corgis and horses being the obvious ones, but also mute swans - maybe many people don't know that all mute swans in British waters officially belong to the Queen! - and some from Commonwealth countries including zebras, gazelles and giraffes), some cultural icons such as Basil Brush, wombles and Paddington Bear, and a few seemingly random scenarios such as an Indian wedding. Some a bit amateurish when compared to the great carnivals around the world but all great fun, and I was very happy to have been in London during this period.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht3OtfLjs2kgoK8VBayMvXzcqY13KpRFcAyFkRDAGL1W6T3rcANimvrJ96SJZoOg12lWm2Rm3wjrP8hpCif1zShN8xaUSmR2J3CccTwFlaLqktEcbUmloqncbTVaEeVviJxmlIxrxv4BzczOI5GMpWLHBbvFW55qgKLC_DVCMXHwDib_DNmWfuLyc2/s3207/Platinum%20Jubilee%20-%20pageant%20costumes%20I%20can't%20describe%2011a.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2355" data-original-width="3207" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht3OtfLjs2kgoK8VBayMvXzcqY13KpRFcAyFkRDAGL1W6T3rcANimvrJ96SJZoOg12lWm2Rm3wjrP8hpCif1zShN8xaUSmR2J3CccTwFlaLqktEcbUmloqncbTVaEeVviJxmlIxrxv4BzczOI5GMpWLHBbvFW55qgKLC_DVCMXHwDib_DNmWfuLyc2/s320/Platinum%20Jubilee%20-%20pageant%20costumes%20I%20can't%20describe%2011a.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264622412570656602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8631021198264932010.post-33175281047249888252022-06-11T12:40:00.002-07:002022-07-18T12:30:34.450-07:00moving on from Senegal<p>As per my last post, events kind of pushed me into an earlier departure from Senegal than I had planned for. It was a difficult last few weeks, in part from the practical difficulties of living in a friend's front room, in part from having to say goodbye to people when I wasn't ready to, and also due to my inability to make the most of my last few weeks as Ramadan meant there were no concerts taking place and I was in any case spending a great deal of time trying to reduce my possessions to the minimum whilst at the same time trying to chase my former flatmate to recover some possessions that had been taken from the street and put in storage. Ideally I would have spent a week or so in the south of the country re-visiting the initiation ceremonies, and perhaps some time down on the coast south of Dakar, but I was too busy getting things done as well as 'being there' for the friend I stayed with who is currently going through a hard time.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAHQ-1A_LrAZI9s79S2fBCxQuz5hKQUuIoad8pU53FF3qF48lQzseIyWTuMwVs6V5irGq8VSczEc2HXIeoNjVDMgtsymciSu4tqr025uGEviUAXv5NGP6wY-v7g3D7RWucsVEuZhs-mrHxAQt3zTAiWdciDPrJnHzSBCDgLHsdUAoftVWz_vSIm9P5/s3580/facebook%20Dakar%20Mamelles%20-%20the%20backstreets.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3425" data-original-width="3580" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAHQ-1A_LrAZI9s79S2fBCxQuz5hKQUuIoad8pU53FF3qF48lQzseIyWTuMwVs6V5irGq8VSczEc2HXIeoNjVDMgtsymciSu4tqr025uGEviUAXv5NGP6wY-v7g3D7RWucsVEuZhs-mrHxAQt3zTAiWdciDPrJnHzSBCDgLHsdUAoftVWz_vSIm9P5/s320/facebook%20Dakar%20Mamelles%20-%20the%20backstreets.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>I was, however, even more aware than usual of the little things one takes for granted in Dakar that I knew I would miss once I left. The neighbourhood cattle, for example - apparently protected by some form of magic so nobody takes one - but nobody feeds them either so they wander from one pile of rubbish to the next as they make their way round and round our little part of town. Sometimes one gets left behind and moos pitifully until the others come to find him again. I got quite fond of them.<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji9CLzScV1onVbSPIe4LaV5VmhgL0N2cqVvSPcXgOLEmNeFu2rtCmDu3gm00TKrefsXQr55_SITHVtp4l7HuDVC9sVXRjLbJF6rZXuhD3McxxqxDlu9ufjTvKDAM8hrkPyR_kVwN1P0u88ojEcUovBlehWjKQuFrCt5B2avNZ2kBk4p_J7DBNBnQfs/s2679/Dakar%20-%20horse%20with%20teddy%20bear%20driver%201.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2679" data-original-width="1949" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji9CLzScV1onVbSPIe4LaV5VmhgL0N2cqVvSPcXgOLEmNeFu2rtCmDu3gm00TKrefsXQr55_SITHVtp4l7HuDVC9sVXRjLbJF6rZXuhD3McxxqxDlu9ufjTvKDAM8hrkPyR_kVwN1P0u88ojEcUovBlehWjKQuFrCt5B2avNZ2kBk4p_J7DBNBnQfs/s320/Dakar%20-%20horse%20with%20teddy%20bear%20driver%201.JPG" width="233" /></a></div>I also knew I'd be leaving behind the many horses and carts that ply the streets, the horses usually done up with decorated bridles (often covered with cowrie shells) but also some with coloured leather tassels, glittery pom poms - and a recent fashion for incorporating a teddy bear somewhere amongst all the decoration. I asked one of the owners what the teddy was for and he just told me it was 'the driver'! <br /><p></p><p>Of course I knew I'd miss some of the local food and drink, so made sure to eat a mango for my breakfast every day and to drink as many glasses of baobab juice as I could get my hands on.</p><p>I didn't really question myself as to why I was leaving. Despite all the things I would miss - and some of the people there - I would, as a single, childfree older white woman, always be an outsider, plus it wasn't a great base for someone who enjoys travelling as the flights from Dakar are very expensive.</p><p>So I packed as much as I could into one rucksack and one suitcase, sold or gave away the rest, said goodbye to my friends and bought myself a flight back to the UK, where I planned to get a few administrative things done before setting off into a different part of the world.</p>Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264622412570656602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8631021198264932010.post-56322254474274950052022-04-18T10:32:00.000-07:002022-04-18T10:32:01.910-07:00eviction<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>I was just starting the last week of my assignment in Mali when I received an awful message on the WhatsApp group of my flatshare in Dakar. There are four flatmates: a Senegalese lady who rents the entire flat from the owner, and three of us who have individual contracts with her - the sub-tenants. So we each pay her rent on a monthly basis for our rooms and use of shared facilities, and she pays rent to the owner.<div><br /></div><div>Or at least she should do. It turns out that she hasn't been paying it for some months, perhaps as long as six months, and so the owner turned up on Monday last week with some strong men, forced entry, and removed all of the contents of the flat. From curtains and furniture to food and clothes - all of which was dumped in the street outside.</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgRwZEf8HE77dJggpcD0uBZlnEFze6OFalxrDxPuXAz_0dykoh1Oo6Uo5ADSEexAl2IKDwprKS9bWY5okc8HqLcUpRSvFLkThlUJNYi-EhSR_n66SBhVtPvBhEHshzXuhWmQmCn9fc3wTU3zX5yOnrT3K3vPbWgUhbEAqg7tyfXhM0CRngB2ZzWwCd/s923/Dakar%20-%20my%20stuff%20in%20the%20street.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="923" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgRwZEf8HE77dJggpcD0uBZlnEFze6OFalxrDxPuXAz_0dykoh1Oo6Uo5ADSEexAl2IKDwprKS9bWY5okc8HqLcUpRSvFLkThlUJNYi-EhSR_n66SBhVtPvBhEHshzXuhWmQmCn9fc3wTU3zX5yOnrT3K3vPbWgUhbEAqg7tyfXhM0CRngB2ZzWwCd/s320/Dakar%20-%20my%20stuff%20in%20the%20street.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p>Thankfully a friend of mine in Dakar was on hand to take a taxi to my building - above her photograph through the from window of the taxi - to try to gather what she could of my possessions, to be stored in her flat. I owe her a lot...</p><p>It turns out that during my absence the situation in the flat had been worsening, with days with no electricity, or no wifi, because she wasn't paying any of the bills. So my two fellow sub-tenants had each given notice, and neither had paid their final month's rent (so as to recover their one-month deposits), leaving the prime tenant with no funds to pay the rent - although how relevant this is I don't really know, given that she hasn't been paying it for some months. During this time she has been unemployed, and there have been problems with her ex-boyfriend who is apparently a former drug addict who stole money from her, and she was mugged in January, losing her identity papers and her phone. Or at least, that is the story she told me but I cannot say I'm 100% sure that she was telling the truth.</p><p>Now I am back in Dakar, sleeping on the settee in my friend's one-bedroom flat. Going through the stuff she recovered, throwing out the things that got broken and trying to separate the rest between things I really want to keep and things I can get rid of now that I do not have a home here. & having to accept that there is no realistic hope of recovering the rent I'd paid until the end of the month nor of the one-month's rent I'd paid as deposit.</p><p>Deposits, which are often the equivalent of two months' rent, are rarely returned here, and so I'm not keen to seek another flatshare for what would only be a relatively short time. I had in any case planned to leave Senegal in July, to move on to some other part of the world - Covid and wars allowing - so I am now trying to look forward rather than backward and to prepare for an earlier departure rather than mourn what I have lost.</p></div>Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264622412570656602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8631021198264932010.post-53694758553449716832022-04-14T06:57:00.003-07:002022-04-14T06:57:46.109-07:00making the most of the little freedom I have<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfGsk6vbqbD3mllFVqCgFg5sur_jxne8fX9N5Q3LoUTh52fTv8VX6N-0nD-SpvoXmp8BFbpPn9Rh_TjY0HjdX_EggRAf7wFPZ2FCUl2AgyXMbqUAH-iQH_RCe2zU9GxKwKiOr7nxnlcfbopk0LkGVd-Yo_yRBm8l0lHMOk_sZOw48fzBq8L2aD1oxj/s4065/Mali%20birds%20-%20Abyssinian%20roller%202.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2930" data-original-width="4065" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfGsk6vbqbD3mllFVqCgFg5sur_jxne8fX9N5Q3LoUTh52fTv8VX6N-0nD-SpvoXmp8BFbpPn9Rh_TjY0HjdX_EggRAf7wFPZ2FCUl2AgyXMbqUAH-iQH_RCe2zU9GxKwKiOr7nxnlcfbopk0LkGVd-Yo_yRBm8l0lHMOk_sZOw48fzBq8L2aD1oxj/s320/Mali%20birds%20-%20Abyssinian%20roller%202.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />The security restrictions have not lightened, so I am still home- and office-bound, apart from a few short walks around the neighbourhood with my flatmate, enabling me to grab the above photo of an Abyssinian Roller (there's a pair that fly around but won't settle anywhere close other than on the top of lamp posts, but finally I was able to zoom in on this one) and the one below of a tranquil river view.<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlONGQl8g4_mtYmm8fX00VpBVw_C3aMkNsvXBU_DtLA51Jan0lHIvBERaOkfXwokGRz3zymRcRPptf-dZ9euuthDr2-FF3Ivn86_siL9V0moHthyNI7kCdmiqi2krw75S3ED7chK__XSmfu6Z79ViSzQ_z_9N3xYM7OKVB1noZy2N5VOMnLFXKkU83/s4896/Bamako%20-%20view%20of%20the%20river%20from%20Cite%20du%20Niger%2010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlONGQl8g4_mtYmm8fX00VpBVw_C3aMkNsvXBU_DtLA51Jan0lHIvBERaOkfXwokGRz3zymRcRPptf-dZ9euuthDr2-FF3Ivn86_siL9V0moHthyNI7kCdmiqi2krw75S3ED7chK__XSmfu6Z79ViSzQ_z_9N3xYM7OKVB1noZy2N5VOMnLFXKkU83/s320/Bamako%20-%20view%20of%20the%20river%20from%20Cite%20du%20Niger%2010.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div>... which I must say does not capture Bamako at all well, as 98% of the city is anything but tranquil! Although I can't go out, I can of course look through the car window as we travel between home and office (plus a couple of trips into town to meet suppliers, as part of the project I'm working on), and it is fascinating to watch the city in action.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjakOYSgUYzbiDKkTO95gjZdN0pljg-BGxAYNIRYi8tUXIQUguUJIWvD7acdXffp5RLoC_jEZnZIlTf10W33deNc1zvEmqBYsjVF7uOyRfFGspyF56xr_L-bHp7QUBZVs2laQjHaeF_4K_UCfPUSHvk7nWBKe55fdBMF3BuNDP23oXmnW7wt4zSEWCj/s3757/Bamako%20street%20scene%209.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3757" data-original-width="2866" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjakOYSgUYzbiDKkTO95gjZdN0pljg-BGxAYNIRYi8tUXIQUguUJIWvD7acdXffp5RLoC_jEZnZIlTf10W33deNc1zvEmqBYsjVF7uOyRfFGspyF56xr_L-bHp7QUBZVs2laQjHaeF_4K_UCfPUSHvk7nWBKe55fdBMF3BuNDP23oXmnW7wt4zSEWCj/s320/Bamako%20street%20scene%209.JPG" width="244" /></a></div>It is an interesting mix of urban and rural, as people take advantage of any patch of unused land to grow fruit or vegetables, and livestock is everywhere: goats being dragged along or huddled in groups waiting to be bought, cows wandering around looking for food - seemingly totally unafraid of the traffic, which has to give way when one decides to wander across the street - donkeys hauling carts along, and the odd horse tethered to a post too. I still haven't got used to the sight of the animals on the roads or walking along next to a shop, or an industrial plant.</div><br /><div>Sadly I have got used to how dirty the place is. It is dusty, of course, as the dust (fine sand) particles blow in from the desert, but it is also full of broken down vehicles and other equipment, and with rubbish, especially empty plastic bags and bottles, strewn everywhere.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6g5i7FbujB3xCwE3Sqscbu8B14e6XI9TM4JcCnwcld-gyhKO9chRCpuRDzXOGt5y2KfBVMjGUHzC0GKf8tHXe3hRFmUWh2NBVTJgn9qPkbIH3QE-FUT_WGheqv-G22rjc39_0fHS2OrMMNY3KkAam8XRISdEoQymZomY3R4zxdZUJy5-faan7P9sB/s2152/Bamako%20street%20scene%206.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1594" data-original-width="2152" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6g5i7FbujB3xCwE3Sqscbu8B14e6XI9TM4JcCnwcld-gyhKO9chRCpuRDzXOGt5y2KfBVMjGUHzC0GKf8tHXe3hRFmUWh2NBVTJgn9qPkbIH3QE-FUT_WGheqv-G22rjc39_0fHS2OrMMNY3KkAam8XRISdEoQymZomY3R4zxdZUJy5-faan7P9sB/s320/Bamako%20street%20scene%206.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p>I don't want to give a bad impression of this country I love so much, but really, the capital city is not its strongest point, aesthetically.</p>Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264622412570656602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8631021198264932010.post-88774614557823420062022-03-27T03:10:00.002-07:002022-03-27T03:10:16.030-07:00Bogo Ja festival<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxn44a-CGM-SSb-L-nE0cCJws7Bodu_Uo-6QqFA_jvDojWFmudeoYNcM3bu_oiXg_EwYl9UxYFYVA53d8eOkxOUOIMg9C6jdgfnaY7vbdMXH9MLHHa7b9xH-RJrDiEK6c94IGfv9mBng08DNh_WHlXz0nv_mjkt9hK2tv3Cc93upxEtN5qGpX1pTyw/s3076/Siby%20-%20houses,%20walls%20and%20granaries%20painted%20for%20the%20Bogo%20Ja%20festival%2025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2291" data-original-width="3076" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxn44a-CGM-SSb-L-nE0cCJws7Bodu_Uo-6QqFA_jvDojWFmudeoYNcM3bu_oiXg_EwYl9UxYFYVA53d8eOkxOUOIMg9C6jdgfnaY7vbdMXH9MLHHa7b9xH-RJrDiEK6c94IGfv9mBng08DNh_WHlXz0nv_mjkt9hK2tv3Cc93upxEtN5qGpX1pTyw/s320/Siby%20-%20houses,%20walls%20and%20granaries%20painted%20for%20the%20Bogo%20Ja%20festival%2025.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p>My visit to the Arch of Kamadjan was only part of my day out from Bamako. I chose that particular day because it was the weekend of the Bogo Ja Festival in Siby - Bogo meaning mud, and Ja I think meaning sun - celebrating the painting by many of the local women of their houses, granaries, wells, etc in various colours obtained from the local soil. So the village was looking very colourful - mostly in abstract patterns as above, but some real artistic talent was on show on some houses!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrWO176JMoZ26tH7SDGpvX3lXVlj7CHwdQe0G3XpxUcfFFGe_YzCMzrLQZmQjg2KTYn6oWfWqhttQTz0W__YXrNWeNVf-Qiippkdz4O9Vv85ix9rawn8B5ZOP1I0GrCi-ri6UTSpNRDRwjGY2TyNRJfMd8PT06MsLgbJGyFfcxFCKKRcIIdvrNqBfL/s4404/Siby%20-%20houses,%20walls%20and%20granaries%20painted%20for%20the%20Bogo%20Ja%20festival%2023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3227" data-original-width="4404" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrWO176JMoZ26tH7SDGpvX3lXVlj7CHwdQe0G3XpxUcfFFGe_YzCMzrLQZmQjg2KTYn6oWfWqhttQTz0W__YXrNWeNVf-Qiippkdz4O9Vv85ix9rawn8B5ZOP1I0GrCi-ri6UTSpNRDRwjGY2TyNRJfMd8PT06MsLgbJGyFfcxFCKKRcIIdvrNqBfL/s320/Siby%20-%20houses,%20walls%20and%20granaries%20painted%20for%20the%20Bogo%20Ja%20festival%2023.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p>As well as all of the colourful houses to look at, there were activities taking place in the centre of the town - women with painted faces and limbs dancing to some drumming, live local music with calabash, djembes, koras and singing, and a troop of puppeteers in from the capital to display their amazing ability not just to make the regular-sized puppets dance, but also with giant-sized puppets. These latter they wore out into the streets of the town, notwithstanding that it was market day and so the main road was jam-packed already with buses, vans, taxis, motorbikes, horse-drawn carts and any other form of transport that people could find. Their drummers bravely set out in front of them, and the people and vehicles moved aside as best they could, everyone with big smiles on their faces.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyTrWoZnojK54BAvmKpAKLXBJ0dmzpXfIl2xU6HVz0UiHx6cFn0YR6wpseF5Ro3fx6BwW8gFF1swy11Jy3itaGbLzTE22iQm41UCAnudyJg_OnZHV2i4r1RByaia1_nxPBnJECwmIpTX5pnUdChhORgz6-Gic3gtxY5isQ1zXL23ndS8KS5qYC0v7H/s3571/Siby%20-%20marionettes%20in%20the%20street%202.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2620" data-original-width="3571" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyTrWoZnojK54BAvmKpAKLXBJ0dmzpXfIl2xU6HVz0UiHx6cFn0YR6wpseF5Ro3fx6BwW8gFF1swy11Jy3itaGbLzTE22iQm41UCAnudyJg_OnZHV2i4r1RByaia1_nxPBnJECwmIpTX5pnUdChhORgz6-Gic3gtxY5isQ1zXL23ndS8KS5qYC0v7H/s320/Siby%20-%20marionettes%20in%20the%20street%202.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div>On my first day in the office, in my security briefing, I had told the Security Manager that I wanted to go to Siby, and he had said "I think that could be arranged". However, I managed to upset them a week before the Siby festival by asking permission to go out to a concert one evening; I was following the rules I'd been given by asking permission, but rather than saying "no", they decided to give VERY grudging permission (so grudging that I didn't actually go to the concert) and report back to the project manager in the UK that I didn't want to follow the rules! I feared that if I raised the Siby outing at this stage, they would at best say no, at worst report back to the UK again. So I interpreted their initial response to mean that I could arrange to go to Siby (without their further involvement...), and I did so, taking care to use a 'safe' taxi driver (one they had recommended) and to be back home well before dark. Thankfully I didn't break my leg ascending the arch or get kidnapped by rebels, and nor did we have an accident on the road (all too common here - we saw the aftermath of four such accidents that day). But clearly given their attitude towards security - particularly for white visitors who are at higher risk of kidnap - this will be my only outing during my time working here.Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264622412570656602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8631021198264932010.post-63651698770275329342022-03-25T14:35:00.001-07:002022-03-25T14:35:47.090-07:00a day out to visit the Arch of Kamadjan<p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicPsy1V7SVmU5zCvXl9m0NWyKVhrb2uK4fJJBXVhNB1BpiRYTtzWlkYyEIT7-IBDfQX5j7LephHujyC1gX5ksJtHn8bXUQ9jyJo7OkxwNhPVZU5JO5gziEL_vLaYK_80hRE1hoXZxNlt0nP9ZoiwvVlyN0P6FBvidwgHVlckNrv3P-DmXCJdjQpGec/s4896/Kamadjan%20-%20view%20of%20the%20arch%20from%20the%20route%20to%20the%20viewpoint%203.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3516" data-original-width="4896" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicPsy1V7SVmU5zCvXl9m0NWyKVhrb2uK4fJJBXVhNB1BpiRYTtzWlkYyEIT7-IBDfQX5j7LephHujyC1gX5ksJtHn8bXUQ9jyJo7OkxwNhPVZU5JO5gziEL_vLaYK_80hRE1hoXZxNlt0nP9ZoiwvVlyN0P6FBvidwgHVlckNrv3P-DmXCJdjQpGec/s320/Kamadjan%20-%20view%20of%20the%20arch%20from%20the%20route%20to%20the%20viewpoint%203.JPG" width="320" /></a></p><p>My time in Mali is passing quickly, even though I am pretty much restricted to the Bamako office and my accommodation (now sharing an apartment with a colleague so as to save costs). However I have managed to get one day out, when I visited the small town of Siby, some 45km south-west of Bamako.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha2G_KJ4IzEMpIKuyP6m8fZEModULAEwMICRL-mBL32o8OzIqF9avQ6MUtoWqSwoZ4Eev-dFOiA83-wMnMJ4pMQT69O8ZuYFVOXSGUhm_o9RvGtrKf-gdEKBy4T8E8cgEXUuicdjaRQwNNkC4DUqiS4jVAVWqpe9nT0uCSVy0d7SSJl7tjp6g9cW5Q/s4804/Kamadjan%20-%20the%20consultation%20cave%204.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4804" data-original-width="3493" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha2G_KJ4IzEMpIKuyP6m8fZEModULAEwMICRL-mBL32o8OzIqF9avQ6MUtoWqSwoZ4Eev-dFOiA83-wMnMJ4pMQT69O8ZuYFVOXSGUhm_o9RvGtrKf-gdEKBy4T8E8cgEXUuicdjaRQwNNkC4DUqiS4jVAVWqpe9nT0uCSVy0d7SSJl7tjp6g9cW5Q/s320/Kamadjan%20-%20the%20consultation%20cave%204.JPG" width="233" /></a></div>It is well-known amongst travellers for the Kamadjan Arch which is near the village, and I started my day with a walk through the fields to the viewpoint from where I took the picture above. Then we started an ascent, via the 'consultation cave' (where the elders come to ask advice from resident spirits who will speak to them in the early hours of the morning) - here a picture looking out from the cave - and from there up to a point underneath the arch.<p></p><p>It seemed as though that was the endpoint of the walk, but then the guide mentioned that it was possible to get on to the top of the arch although not everyone would make it up. Something between a walk and a climb. I asked if he thought I'd make it and he said maybe not ... but I said we should start the ascent, on the understanding that I could turn back at any point where it got too difficult.</p><p>There were some tricky bits - "put your left foot here", he said, "and your right foot on this rock here..." - but my legs weren't long enough to reach - so I did get lifted, pushed, and pulled a few times! My taxi driver had come with us, having never visited the arch before, but on one of the steeper parts where you had to hold on with both hands he gave up, said he was getting vertigo and would wait for us to come back down. But I made it all the way up (and back down)! It was worth it in part for the sense of accomplishment, and in part for the great views.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn3JWImws5qOFVfKRjUAnu1FroD9wLGXzRLzUVDl-pTLvWefU2Jqx83JAEHEgNwrP4jCck3aGU27ZwzprnNSH5z0on5TkDJ28TNCY3DzVzMXAR-uN9Vncu_kWBaBG1coUFe_w54OPaFk9SUSG_aJ62zB8DzKY9o88HrgqekQydv3u1xqM0JDeZwsyY/s4896/Kamadjan%20-%20views%20from%20the%20top%20of%20the%20arch%204.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3622" data-original-width="4896" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn3JWImws5qOFVfKRjUAnu1FroD9wLGXzRLzUVDl-pTLvWefU2Jqx83JAEHEgNwrP4jCck3aGU27ZwzprnNSH5z0on5TkDJ28TNCY3DzVzMXAR-uN9Vncu_kWBaBG1coUFe_w54OPaFk9SUSG_aJ62zB8DzKY9o88HrgqekQydv3u1xqM0JDeZwsyY/s320/Kamadjan%20-%20views%20from%20the%20top%20of%20the%20arch%204.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264622412570656602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8631021198264932010.post-10916549169173394042022-03-17T14:00:00.001-07:002022-03-17T14:00:24.774-07:00Seeing a little, but not much, of Bamako<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjjUUiczdjFZ3FcoHaMCJmsaMkpEsA8kJYkk8LT3cUhMht-p1rC3W4c1bV4ounubUr06afFBLHiSOI2W15rppKvmAmthFXZHmrC9v-Kov1DyyjuRS1n56xXhm3AgKpPSTNjT3QPJZ77dOEidaBQAl52anPIHlehCGyLE70VsuMGQxQLVMBHFMGDNeNu=s4852" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3446" data-original-width="4852" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjjUUiczdjFZ3FcoHaMCJmsaMkpEsA8kJYkk8LT3cUhMht-p1rC3W4c1bV4ounubUr06afFBLHiSOI2W15rppKvmAmthFXZHmrC9v-Kov1DyyjuRS1n56xXhm3AgKpPSTNjT3QPJZ77dOEidaBQAl52anPIHlehCGyLE70VsuMGQxQLVMBHFMGDNeNu=s320" width="320" /></a></div><p>So, thrust back into the world of work, I have not had time to post an update here. For security reasons they put us in a relatively good (ie expensive) hotel, and when costing an NGO $150 a night plus food, in addition to my consultancy fee, I really feel that I have to work hard; indeed the whole team has been bringing files back to the hotel to work on in the evening and at weekends. Once we fight our way through the traffic, that is. This is a typical street scene at this dusty time of year taken through the car window.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEggRPIJDLk_B-GUxeMHXJ2x6UE6_S7nFiA8Mod_51tiHFVveOaIFyX02ZnKSGT9-0-niseso7kvS2jux4iMkV74IMojmhg_6lbPHydiIE-uCBlLr5WvjTgQuTbsBQB2P9zFv0ScH5vEBvhkv3Sdbsim3Hb9e9C68dCBvWcBjPPgm4X_GoICZh_CspEc=s3024" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2154" data-original-width="3024" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEggRPIJDLk_B-GUxeMHXJ2x6UE6_S7nFiA8Mod_51tiHFVveOaIFyX02ZnKSGT9-0-niseso7kvS2jux4iMkV74IMojmhg_6lbPHydiIE-uCBlLr5WvjTgQuTbsBQB2P9zFv0ScH5vEBvhkv3Sdbsim3Hb9e9C68dCBvWcBjPPgm4X_GoICZh_CspEc=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /> With time out - for me - to get in a few laps of the rather large hotel swimming pool on Saturdays and Sundays! Nice to get to fill up on the buffet breakfasts too - always my favourite meal of the day when staying at a decent hotel, although the sanctions on Mali are affecting the hotel: first the raisins ran out, then the dried apricots, then the cheese....<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh0_Ww0de7IqRN-wIk2IJr4s5qXqtpzj75q_zjEKeWCrupXe1zWs6-Seg5pIEjbPLlCe5y3bvo1hT6anhmArWoBh78QN5_efdZeePUGgP7-5VssOd_M8pNbSKBMBQE48Jq5mLjRPYIiiD8l75YqPpSYFb3MHGFvWxO3RsUIWdbJXznTr1DsO_V5Ymnc=s4140" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4140" data-original-width="2978" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh0_Ww0de7IqRN-wIk2IJr4s5qXqtpzj75q_zjEKeWCrupXe1zWs6-Seg5pIEjbPLlCe5y3bvo1hT6anhmArWoBh78QN5_efdZeePUGgP7-5VssOd_M8pNbSKBMBQE48Jq5mLjRPYIiiD8l75YqPpSYFb3MHGFvWxO3RsUIWdbJXznTr1DsO_V5Ymnc=s320" width="230" /></a></div>Security restrictions by my employer here are tight, but I was able to take a quick walk around the block by the hotel, and snap a picture of one of the two pillars representing Nascent Democracy. Apparently the tortoise at the base, representing patience and wisdom, is supporting the arms and hands of the Malian people, which hold an egg in the process of hatching - being the birth of modern democracy, under the watchful eye and vigilence of the Imperial Eagle. I have no idea when these were erected, but clearly some time before the coup d'etat in 2020... They seem rather ironic at the moment, especially as there is a large poster of the transitional (coup) leader who has said he cannot organise elections before 2027!<p></p><p>I've also been learning a few basic facts about the country, such as the fact that its name comes from the Bambara word for hippopotamus - and the name of the capital comes from the Bambara words for crocodile (bamba) and river. For this reason there are statues around the place of both hippos and crocodiles, including the stone crocodile above, located within the monument to the first president Modibo Keita (being refurbished, hence the lack of water in the pool).</p><p>Now they've moved us out of the hotel so as to save some money, into apartments used by secondees here in an upmarket part of town. Upmarket meaning that we are surrounded by some pretty impressive large houses, but it is still infested with mosquitoes, and security restrictions mean that I am only allowed to set foot outside the apartment block if I can persuade the Togolese lady I'm sharing with to go out for a walk with me, as the office don't want the risk of our going out unaccompanied.</p>Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264622412570656602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8631021198264932010.post-44677265768286786302022-02-12T11:57:00.000-08:002022-02-12T11:57:52.500-08:00back to work?<p>As I was packing up my stuff in late November ready for my trip to Kenya and Saudi Arabia, I received a rather surprising message from a former colleague - someone quite senior at the NGO I used to work for. Was I still living in West Africa? Was I working, or did I have time available? & would I be interested in a consultancy project in Mali for three months starting in the New Year??</p><p>Having been thrust rather unexpectedly into an earlier retirement than planned (or rather, having never previously thought about when I might retire, and suddenly finding myself faced with a fait accompli!), with Covid and the politics generally discouraging me from an early return to the UK and Covid also complicating any attempts to set off on a slow backpacking trip around the world, I had settled rather too easily into life in Dakar, albeit at a level of budget that meant it was not always comfortable. So this did not really feel like an opportunity I could turn down - the chance to earn some money, whilst not really missing out on any alternative during that time period. With the added attraction, in a way, that it was my love of Mali that led to my being told about the job in Dakar back in 2006, and whilst the capital Bamako (where the project takes place) is not part of my reason for loving the country so much, nevertheless it seemed fitting to end my work in the region in Mali.</p><p>So we negotiated contract terms and I signed up to fly to Bamako on 10 January, for a three-month contract. I got a visa sorted out, packed my suitcase, and on 9 January I went along to the Covid testing place to get my PCR test done, all ready to go.</p><p>Only it wasn't to be that simple. The email and Whatsapp message came through late in the afternoon, to tell me that the analysis of my test result was 'inconclusive' and they would have to do it again. then around an hour later, news filtered out that ECOWAS (the Economic Organisation of West African States) were so unhappy about the Malian coup leaders putting off the promised election that they had slapped sanctions on Mali with immediate effect - including closure of all land and air borders. So even if the re-analysis of my Covid test gave the result I was expecting, there would be no flight from Dakar to Bamako the next day, nor indeed for the foreseeable future!</p><p>Cue frantic running around in our NGO offices to try to find a way of getting my colleague and I to Bamako, with the eventual solution being a very long route via Istanbul a couple of days later. However at around midday, my updated result came through from the lab, and I found that I was Covid-positive. A big surprise, as I am triple-vaccinated and was not experiencing any symptoms of infection ... or at least, I hadn't thought I was, but once I knew my positive status I re-evaluated those sneezes from earlier in January and related runny nose 'due to the dust'. My flatmate was also sneezing in response to the dust cloud, but got tested following my result and of course found that she was also positive.</p><p>Two tests later and I finally got the negative result I needed, and a ticket for a long flight to Istanbul, 15 hours there in transit, and another long flight back to Bamako, and on 1 February I set off for the airport - and whilst the car broke down en route, I still made my flight and arrived safe but tired in Mali. As the project pays me a daily rate I was disappointed to have missed three weeks of pay, but it seems that the work has been progressing slowly and they will probably still want three months of my time, possibly even four months.</p><p>& by the most surreal coincidence, on the morning of 1 February I received a message from someone who used to work at my NGO many years ago, now at a different NGO in a different part of the world and seeing that they need some advice and input from someone with my experience; he asked if I would be sufficiently interested in the possibility of a consultancy project there that he could give my contact details to the board of directors. So it really is not feeling as though the world of work is yet ready to give me up to retirement!</p>Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264622412570656602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8631021198264932010.post-55799382267221793112022-02-06T23:42:00.000-08:002022-02-06T23:42:07.542-08:00general musing on life<p>Having been largely grounded in Dakar since my job ended last year, I've had time to reflect generally on life. Perhaps not always a good thing to do, but in my case I feel I have lived a full and rewarding life, for which I am extremely grateful.</p><p>I worry sometimes that I am wasting some of it by sitting around in Dakar (like most people I know of my age, I have become more aware of time passing quickly, and of the fact that it will run out!), but on the other hand it is a pleasant place to be and is not costing me much money (less than I earn in rent on my flat back in London). Plus I know that I am a support for two friends there going through difficult times - and sometimes little things happen that make me smile.</p><p>Like last week, I decided to walk down to an ocean-side bar/cafe, and then home via the supermarket. On the way there, a horse and cart - a reasonably common sight in Dakar - went past me, and the man operating it turned towards me and beckoned to the cart, offering me a lift. I initially declined, but he offered again and so I climbed on, and travelled the rest of the way to the cafe on the back of his cart, being smiled/laughed at by the occupants of the passing cars. He dropped me at my destination, having not asked for either money or my phone number; in return, I did not ask to take a photo. Then on the way home from the supermarket, a large, black 4x4 purred to a halt beside me, and the driver asked if I'd like a lift to somewhere further along the road - again, he asked for nothing in return.</p><p>Then the next day, I went out to my usual Friday afternoon hangout, having not been for the previous few weeks, and for some reason I was plied with drink by friends present there - and two glasses of baobab juice and two of Cote de Rhone later, I had to state very firmly that I did not need someone to give me change for the bus home!! I also went away with an invitation to visit the house and meet the family from one person there - this from a place where people meet but mostly discuss impersonal stuff like religion and politics, so an invitation to peronalise things is quite meaningful.</p>Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264622412570656602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8631021198264932010.post-85793555584768848902022-01-03T05:28:00.002-08:002022-01-03T05:28:37.330-08:00further into Saudi Arabia<p>After the group tour, I had opted to stay on in Saudi Arabia for a few more days, with a friend, so see a few sites in the Asir Mountains region. I wish I had added more time so as to relax a little in Jeddah where the group made only a fleeting visit, but we had to make the most of the days we had, so we took a taxi to the hire car office that the hotel told us was open. One of the most frustrating things about Saudi was that places (offices, restaurants, museums ...) were closed, for no obvious reason, for much of the time, and this was no exception. But once again the Saudi hospitality (or curiosity about foreigners?) was forthcoming, and a man who saw us looking despairingly into the closed windows of the office offered to help, and drove us for twenty minutes to another car hire office which he knew would be open.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhxsP4wWnXqoYbMt76t0tndgFRaDVmJmQenp8E8crcJJIGQkJClfmccm-buXTY6MHaCN8q2JAueDQE4n2Qyo5q42WLaLyv_V7UnFBAgk2xORpRrgv-bhCLTPu55JTxG_SaTmr8SgAwlHWGXGAQFcXBuENwJTsCoU0c-yr1dmxl_3b9btBOr2daEKrpX=s4664" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4664" data-original-width="3350" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhxsP4wWnXqoYbMt76t0tndgFRaDVmJmQenp8E8crcJJIGQkJClfmccm-buXTY6MHaCN8q2JAueDQE4n2Qyo5q42WLaLyv_V7UnFBAgk2xORpRrgv-bhCLTPu55JTxG_SaTmr8SgAwlHWGXGAQFcXBuENwJTsCoU0c-yr1dmxl_3b9btBOr2daEKrpX=s320" width="230" /></a></div>So finally we set out for the south, the first day being just a LONG drive along the (almost) coast road - flat and fairly featureless, with just one or two camels to keep me amused. But on the second day we turned into the mountain area. Where the first surprise was the sight of baboons! There were hundreds of them, swarming around rubbish bins and hanging around any lookout stops along the road, where they scavenged for food. Not very friendly (one irritated male ran over and smacked my foot when I did something that annoyed him), but quite photogenic!<br /><p></p><p>The mountains were fairly bare and rocky, and dotted with old watch-towers and other buildings constructed from the local dark stone with white quartz decoration above the windows and sometimes along the roof line. It was sad to see so many of them crumbling, but there is a national programme that has allocated money for preservation of the heritage, and the village of Rijal Alma is one of the best.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg67gcZSHhlJ18hIXaD3RSL_pj41ivP4cHM0jQ_6za0B1o-ltqwOTNgV2-KMl_qLtdKP2vnC8YT-kLynLPqCdlo3YpTaT21FHFj1Eyw-xBe4p6rtPN20wYakJFtogNhFzEyQwPPDqhwGd0hBPWrIxFNnk8e0Ap3m8crQSTdKE3A_92BUyqyCXv3bK-y=s4670" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3351" data-original-width="4670" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg67gcZSHhlJ18hIXaD3RSL_pj41ivP4cHM0jQ_6za0B1o-ltqwOTNgV2-KMl_qLtdKP2vnC8YT-kLynLPqCdlo3YpTaT21FHFj1Eyw-xBe4p6rtPN20wYakJFtogNhFzEyQwPPDqhwGd0hBPWrIxFNnk8e0Ap3m8crQSTdKE3A_92BUyqyCXv3bK-y=s320" width="320" /></a></div><p>We also stopped to explore a few of the abandoned buildings along the route, including these below where you can also see the other building style - layers of mud separated by rows of slate to protect the building from rain - more usually found in the valleys. The roofs had mostly collapsed, and none of those we were able to see into had any of the traditional brightly-painted wall coverings remaining.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiBa-RRHrj3eQ9FNRJCEuI6yuimHjAGU_ED0YMV-37R21KRYJnRsiu9vQZRVlMSd9IO1rWOiQ7ocyzWN6LhozcZ4owvxC_CNO3X0sbIn7a3XOK9Db2CG6mcx3A3TRR4_cAqOs40o2BLqyy5wuqDWlnSyZ78G3pEJtXbXDfKFpC0GllQKKeH4WlSH2G8=s4896" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3535" data-original-width="4896" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiBa-RRHrj3eQ9FNRJCEuI6yuimHjAGU_ED0YMV-37R21KRYJnRsiu9vQZRVlMSd9IO1rWOiQ7ocyzWN6LhozcZ4owvxC_CNO3X0sbIn7a3XOK9Db2CG6mcx3A3TRR4_cAqOs40o2BLqyy5wuqDWlnSyZ78G3pEJtXbXDfKFpC0GllQKKeH4WlSH2G8=s320" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div>We also viewed the heritage village of Thee Ain - a beautiful spot in the late afternoon light, but over-restored so that from a closer viewpoint you could see that everything was cemented together. The interiors still looked real but the precise, cemented joins of the exteriors made it feel like a film set rather than an authentic old village.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgpM0yf1W7TN6aY5aWvjbyHOokShlmJ0XE4xcVyI_3bMrYI8Et66v39GnNRxKBz041OYGXW420gErGIec-FVWIWza2uPmdPgRmK2emXg-gTYDswKuHF5m-q55nECRAE5vTS5GDNkx0w6LY0OONQvB_eV0fBDU2kX8SKHjoMmyA-i-XSsHaH6be2GSpL=s4896" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3609" data-original-width="4896" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgpM0yf1W7TN6aY5aWvjbyHOokShlmJ0XE4xcVyI_3bMrYI8Et66v39GnNRxKBz041OYGXW420gErGIec-FVWIWza2uPmdPgRmK2emXg-gTYDswKuHF5m-q55nECRAE5vTS5GDNkx0w6LY0OONQvB_eV0fBDU2kX8SKHjoMmyA-i-XSsHaH6be2GSpL=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhz0tMLVtFe2GbdVRF7xReekcYuRTS0iAMQhOkP_9voYJ9Knc9DoQmS4opkKWMDn2UovsWy6CNUD4LR1kJgNMcEdz6KSaZItS-ibj2om5pOXWB7iPxhwXJZJglJsD9z9fMpavdDV3KrfFm1hUwFAb3ASabvbGoRIrQ0YPjpSDPXfdv09DNCtYyVKQyH=s4896" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4896" data-original-width="3521" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhz0tMLVtFe2GbdVRF7xReekcYuRTS0iAMQhOkP_9voYJ9Knc9DoQmS4opkKWMDn2UovsWy6CNUD4LR1kJgNMcEdz6KSaZItS-ibj2om5pOXWB7iPxhwXJZJglJsD9z9fMpavdDV3KrfFm1hUwFAb3ASabvbGoRIrQ0YPjpSDPXfdv09DNCtYyVKQyH=s320" width="230" /></a></div>To get around this region, we were mostly travelling on Highway 15, an impressive bit of engineering as it traverses the high mountain passes. The road, which runs from Mecca down into Yemen, was built (in the 1960s) by Osama Bin Laden's father - and twelve of the fifteen 9/11 hijackers were recruited from the towns and villages along this route! As obvious non-Muslim foreigners we didn't encounter any hostility, however - and as noted in my previous post, the cultural environment in the country is changing enormously now.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj93-XHz0c8Prin9OyfGvQfC6CIEyLsun5PsObrU0SRUXn1mErrW-eLS0AI5t62qF72CQOyS6Nz3Jb4mQUqPLywPOQgF04xHNzEI-QvVzHfIbIaNi4a5mD1Ie-Ub9e8PAIJLsHXtJVTuAY12tNHhmApi7gqwZrBy2f7vvA2r4basbVuRTpCSVzJaEz0=s3562" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3562" data-original-width="2516" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj93-XHz0c8Prin9OyfGvQfC6CIEyLsun5PsObrU0SRUXn1mErrW-eLS0AI5t62qF72CQOyS6Nz3Jb4mQUqPLywPOQgF04xHNzEI-QvVzHfIbIaNi4a5mD1Ie-Ub9e8PAIJLsHXtJVTuAY12tNHhmApi7gqwZrBy2f7vvA2r4basbVuRTpCSVzJaEz0=s320" width="226" /></a></div><p></p><p>Not changing so much that we were tempted into Mecca, though. We accidentally followed one of the Muslims Only lanes as we approached the city, and so drove through on the inner rather than outer ringroad, but we did not take any of the turnings to Al-Masjid al Haram, with their pictures of the kaaba on the signs. Apparently some independent travellers have been right into the city, and up to the outside of the mosque, but as far as we know it is technically still forbidden, and the rewards to me don't seem to outweigh either the risks nor the lack of respect to our host country that such a visit would have involved. We could in any case clearly see the enormous Abraj Al-Bait clock tower (currently the fourth tallest building in the world).</p><p>Unfortunately no time at the end of the trip to see more of Jeddah, just time to return the car, get something to eat, and start the long flight home.</p></div>Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264622412570656602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8631021198264932010.post-1745209673718720622022-01-02T06:10:00.005-08:002022-01-02T06:10:47.489-08:00a tour of Saudi Arabia<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhk9UwWa5lL9CRj0GS97P60_SYcMpPjCJdKaYrimelSqm-Wo8kasFnPR-S-PUNOJDS8VJgMA8qhmstQjb_7hYRaSGamX81P68FeDNm5Op1-XB3uVoV9iiMZtHuHRx9Kk4m8SwIgI0d96ZtkFnJrczO0bJK3TD8x4qYr_EKWSwnxXMNKMPBpSklPYj1c=s4756" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3467" data-original-width="4756" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhk9UwWa5lL9CRj0GS97P60_SYcMpPjCJdKaYrimelSqm-Wo8kasFnPR-S-PUNOJDS8VJgMA8qhmstQjb_7hYRaSGamX81P68FeDNm5Op1-XB3uVoV9iiMZtHuHRx9Kk4m8SwIgI0d96ZtkFnJrczO0bJK3TD8x4qYr_EKWSwnxXMNKMPBpSklPYj1c=s320" width="320" /></a></div><p>Saudi Arabia opened its doors to tourists a couple of years ago, and I was quick to sign up to a tour. Then it was postponed because of the pandemic but finally, a year later than planned, I was in Saudi Arabia - for a ten-day organised tour, followed by four free days.</p><p>I don't really know where to start with this post, to be honest, as it was such an enjoyable and fascinating visit in so many different ways, in particular for the scenery (I love deserts), the visual reminders of the history (Nabatean tombs, such as those at Jabal AlAhmar in the pic above, as well as architectural reminders of the Ottoman period, and the Yemeni-style old buildings in the mountains of the south), the camels, and finally the window onto a country undergoing MASSIVE change. This latter was apparent physically (the construction - roads, railways, metros and buildings) as well as socially (women driving, women not fully covered, a few couples holidng hands in public, a public live music performance...). The Crown Prince recognises that the oil era will end, so the money they currently have is being spent on adding/upgrading infrastructure (also financed by the fairly recent introduction of income tax, currently at 15%), whilst an enormous effort is being made to attract visitors, presumably with tourism seen as an important future revenue stream. The social revolution in the 'freeing' of women supports the latter, as does a focus on international events. Just before I arrived in the country there was a Grand Prix held in the streets of Jeddah, as I left there was an international film and arts festival taking place there, as well as a 'rave festival' near Riyadh. Yes, really - men and women dancing to electronic dance music and, according to a report I heard, clear evidence of both alcohol and drugs there (although both of those currently remain illegal). A Saudi there told me that most Saudis he knows would put up with a hundred Khashoggis if it means they will be able to go and have a drink in a bar. Obviously I'm not supporting the murder of journalists - nor any kind of suppression of protest, as is the norm still in Saudi - but the Crown Prince and the change he is trying to bring about is popular - and the extent of change is impressive.</p><p>Of course there must be a proportion of the population who were happy with the conservative lifestyle they are used to, and still most women are fully covered, for example - with the niqab as well as the abaya even though the niqab was never obligatory. It was interesting though to experience the extent of the welcome we experienced as tourists, with complete strangers waving to us as they drove past, inviting us into their home for coffee and dates, and countless women beaming with happiness when I smiled at them, making the heart symbol at me with their hands given their inability to express what they were feeling in words.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhkRVctVXooiQGoc4jeX92mUTXEazNG4wF_xOO_aLr9O0e92xP5YmdHLS8-_h9w9XXkCvC3S6eRymdh3aZj3pgqv1eXUL5pP9o58zxTeTuwS-SbIWXKyeEEp4xr37Nzfxpc1u5wg8o_JJWg0EO0mwVQ3gr5UVTi4v6Bbw-Pq_nQ6Zb9kTgJ_JrLr7vK=s4821" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3510" data-original-width="4821" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhkRVctVXooiQGoc4jeX92mUTXEazNG4wF_xOO_aLr9O0e92xP5YmdHLS8-_h9w9XXkCvC3S6eRymdh3aZj3pgqv1eXUL5pP9o58zxTeTuwS-SbIWXKyeEEp4xr37Nzfxpc1u5wg8o_JJWg0EO0mwVQ3gr5UVTi4v6Bbw-Pq_nQ6Zb9kTgJ_JrLr7vK=s320" width="320" /></a></div>Anyway - perhaps I should mention some of the more 'standard' tourist highlights that I enjoyed there ... so first of all, the camels! We went to Buraydah camel market - the largest in the world - to observe the trading as well as being real tourists with the opportunity some of us took to feed one man's camels. I have no idea how many camels are there on a typical day, but there were baby and adult camels, there were white, sandy-coloured and dark brown camels, and a small number of smartly attired camels. There were also plenty of trucks with cranes and winches, with protesting camels being lifted up into the air and into the trucks of buyers.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhhVgeGhQZFUDwh0lLgRvd14eiaRAUPT7a9FQst5UkfIEjPGsj2OPurPzsqqcSztXYneNqU7t95CWc4pbbQtNKJXl-8jZ7vMtO8RMMIATGLdVvLFeA7zH8w3WSIuulfTT8llO_brmKlabaJYtTwgHUb75WWCKNOYyeO98b9DHbDO9SpwJO1iuDDSvXE=s4399" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3195" data-original-width="4399" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhhVgeGhQZFUDwh0lLgRvd14eiaRAUPT7a9FQst5UkfIEjPGsj2OPurPzsqqcSztXYneNqU7t95CWc4pbbQtNKJXl-8jZ7vMtO8RMMIATGLdVvLFeA7zH8w3WSIuulfTT8llO_brmKlabaJYtTwgHUb75WWCKNOYyeO98b9DHbDO9SpwJO1iuDDSvXE=s320" width="320" /></a></div>The beautiful desert 'countryside' was also well stocked with camels - some seemingly wild, but all, apparently, with their (mostly Sudanese) camel herder somewhere around.<p></p><p>Then, as I mentioned above, there were the Nabatean tombs, some 130 of them, carved into the sandstone mountains of the desert around the site of AlUla, aka Hegra. These are the same people who carved the monuments of Petra, in Jordan, and the tombs - and their settings - are spectacular and now UNESCO-listed. We stayed for two nghts at the Shaden Resort in the area where the tombs are, with no time available to use the resort swimming pool, nor to request a film to be streamed from Netflix onto the giant outdoor screen ... this pic shows the dining part of the resort, with different cuisines available in the different tented structures.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEibfCGGNfjCcZXKCvcUIysSTbA8uUu-o27-PhnjOR1_DSHdUChuo8A6BEN8l2ICG4EjVFj1-TsW4tjC0xD8tf_-rDsGgc6hMMGFyH-denHNi502VXrG8jacNQBpPozyMkJH7sWxXK4Ys-hr0VozHnV5a3OPLvuViRvQ1FpBNH5AWNhAJWSZ-tsx3nn7=s4896" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3584" data-original-width="4896" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEibfCGGNfjCcZXKCvcUIysSTbA8uUu-o27-PhnjOR1_DSHdUChuo8A6BEN8l2ICG4EjVFj1-TsW4tjC0xD8tf_-rDsGgc6hMMGFyH-denHNi502VXrG8jacNQBpPozyMkJH7sWxXK4Ys-hr0VozHnV5a3OPLvuViRvQ1FpBNH5AWNhAJWSZ-tsx3nn7=s320" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div>I should also add that the area is full of old petroglyphs carved into the sandstone rocks.<br /><p>We visited a few more recent historical sights too - fortresses and 'heritage' towns. The latter were quite amusing, as all contained little heritage museums, showcasing anything 'historical' collected up from that town. The traditional gowns and jewellery, the old daggers, and the traditional furnishing and room set-ups were interesting, but there were also plenty of exhibits of things which date from within my own lifetime, such as manual sewing machines, fixed line telephones, and cans of food!</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjvVIT__zmzEVf9kjBcu3y6ZB1W2buJq0Nxttow07ATq4RmmWxpDWbfrQTvaU4-HqFI0lAJTXmtvpCQNPGi5iOyCA1UBHR_grqguuFq7KhTMXrls7vak694mgWAyWLvs-LI0WyqxaBTOYh2QHgEblr5xq3PW90M3s_eTQBrVc_-KsbE5lzG9MQMwUap=s4501" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4501" data-original-width="3164" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjvVIT__zmzEVf9kjBcu3y6ZB1W2buJq0Nxttow07ATq4RmmWxpDWbfrQTvaU4-HqFI0lAJTXmtvpCQNPGi5iOyCA1UBHR_grqguuFq7KhTMXrls7vak694mgWAyWLvs-LI0WyqxaBTOYh2QHgEblr5xq3PW90M3s_eTQBrVc_-KsbE5lzG9MQMwUap=s320" width="225" /></a></div>Then there was Jeddah - beautiful Jeddah, with the Ottoman influence in its architecture - still very much under restoration but already a pleasure to wander around both for the architecture but also for the nightlife (I just wish we'd had the time to stop and enjoy the live music being performed in one little square in the old town). Difficult to photograph given the narrow streets, but this shows the traditional old window screens - there to enable women to observe the street life without being seen. I would have happily spent many days there.<p></p><p>& finally, in terms of major sights seen on the organised tour, there was the city of Medina. Here is found the Masjid an-Nabawi, the big mosque built around the tomb of the Prophet Mohammed, making this the second holiest city in Islam. In the past, such places were off-limits to non-Muslim visitors, but whilst we still cannot go inside the mosque, we are now able to go right up to the courtyard surrounding it.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi0iGlXRMLw7L9Zpx8WmHb9MYWo5WRG8JbtbSx19PbhcZO9BVoW9DmHNl8Swl84JBhJQqZmZ4k0XYvVY0O9SHDhi6YbPibrsisKJybzC1RpPsi60zAqfD1TKeouxe5zd5ld5uZ8sA1UpL8zcnWSDRZVKUUSAv6HwOZQYu_5fltYBkeL8fitNcC9K-tH=s4679" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3358" data-original-width="4679" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi0iGlXRMLw7L9Zpx8WmHb9MYWo5WRG8JbtbSx19PbhcZO9BVoW9DmHNl8Swl84JBhJQqZmZ4k0XYvVY0O9SHDhi6YbPibrsisKJybzC1RpPsi60zAqfD1TKeouxe5zd5ld5uZ8sA1UpL8zcnWSDRZVKUUSAv6HwOZQYu_5fltYBkeL8fitNcC9K-tH=s320" width="320" /></a></div>Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264622412570656602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8631021198264932010.post-42244786951521989722021-11-22T11:22:00.000-08:002021-11-22T11:22:06.980-08:00black faces<p>I have to return to the black-white relations topic,
inspired by the recent outcry over racism in British cricket, as I find this so
interesting when considered from the African perspective.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I’m thinking of the case where an old picture has come to
light of a white cricketer in blackface, where he was apparently playing homage
to the (then) recently deceased black artist, Tupac Shakur.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It reminded me of an incident maybe ten years
ago, when an Australian politician got into hot water over a blackface incident,
at which time I innocently mentioned the case to a Cameroonian colleague.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To my surprise, he was confused by the
incident.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What’s wrong with that?” he
asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried to explain, but he found
it very strange, telling me about a popular Cameroonian comedian of the time
who was known for making himself up as a white person, and then acting out
doing typically local jobs which would not normally ever be done in Cameroon by
a white person. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I recall he gave one
example of street vendors. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My colleague
asked me if I found that offensive – which of course I didn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps an example of white privilege (a term
which I don’t think existed at that time) as you don’t get easily offended by
mickey-taking when you are in the dominant group.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So this time around, I asked a Senegalese friend – an
educated and well-travelled Senegalese friend – what he thought about what this
cricketer had done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like my Cameroonian
colleague, he was confused, telling me that he and other Senegalese would
consider it an honour if a white person made themselves up (clothing but also
make-up) as Senegalese in homage to someone who had died.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I asked how he would feel if it were done in
a more light-hearted context, rather than as homage to someone deceased, and he
still said that he and other Senegalese would view it as something positive,
showing recognition and appreciation of Senegalese/Africans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Indeed when I walk in the street wearing
anything local, such as outfits in African wax fabric, I get appreciative
comments from random strangers – it is never seen as cultural appropriation but
rather as a mark of appreciation and respect.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I suppose the negative reactions to such things usually
start in the US, where the history of black-white relations is so bad that any
instance of white folk interacting with the black culture is viewed with
suspicion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not that black-white
relations in Africa have been exactly balanced and fair, but perhaps being on
‘home turf’ makes a difference in some way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Indeed, it still astonishes me how positively white people and white
culture are seen here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On my way back
from Lompoul last weekend, as our minibus drove through some small towns and
villages, several people looked up and noticed that there were some white
people in the vehicle – “Toubab!” (the local word for white person) one older
lady shouted excitedly as she waved to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I don’t know that I’ll ever fully understand that reaction, but one
thing I do know is that when I eventually return ‘home’ to the UK, I shall have
to be careful as to what I say and do in respect of the minefield of
black-white interactions.<o:p></o:p></p>Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264622412570656602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8631021198264932010.post-10181387459256026242021-11-15T13:28:00.000-08:002021-11-15T13:28:04.516-08:00the 18sqkm desert of Lompoul<p>I should have flown to Ethiopia last Thursday, to start a trip to the Omo Valley and from there by land into Somaliland. Sadly the British tour company I was going with have panicked about the situation with the rebels, and announced just a few days before departure that they have cancelled the trip.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZmSfPIRB3K3Juj6ukaQaBUEAi6Hay0r4tD45VCXBWi-NN0qLjuhUzE87gDtDW6EivTMft8Bkf0Ive7emGBDszuIWSTNAwPbE5OiSotM4aBvylbnMC5OvMDaiOWOuCHGLMCemo5YW3_Po/s2048/Lompoul+-+my+tent+%2528second+from+the+right%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1509" data-original-width="2048" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZmSfPIRB3K3Juj6ukaQaBUEAi6Hay0r4tD45VCXBWi-NN0qLjuhUzE87gDtDW6EivTMft8Bkf0Ive7emGBDszuIWSTNAwPbE5OiSotM4aBvylbnMC5OvMDaiOWOuCHGLMCemo5YW3_Po/s320/Lompoul+-+my+tent+%2528second+from+the+right%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>So I booked a last minute weekend away in northern Senegal, to visit the sand dunes of Lompoul. Somewhere I'd previously decided was not worth my time and money, but with fewer tourists here right now, and the trip not too pricey, I thought it would be preferable to sitting at home moping about my missed Ethiopia trip.<p></p>It was billed as an 'astronomy weekend', as a professor of astronomy was to accompany the group, with his telescopes and a ready-made presentation - not really a selling point for me but once he had taken us through the presentation and pointed out Venus and Jupiter when the clouds parted, I was getting interested - so was sad that the clouds thickened during the course of the evening and we didn't get to see Jupiter, Saturn and the surface of the moon through his telescope. Nor did I get to see Venus at 6am the next morning, as the downside of sleeping in desert tents is the lack of anywhere to charge your phone, so the battery went dead some three hours before the alarm was supposed to wake me up.<div><br /></div><div>However, I did get to be very touristy and do a short walk around on a camel, and also walked about in the dunes looking at the various animal tracks and watching dung beetles do their thing.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht4LPZN0Ot2gU_epE3MJnFY8SShbUPGp0S9PR4wt5RK-OJY0RX8BR9ANvGdgnuJRH5g5PnkMQGG1d0AvUYNnWls8CFFybFGQ2Gq_z19YgXB5KK5qzfH-1KKcLV1nFWH_SQDFxrVThkjxY/s2048/2021+-+Senegal+-+on+a+camel+in+Lompoul.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1539" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht4LPZN0Ot2gU_epE3MJnFY8SShbUPGp0S9PR4wt5RK-OJY0RX8BR9ANvGdgnuJRH5g5PnkMQGG1d0AvUYNnWls8CFFybFGQ2Gq_z19YgXB5KK5qzfH-1KKcLV1nFWH_SQDFxrVThkjxY/s320/2021+-+Senegal+-+on+a+camel+in+Lompoul.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div>As with many events in Senegal which attract tourists or foreign residents, the other participants were mostly French - and whilst I can converse quite happily in French with the Senegalese (indeed with any French-speaking Africans), I find the accent of the French themselves very hard to understand. I still somehow finished this weekend with a few new friends, however, and had some interesting conversations. This included some discussion of the risk to the ecology of this part of Senegal - and the livelihoods of those who work there in the tourist trade - from the imminent exploitation of the mineral zircon which was discovered there a few years ago (this apparently being the fourth largest known source in the world). What I hadn't known was that the Minister of Mines who signed the deal with a French company to exploit the deposits (in which just 10% of the benefit comes to Senegal) was none other than our current president!</div>Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264622412570656602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8631021198264932010.post-12649194005820969942021-10-19T13:47:00.001-07:002021-10-19T13:47:11.018-07:00the other parts of my trip to Niger<br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJSRYsIY4Z1SHgSQy69qX0SXu-ryY6N76C7AbbDMcmI9p-1Lv0kUQZqiUnVbp1z6iWsVfBpAvT4cOAUphhdK2rZseJK0EFXd6_5CvF4zPcCp5DzIYNO1GhpckB1GyQ-ge7FrbQoJmhEP0/s2048/Mirriah+-+entrance+to+the+Royal+Palace.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1453" data-original-width="2048" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJSRYsIY4Z1SHgSQy69qX0SXu-ryY6N76C7AbbDMcmI9p-1Lv0kUQZqiUnVbp1z6iWsVfBpAvT4cOAUphhdK2rZseJK0EFXd6_5CvF4zPcCp5DzIYNO1GhpckB1GyQ-ge7FrbQoJmhEP0/s320/Mirriah+-+entrance+to+the+Royal+Palace.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisDORPgCagTgDwD-x1hzoR-M1ozQJ4O2CAzlUSDIg9VLyAXjzMx9iyO_CpW_DWxiDRZbW4EfDI1w0NCsTmi0asnCZ7GL1Uat2fbaJJiTAJuYrYKrVfYStJWuJbVvkeYnfOyKQV87nu4Jk/s2048/passing+truck+en-route+from+Libya+to+Diffa+7.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1498" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisDORPgCagTgDwD-x1hzoR-M1ozQJ4O2CAzlUSDIg9VLyAXjzMx9iyO_CpW_DWxiDRZbW4EfDI1w0NCsTmi0asnCZ7GL1Uat2fbaJJiTAJuYrYKrVfYStJWuJbVvkeYnfOyKQV87nu4Jk/s320/passing+truck+en-route+from+Libya+to+Diffa+7.JPG" width="234" /></a></div><p></p><p>Whilst the Gerewol was the purpose of my trip, and of course the highlight, I did also visit Agadez, Zinder and Mirriah, and some of the scenes viewed along the roads were also interesting.</p><p>This was a fully-laden truck, en-route from Libya to Diffa in the south-east of Niger. The driver had stopped for a nap in the shade of the vehicle, and hearing that it had taken three days to do part of a road that took us eight hours, I really couldn't imagine it having to go through sandy parts of the Libyan desert!!</p><p>We also passed a family of Fulani nomads, with all of their household possessions piled up around them on their donkeys, which were almost as overladen as this truck. & a group of Touaregs, travelling by camel, but with the camels all in their best leatherwork, decorated noseclips and so on, looking really spectacular.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFbWHYq-aN94g3nAj5tg6_WKY-5Nd0XGj_uAlVCcN8kx5EA3PwOVeMTO1aEBy3b1nOXApXSYOJaZ4s2XKyHHqs3dBk1G3BE6X9LhkyTf3nxpM_bkiESA0HS_Gcq3ZoFV-CUnyxrh6tTRo/s2048/touaregs+and+their+camels%252C+passed+en-route+to+the+Gerewol+13.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1544" data-original-width="2048" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFbWHYq-aN94g3nAj5tg6_WKY-5Nd0XGj_uAlVCcN8kx5EA3PwOVeMTO1aEBy3b1nOXApXSYOJaZ4s2XKyHHqs3dBk1G3BE6X9LhkyTf3nxpM_bkiESA0HS_Gcq3ZoFV-CUnyxrh6tTRo/s320/touaregs+and+their+camels%252C+passed+en-route+to+the+Gerewol+13.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div>In the towns and cities we were looking at a mixture of mosques (including the UNESCO-listed sixteenth century mud mosque of Agadez), sultan's palaces, and older districts of traditional architecture. You can see at the top the eighteenth century sultan's palace in the town of Mirriah, which still has the old drum inside (beaten to announce the appointment of a new sultan) as well as sacks of something mysterious suspended from the ceiling inside the entrance, designed to protect the interior from evil. Despite the presence of Islamist terrorism in parts of the country, it still holds a variety of traditional beliefs alongside Islam.<div><br /></div><div>& here the front wall of the sultan's palace in Zinder, reputed to have three young girls and four Korans buried within (or under), on the advice from 1850 when it was built of some spiritual guides and hunters, considered to have mystical powers.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKiSpxLcZENAhHOMkNgRdmb8buBLJqa6VqV5X1OS4Jy4awdBHPVsDpiSvcfA-Dp_7T2yloV41R1g4_41CrdIHUqkaw5kw_hy5XuhG9PbhwZkeCVkh-ANOyhUJQWXK2CSZUby2q5v_iSFA/s2048/Zinder+-+sultan%2527s+palace+front+wall+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1509" data-original-width="2048" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKiSpxLcZENAhHOMkNgRdmb8buBLJqa6VqV5X1OS4Jy4awdBHPVsDpiSvcfA-Dp_7T2yloV41R1g4_41CrdIHUqkaw5kw_hy5XuhG9PbhwZkeCVkh-ANOyhUJQWXK2CSZUby2q5v_iSFA/s320/Zinder+-+sultan%2527s+palace+front+wall+1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div>Inside included an area where prisoners used to be kept, with three doors to small dark 'rooms' (only shoulder high) where they could be sent to reflect on whether they had any information to divulge: the first where they were just left on their own for a while in the dark; the second where they were accompanied by a scorpion; and the third where they were accompanied by a snake. Finally from the same area was the Door of No Return - any prisoner passing through here either met his death or was sold into the transatlantic slave trade. Zinder was a major power along the trans-Saharan trade route. Bizarrely, the current sultan also has a thing about fancy cars, and inside the palace were two very duty old Rolls Royces alongside a number of other fancy older brands and a ridiculously long limousine that surely has never been out in the streets of the city!</div><div><br /></div><div>The Birni district of Zinder (around the palace) had some impressive old Hausa architecture, as well as a strange old French cemetery with no markings on any of the gravestones - I've not been able to get any explanation for that. Agadez also had some nice architecture, and was very pleasant to walk around.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIyoTzQ49lsVNNI0TUKYwsRrEfAKgtXZZaJYTCnVvE5n3FMuIasg2HXLM7DmEYyo-Rg9ouOzpd8w8CEGxPNUIzNeP_Rcyp1MCT6KpcHIJI0wx-Cpr_qr9sBrOfjbpzSqyLrxSEtEGswno/s1662/Agadez+streets+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1246" data-original-width="1662" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIyoTzQ49lsVNNI0TUKYwsRrEfAKgtXZZaJYTCnVvE5n3FMuIasg2HXLM7DmEYyo-Rg9ouOzpd8w8CEGxPNUIzNeP_Rcyp1MCT6KpcHIJI0wx-Cpr_qr9sBrOfjbpzSqyLrxSEtEGswno/s320/Agadez+streets+3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div>Even aside from the festival, Niger was a rewarding country to visit although, I will admit, not the most comfortable in terms of climate or facilities.</div><div><br /></div>Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264622412570656602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8631021198264932010.post-80380439716392806412021-10-18T01:11:00.000-07:002021-10-18T01:11:01.404-07:00the Gerewol and the Yaké<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr7YAFqVgFZSDNHXVvyKeSPBsfe5VmWvJOzDHo7IxiW5W_Iuv1rzcY3wXh1XK6Za6wCpOtYWb3At6k_mI6aXe3KmU-FBFqThuu9qvyznJj_cvUd_NIKkBoCiFpYdxhnlLZomhOQZjTt6o/s2769/Gerewol+-+dance+performance+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1136" data-original-width="2769" height="164" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr7YAFqVgFZSDNHXVvyKeSPBsfe5VmWvJOzDHo7IxiW5W_Iuv1rzcY3wXh1XK6Za6wCpOtYWb3At6k_mI6aXe3KmU-FBFqThuu9qvyznJj_cvUd_NIKkBoCiFpYdxhnlLZomhOQZjTt6o/w400-h164/Gerewol+-+dance+performance+1.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />The core of the gathering of nomads that takes place in northern Niger at the end of every year's rainy season is the performance throughout the week of 'dances' by the young men, who are competing to be selected as the most beautiful. There are two main dances, the Gerewol, after which the festival is named, and the Yaké, which is featured in most of the photographs one might see of the event. The costumes, make-up and jewellery are traditional, as are the chants and movements that the men perform to show off their attributes. Height, symmetry of features and white eyes and teeth are prized.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0zZXbHlwy5kyENLHw5RigwNQj2wmQALogzmdwHsj8_jzjbFTKVT_ybAFlnWwfvG4T0Zf7um7jNGe1dYIlUtka1A4d0BB6YglUfelCwtreqXgxdBgAgc253W1XQpptG0xPCcUuwRvPZ1U/s2048/Gerewol+-+preparing+for+the+Yak%25C3%25A9+performance+11.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1532" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0zZXbHlwy5kyENLHw5RigwNQj2wmQALogzmdwHsj8_jzjbFTKVT_ybAFlnWwfvG4T0Zf7um7jNGe1dYIlUtka1A4d0BB6YglUfelCwtreqXgxdBgAgc253W1XQpptG0xPCcUuwRvPZ1U/s320/Gerewol+-+preparing+for+the+Yak%25C3%25A9+performance+11.JPG" width="239" /></a></div><p>The dances start in the late morning with the Yaké - by far the most impressive, to my mind. Firstly the men have to prepare, their hair braided (often by a sister), traditional costumes donned, and the make-up carefully applied by the participants themselves. The yellow (and later red) make up is natural, but I was told that battery acid is used by some to make the black colour applied to the mouth and eyes. We were able to see all of this preparation taking place, and I have to say that some of the young men were stunning!!</p><p></p><p>This is a picture of the Yaké dance being performed:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrqtxuXI3qP7_p9oTAjajzI1LmLdObP4bzzXDHCcYLt6FEOmHFLJQxuqJh2KQRJSStf9Jg-ZY3TFKx-oAeq7LRttAR5xu7WP_hmStCikryOL_nIyZiCHBou2aSA0Me-eLq4fgcDEI2zzc/s2048/Gerewol+-+Yak%25C3%25A9+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1543" data-original-width="2048" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrqtxuXI3qP7_p9oTAjajzI1LmLdObP4bzzXDHCcYLt6FEOmHFLJQxuqJh2KQRJSStf9Jg-ZY3TFKx-oAeq7LRttAR5xu7WP_hmStCikryOL_nIyZiCHBou2aSA0Me-eLq4fgcDEI2zzc/s320/Gerewol+-+Yak%25C3%25A9+2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p>At the same time as the Yaké is taking place, other young men will be preparing themselves for the Gerewol dances which take place during the afternoon and all through the night. These involve a different costume and different make-up, but with the same objectives. Here you can see some Gerewol participants showing off the whites of their eyes and teeth!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPifpEGbEOO-9QGziDogc372-ZVS6lMjG3u9yfvjVI9U4JiTta2Mm2lUvRK2n-MHl_TeLuAf1liYHtgux_6U4pBFH-OPD3BzPjc7w8U4quQR-yZPCNILQ-cDQUkEafD52K_QSkkfDpCGM/s959/Gerewol+-+dance+performance+26.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="959" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPifpEGbEOO-9QGziDogc372-ZVS6lMjG3u9yfvjVI9U4JiTta2Mm2lUvRK2n-MHl_TeLuAf1liYHtgux_6U4pBFH-OPD3BzPjc7w8U4quQR-yZPCNILQ-cDQUkEafD52K_QSkkfDpCGM/s320/Gerewol+-+dance+performance+26.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>This is the first, main, part of the performance, which can have around 70 participants, and after which a much smaller number are selected for a 'dance-off', with more vigorous movements. It wasn't clear who makes this selection. In the Gerewol dance, this 'dance-off' follows the removal of the initial headpiece and the application in its place of a kind of 'plume'.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8KJLVnSuigD_C3AGrpcfIowlZaeClIDd0p6S0xF32KbCraDraJOcT2nPBNmQhmT3PZlKia__qFwWkIq1ceHxV2pyGt1q_qZzUAw61FBslUzBFdr1z9mLl4pBVZSVSk0tQNIf62yQwiyM/s2048/Gerewol+-+the+judges+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1506" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8KJLVnSuigD_C3AGrpcfIowlZaeClIDd0p6S0xF32KbCraDraJOcT2nPBNmQhmT3PZlKia__qFwWkIq1ceHxV2pyGt1q_qZzUAw61FBslUzBFdr1z9mLl4pBVZSVSk0tQNIf62yQwiyM/s320/Gerewol+-+the+judges+4.JPG" width="235" /></a></div>Female judges (we only saw two per dance, but apparently there can be more) watch their performance and indicate their selected winner by pulling on the plume. I didn't get to find out how the judges are appointed, but they also sport traditional hairstyles and jewellery, and follow a convention of shielding their faces from the audience with their hands, whilst slowly walking up and down the line of participants to make their choice - not directly looking at them, with their whole performance being very coy. I also didn't see them make their selection, as despite the presence of men wielding sticks to beat back the audience if they approach the participants too closely, it always descended into apparent chaos at the end, with everyone rushing forward to see who was going to win.<br /></div><div><br /></div>The audience is made up of a mixture of young women - who all stay together - and men, some seated and some standing, and behind them the Touaregs on their camels. The Touaregs don't participate in the dances (perhaps better termed beauty contests?) and no-one explained to me why they attend. The women check out the contestants carefully, for this festival is basically - how can I put this? - a chance for the young people to get laid! With the women in the driving seat.<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeJ-MU-UCgEc19yhoNYoVTIekeuqNyKoOdLwQuPZ-8HeiTxdMc9R8H52djObIB1Vj9vPTphmMvq9SNyvsEebbeEBkPJr1xzcEvlyQakdjj4THqxIbACkdnCp1lq-0a__mUYHRvtV1XpoA/s2048/Gerewol+audience+-+the+women+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1563" data-original-width="2048" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeJ-MU-UCgEc19yhoNYoVTIekeuqNyKoOdLwQuPZ-8HeiTxdMc9R8H52djObIB1Vj9vPTphmMvq9SNyvsEebbeEBkPJr1xzcEvlyQakdjj4THqxIbACkdnCp1lq-0a__mUYHRvtV1XpoA/s320/Gerewol+audience+-+the+women+2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div>Apparently the hair protruding over the forehead is the sign that a particular woman or girl is 'up for it' - and there is no judgement against this behaviour, everything is allowed during the festival. I suppose when you normally spend the year travelling, with just your family group and your animals, this is understandable. The liaisons can lead to marriage, but they can equally be just a bit of fun - and I heard that the girls can be quite competitive, trying to out-do eachother in the number of beautiful young men they can bed (I also heard that STIs are rife). The activity is not restricted to single women either - apparently beauty is so highly prized amongst the Wodaabe that a man will accept his wife sleeping with a beatiful dance participant, reasoning that should she become pregnant, the baby will be more beautiful than if he had fathered it himself!!</div><div><p>So, all in all, a lot to take in, and I am still processing what I saw some two weeks after the festival. It certainly lived up to - and indeed surpassed - my expectations.</p></div>Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264622412570656602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8631021198264932010.post-76445292647365852072021-10-17T04:58:00.003-07:002021-10-17T04:58:44.399-07:00Nomads of Niger<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE9jsfBsFX7BzPf63qM-wUuo7NoMElwAul_M7uNZsZWYllipFidwC-Jy3DfPe4a02txpPrl6sTD4_FVM9HsFA_ls2S5maAoBtymXslTKRmfFJLkR9eH4_X7uilbKJZBRmjdaEO9lpkDu4/s2048/early+morning+at+the+Gerewol+site+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1413" data-original-width="2048" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE9jsfBsFX7BzPf63qM-wUuo7NoMElwAul_M7uNZsZWYllipFidwC-Jy3DfPe4a02txpPrl6sTD4_FVM9HsFA_ls2S5maAoBtymXslTKRmfFJLkR9eH4_X7uilbKJZBRmjdaEO9lpkDu4/s320/early+morning+at+the+Gerewol+site+2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>The title of this post is actually the name of a book which I bought when aged 21 or 22, still a student trying to get by on a student grant, but which grabbed my attention when I saw it displayed in a shop. I still have the book, and have long dreamed of going to see the people portrayed in it (the Wodaabe) - to see their famous Gerewol festival.</p><p>I didn't go when I lived in London, as Niger was not the easiest country to get a visa for (there being no embassy in the UK), and then when I moved out to West Africa it always seemed better to wait until 'next year', when the security situation in that part of Niger might improve. It never did, but now it doesn't feel so threatening when compared with the much worse situation in neighbouring Mali and Burkina Faso. So I decided to bite the bullet and go this year, whilst I have a Niger embassy just down the road and am still young enough to cope with nights sleeping in the desert. I had found a Nigerien company (Zenith Tours) who offered such a trip (together with the mandatory security escort), and with Covid thankfully not an issue in this part of the world, I packed my bags and set off - to finally fulfill this long-held dream!</p><p>The experience was actually quite overwhelming, both the dance performances which are the purpose of the festival, but also the gathering itself - several thousand nomads, mostly Fulani but also Touaregs, with their cattle, sheep, goats, donkeys and camels. & no concessions to tourists other than allowing us to wander wherever we liked and phtograph whoever and whatever we liked.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRMDLJ-UM5xfheTxyyQ-DnDoLDbhUGKj2OylJ1egxhHuyyioc5byTz5pWCpivdC90v6TBlR4qVd5na3ODk_ei3ceREez9QC5BDP5ezWQCeU6eYH6rLQcAsfcbyVD413FSG6gly0p7FH0o/s2048/early+morning+at+the+Gerewol+site+16.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1479" data-original-width="2048" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRMDLJ-UM5xfheTxyyQ-DnDoLDbhUGKj2OylJ1egxhHuyyioc5byTz5pWCpivdC90v6TBlR4qVd5na3ODk_ei3ceREez9QC5BDP5ezWQCeU6eYH6rLQcAsfcbyVD413FSG6gly0p7FH0o/s320/early+morning+at+the+Gerewol+site+16.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p>So early in the morning you could see people bringing in water from the watering hole at the edge of the site, preparing food, and leading their cattle out to graze.</p>Whilst some had traditional tents like the one in the photo to the left, some had modern tents. A small number came by motorbike, with Nigerien music blasting out - and I saw many small, portable solar panels, mostly used to charge mobile phones, it seems. But these were the only hints of the modern world. <div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0yaUegMFGdUgjxV3yH4G0Szm3-0Wpx4RFohUqriTqgUUo44tRTXTM-lTFrobbVOgeGgkfcbOeJwvTxI-MyJA_97F8hY25y31EqSgS20hNhPT54G0KyAE393xQ7uc4-RYSRL-8oYsFKuU/s2048/Gerewol+site+-+ancient+and+modern.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1480" data-original-width="2048" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0yaUegMFGdUgjxV3yH4G0Szm3-0Wpx4RFohUqriTqgUUo44tRTXTM-lTFrobbVOgeGgkfcbOeJwvTxI-MyJA_97F8hY25y31EqSgS20hNhPT54G0KyAE393xQ7uc4-RYSRL-8oYsFKuU/s320/Gerewol+site+-+ancient+and+modern.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Most people did not speak either French or English, and of course I do not speak any of the languages of the participants, but I was able to find a few I could communicate with, those who had learned a little French in school, or who had picked up some English during time in Nigeria or Ghana. For these are well-travelled people! I asked one young man how many people were in the group he travelled with, but as a Fulani he travelled alone with his cattle - travelling for up to three months at a time, he told me.</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIC5pB9OQgdXdNLrvz1M4OOrYAXJ_KyDDccvcsk4NfBbG3EjgeMR7Achp-b7SMznIfF5kg1Nu2oWLdYZUxR_sxtBEKa1FMbS8CzYfj40TfZd7IC2vXx3UqY7fQ44bAh4b2kh9HG0cK_gg/s2048/Gerewol+site+-+camels+at+the+watering+hole.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1471" data-original-width="2048" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIC5pB9OQgdXdNLrvz1M4OOrYAXJ_KyDDccvcsk4NfBbG3EjgeMR7Achp-b7SMznIfF5kg1Nu2oWLdYZUxR_sxtBEKa1FMbS8CzYfj40TfZd7IC2vXx3UqY7fQ44bAh4b2kh9HG0cK_gg/s320/Gerewol+site+-+camels+at+the+watering+hole.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>Whilst those men who shared a language with me were happy to talk, communicating with the women was a different matter. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWfwmwiMfYqexaBIpJbvN34n47SYtXqD3CyOeYGuqxd5rSf1rbfYztdWPnAnjgzkz3noCgCxwtR28oRu0Rr4UzfY3hDrJuv1X8Kk8lI4P94sKB7lZLrqh3gpzMjIaUb1Ols1dA1rE_5ZM/s2048/Gerewol+site+-+people+walking+around+13.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1450" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWfwmwiMfYqexaBIpJbvN34n47SYtXqD3CyOeYGuqxd5rSf1rbfYztdWPnAnjgzkz3noCgCxwtR28oRu0Rr4UzfY3hDrJuv1X8Kk8lI4P94sKB7lZLrqh3gpzMjIaUb1Ols1dA1rE_5ZM/s320/Gerewol+site+-+people+walking+around+13.JPG" width="227" /></a></div>The girls and young women seemed fascinated by me, but were also afraid. I tried to make some physical contact, extending my hand, and there were gasps of fear as they backed off, whilst some of the younger girls hid behind the older ones. By hanging around with them for a while - and not just smiling, but deliberately playing with my hair, which of course fascinated them - I was able to get some contact eventually with some of the braver ones who eventually touched my hair and my arm, but how I wish we could have had a conversation!<p></p><p>I should say that this lady to the left was not typical - most did not sport so much jewellery - but she was certainly photogenic! Her hairstyle, however, is typical, with the hair pulled out over the forehead. One person told me that this style indicates that they are 'available' for the young men who participate in the dance (which I will explain in the next post).</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijHy6yJ78dRsbRlqv8RZKWkPlBEJHFB0zCbTsNLqlfRSTVcaAvqgnhrT67FKUXcxWORUhx3isCB5qU01WiUiVFjRJuu7Sk7YOikIvPnuURvyUqNZVOSaGUfl958BzQXRc7CwHUnaHSpKE/s2048/Gerewol+audience+-+the+women+10.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1453" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijHy6yJ78dRsbRlqv8RZKWkPlBEJHFB0zCbTsNLqlfRSTVcaAvqgnhrT67FKUXcxWORUhx3isCB5qU01WiUiVFjRJuu7Sk7YOikIvPnuURvyUqNZVOSaGUfl958BzQXRc7CwHUnaHSpKE/s320/Gerewol+audience+-+the+women+10.JPG" width="227" /></a></div>What was far more common was the facial tattoos; again I wish I could have communicated with the participants to understand the meaning behind them, but I did at least pick up that the three little lines spreading from the corners of the mouth indicate that one is a member of the Wodaabe ethnic group. The rest could signify clan/family, or perhaps are simply decorative.<p></p>So much that I wanted to understand, but could not!!</div><div><br /></div><div>Which maybe added to the sense that I was in a totally different time and place, almost a different world. Nearly two weeks have gone by since I was at this festival and I am still struggling to bring myself back to the world I live in.</div><div><br /></div><div>To finish, in any case, here is a picture I sneakily took between our tents early in the morning, of our security escort. I should say that at no point did it 'feel' as though such an escort was necessary, but I suppose those who are kidnapped in this part of the world are unlikely to sense that a kidnap is imminent.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqYtcBN90d61Ng0Gq7MRxFC003sx5lWmgVKDsM46ZcxMGjI8Orkkkmi_8zDVRN8BLAXs_ygaDmwGmq9iu_jeqU8tMDThH8wW71DBdEN35_5TC2by_I3fGknv7xl3s57_TELxG5IsmW7I4/s2048/Gerewol+-+our+military+escort+seen+between+two+tents.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1496" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqYtcBN90d61Ng0Gq7MRxFC003sx5lWmgVKDsM46ZcxMGjI8Orkkkmi_8zDVRN8BLAXs_ygaDmwGmq9iu_jeqU8tMDThH8wW71DBdEN35_5TC2by_I3fGknv7xl3s57_TELxG5IsmW7I4/s320/Gerewol+-+our+military+escort+seen+between+two+tents.JPG" width="234" /></a></div><br />Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264622412570656602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8631021198264932010.post-89425994248203424832021-09-09T09:20:00.000-07:002021-09-09T09:20:33.922-07:00white fantasy, black dream<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixYbGeR2lH6-cLvpSver_WMrpgO50OeAkw-wYiS5vAIpbY90CvMzsH_ag12v1w3HpTXB4fjRvjv_tLdSSyPj0Q8AXibj4MOooQYPPt97AhlnyfjrFCEgOndOxgmRFtf5Jw0O1KvErnGes/s2048/white+dream....JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1479" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixYbGeR2lH6-cLvpSver_WMrpgO50OeAkw-wYiS5vAIpbY90CvMzsH_ag12v1w3HpTXB4fjRvjv_tLdSSyPj0Q8AXibj4MOooQYPPt97AhlnyfjrFCEgOndOxgmRFtf5Jw0O1KvErnGes/w289-h400/white+dream....JPG" width="289" /></a></div><p></p><p>No, I'm not trying to promote the place above (although, given how the internet works, I recognise the risk that this post is seen by someone who then shares the picture in various networks), just wanting to say how it disturbs me every time I walk past it - and how it so accurately reflects a sad part of this country and indeed, many other places in sub-Saharan Africa.</p><p>As background, I should explain that there is a general feeling here that people from developed, Western countries are 'better'. I refer to developed, Western countries, rather than white countries, because it does seem that African Americans (and I presume black Europeans) are categorised together with white Amercians and Europeans - so I don't believe this has the racial undertones that it might appear to have. Unpicking that term 'better' is rather more difficult; it certainly means wealthier, and with more job/career opportunities, but it also means more educated and therefore more worthy of being listened to, and respected. It also means that something manufactured in the West is preferred; I think here of a friend of a friend, really happy because her family have installed what is called here an English toilet (ie a sit-down toilet) which, although not so good for you as the local-style squat toilet (can cause you to develop piles), is considered much higher status.</p>But then - the main point of this post - we have the sex tourism. At a basic level it involves older white (mostly French) men and women coming here to have sex with Africans for a couple of weeks and then returning home. But beyond that, some of the tourists fall in love, and either send money from home to support their lover and return annually to rekindle the physical side, or they actually come here to live. I've seen the tearful goodbyes at the airport between wrinkly old white women and fit, young Senegalese men, and even knew (before I'd ever visited Senegal) a British woman in her seventies with a young husband out here, who had taken up work in London as a 'vintage escort' as the only way she could find to fund her Senegalese husband's incessant demands for money.<div><br /></div><div>I also heard recently of one case of a young Senegalese woman whose old (and now bedridden) French lover moved here to marry her and live here with her - where she complains to friends that he's not dead yet, and she is apparently giving him 'medication' that is not what he thinks he's getting but rather something that should shorten his life. Then she will inherit the house and money and can move in with the secret Senegalese lover she already has on the side. I'm told this kind of situation is not all that uncommon.<br /><div><p>Since in most cases both parties to the transaction are willing participants, I'm not sure whether it really counts as exploitation. What it does do is reflect the imbalance of resources and opportunities in today's world. Those young Senegalese men and women do not, in most cases, genuinely find their older customers to be sexually attractive, and most of them would choose other ways of making money if jobs were available. But jobs are not available ... so prostitution is common (any nightclub here will be full of young Senegalese women with very high heels, long nails and long eyelashes, and very revealing clothing, who immediately approach any unaccompanied white man who walks in), but more disturbingly for me, any white woman out in public here without an accompanying man or children will be hit upon. Those approaching her can be of any age, and can be already married, but they still see that opportunity to improve their life if they can hook up with her - whether that be for an hour, a night, a couple of weeks, or for life. If they are married, they do not even hide the relationship from the wife - in part because polygamy is legal and accepted here, but in part because the wife will also want the family to benefit from the opportunities associated with the white woman.</p><p>Negotiating this minefield is a regular part of my life here. Whilst in many ways I can distance myself from it and act as a (fascinated) neutral observer, it is an irritation. Just walking down the street to the supermarket often involves dealing with young men telling me I am beautiful and wanting my phone number. I find myself giving my stock response as to why I am not interested ("I want to remain single - I can do what I like, where I like, how I like, when I like, with whom I like, without having to justify or explain it to anyone, as I am free!") quite frequently, and still sometimes waste an afternoon or evening in some man's company having mistakenly believed their assurance they they would like to meet for a drink "as friends". But the situation also makes me very sad.</p></div></div>Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264622412570656602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8631021198264932010.post-91594278506395963092021-08-09T11:36:00.000-07:002021-08-09T11:36:56.886-07:00the community bank<p>So the flatmate who had Covid is feeling better, another flatmate who caught it whilst elsewhere in the country is staying away until he tests negative, and it seems that the remaining two of us got lucky and avoided getting ill.<br /><br />A consequence of the resident Covid-infected flatmate being confined to her room, however, was that she was unable to go to work to collect her salary, so her employer paid the money directly into her new Senegalese bank account - for which she doesn't yet have a card to enable her to withdraw the money so I was asked if I could, please, lend her CFA150,000 (some US$270) towards her rent due on 31 July. I did so. Then last week, on Thursday, the flatmate who sublets to us needed a loan of CFA40,000 to go out that evening. Not an acceptable reason for me to make a loan (and I was brought up to NEVER borrow or lend money), but it was to be just overnight as she showed me her salary cheque that she was going to cash the next day - and of course I pay my monthly rent to her so could always offset any money owed me if I had to. I didn't want to appear difficult, so made the loan.</p><p>The next day I went out to my regular Friday lunchtime haunt - a non-descript looking bar-restaurant with a regular crowd of mostly retired 'intellectuals' (as they call themselves), mostly (if not all) with PhDs, formerly employed as journalists, university professors, etc. Their conversation is usually pretty interesting, covering subjects close to my own heart such as politics and philosophy, and the place has the added bonus of the cheapest food and drink in Dakar. Many of these interesting folk seem to spend a lot of their time in the back terrace there, eeking out their small pensions on coffee, beer or wine, whilst those who can afford to also eat their lunch there tend to discretely go into a different part of the building to do so. I once made the mistake of eating at the table, and one retired journalist asked if I could possibly spare just a morsel of my cheese, only to be loudly rebuked by another person present for behaving inappropriately, the whole scene being quite embarrassing for several of us sitting at the table.</p><p>This same retired journalist was there on Friday, and I sat at a vacant seat beside him. As I was about to order my glass of wine (the cheapest kind they sell, being CFA1,000 a glass), I decided to ask if he wanted a glass. He accepted and so I bought a small bottle, at CFA2,000, which provided each of us with a large glass full. Being unemployed and therefore careful with my money, I made that glass last me the two hours that I spent there. He, however, drank his more quickly and signalled for a second glass. As I paid my bill I was astonished to be asked by him if he could please have CFA1,000 - presumably for him to use to pay for his second glass. The cheek of it! But I paid up, as it would have been awkward to say no, and it was not really very much money.</p><p>I arrived home to an annoyed and embarrassed flatmate telling me she had been unable to cash her cheque, as by the time she got seen following a wait of six hours (believable, from my limited experience with banks here), the person who needed to provide authorisation from her company had already gone home for the day. I told her that it wasn't my lucky day, recounting the story of the additional glass of wine I'd had to pay for earlier.</p><p>But the tale wasn't over. Later that night I was woken by a knocking at my bedroom door - at what turned out to be 02:30 - by my flatmate. I said that yes, she could come in, and what did she want? Well, apparently she and her boyfriend had gone out to a nice restaurant for a pizza with something to drink, and when it came to pay the bill, it turned out that her boyfriend didn't have any money on him - as of course she didn't. So the restaurant called the police, and were holding her boyfriend there as she was allowed to go and try to 'find' the money. She'd tried calling me, but I turn my phone off when I go to bed and so hadn't responded, so she'd come back to the flat to ask me in person, as the situation was desperate. I could hardly say no to this, so rolled, naked, out of bed (I'm not worried about being naked in front of another woman, but it is not normal in the Senegalese culture and I felt awkward) and went to check what cash I had; I was able to lend her a further CFA40,000 of the CFA50,000 she wanted, and she told me that this should do the trick.</p><p>Later on Saturday I was recounting all this to a friend, when my phone rang. I didn't recognise the number and so didn't answer it, but it was followed by a text message saying "hello Louise" and then a further call, so I answered - to hear my flatmate's boyfriend telling me that he had an urgent situation with a friend in his truck on the Senegal-Mali border needing money... Of course I told him that I didn't have any left, but this little run of experiences seems to show that once you show any generosity to someone here, you open the floodgates to further requests.</p><p>Our cleaner, who normally leaves by 16:30, is still sitting here as I write this at 18:30, and I imagine this means that she is waiting to be paid some money by my flatmate, who is not yet home (I can't ask why she's here as she doesn't speak French and my Wolof is very limited). I'm wondering whether she, and I, will get paid this evening - but one thing is certain, that if my flatmate says she still couldn't access her salary today, and asks me to loan money to pay the cleaner, I will make it very clear that I have no more money right now and that I will not be making loans in future!</p>Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264622412570656602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8631021198264932010.post-73127731840666714342021-07-29T14:36:00.002-07:002021-08-09T11:39:17.587-07:00Covid's third wave<p>I've not written too much about Covid-19, in part because Senegal had pretty much escaped its grip until recently and so it was having little impact on my day-to-day life (well, apart from it costing me my job of course!). However, we now have our third wave of the virus in Senegal, and it is much worse than the first and second waves. A couple of weeks ago our new daily case count shot up from 40 to some 1,300, and whilst it now hovers around 600-700 a day, they are also reporting that the test centres are overwhelmed and turning people away, that Dakar's hospitals are full, and that there is no oxygen left which has been responsible for some of the recent deaths. Restrictions are slowly being reintroduced; the Senegalese wrestling match I'd planned to go to this Saturday has been cancelled, masks are now compulsory in the street as well as on public transport and in the shops, and there is talk of international and long-distance transport being stopped. I can't imagine that concerts and nightclubs will be able to continue for much longer.</p><p>So this week I've stayed at home rather more than I would have in normal times (there doesn't seem much point in risking a crowded bus when mask-wearing has still to be fully enforced) - but hadn't banked on the virus visiting the apartment where I live.</p><p>One of my flatmates is a young French woman, who likes to party. Not long after moving in she had a two-day-long cocaine- and alcohol-fuelled binge with a few friends in her room - didn't really bother me but the Senegalese flatmate who sublets to us knew who the friends were, and was not happy (the Congolese friend is apparently a known local drug-dealer). So the French woman was instructed not to bring them here again, and now meets them elsewhere (including out in the street in front of our building) and sometimes comes home in the early hours drunk and/or under the influence of various drugs, including (we think) marijuana, cocaine and ecstasy. Her poorly controlled behaviour has already resulted in her getting an infected foot (infected somehow by sea urchin spines!?) and being robbed of both her camera and two mobile phones in three separate events, and I sent an irritated message to her this morning when I found that the kitchen light had been left on all night as well as the gas burning away under an empty saucepan. She admitted responsibility and apologised, but explained that she felt ill - and asked whether I could make enquiries about her getting a Covid test.</p><p>Fortunately our Senegalese flatmate was able to organise a private test for her through her employer's insurance scheme, so two medics showed up and did the test here. Strongly positive. So the rest of us also got tested, and were relieved to find that we were negative - although I was intrigued to be told that my test showed that I had been exposed to the virus but had successfully fought it off, possibly aided by the first shot of the AstraZeneca vaccine that I had in early April. Thankfully some more AZ vaccine is expected in the country next week, so I should finally be able to get my second shot.</p><p>So, a day of drama! Of course the infected flatmate has been instructed to stay in her room, but as we don't trust her to do so, my other flatmate is trying to use her employer insurance cover to somehow find somewhere else for her to go asap. Not sure that she'll have much luck given that all Dakar hospitals are supposed to be full.</p><p>This evening I had planned to go up to a nearby hotel roof terrace where a DJ plays good dance music every Thursday evening, but I know people there will not be wearing masks and so have decided to be more sensible and spend another evening in my room. It will be interesting to see where all this heads - how badly the country will be hit - whilst feeling comforted at a personal level that the risk for me seems relatively low.</p>Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264622412570656602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8631021198264932010.post-43870637524532732442021-07-13T10:46:00.003-07:002021-07-29T13:21:16.250-07:00doing touristy stuff<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvR7Uyvcsv75JM6lbCrz5I-P2gsfaqUsPHOuwsxN7yjguM_nj39JQSIaoPh66Mt5dqvwQ7GWQv6uG0Jryp8VMtFMGrgWDBiqGw3oRtPbw3NCZn8qrLQSg28gNQiZ6kF16YE-wA8LkueqE/s4896/Reserve+de+Bandia+-+watering+hole.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvR7Uyvcsv75JM6lbCrz5I-P2gsfaqUsPHOuwsxN7yjguM_nj39JQSIaoPh66Mt5dqvwQ7GWQv6uG0Jryp8VMtFMGrgWDBiqGw3oRtPbw3NCZn8qrLQSg28gNQiZ6kF16YE-wA8LkueqE/s320/Reserve+de+Bandia+-+watering+hole.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />A post in a Senegal facebook group asked if anyone wanted to join a small group of people who were planning a day out to Bandia Nature Reserve and Accrobaobab, as they had space in their vehicle. Two touristy places (the nature reserve mostly filled with animals imported from South Africa), but I hadn't been to either and it seemed like a better use of my time than yet another day staring at my laptop screen. Thankfully they turned out to be a nice group of people (from Senegal, the US and Cape Verde) and the social side went smoothly.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi609k_azXI03gRG1SAh_QKTZhip2gTHZofM0RHc6p8nx1e4LUEzYcqbZU2cuuPjdeScZyrq0k0JC-Bmj5XHOzXql3uvwvUHiuThOiyvBMJmV8VDNII3pmYl7J7iG6gDiwmIVum9HC6pBk/s2048/Reserve+de+Bandia+-+Burchell%2527s+zebra+3.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1464" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi609k_azXI03gRG1SAh_QKTZhip2gTHZofM0RHc6p8nx1e4LUEzYcqbZU2cuuPjdeScZyrq0k0JC-Bmj5XHOzXql3uvwvUHiuThOiyvBMJmV8VDNII3pmYl7J7iG6gDiwmIVum9HC6pBk/s320/Reserve+de+Bandia+-+Burchell%2527s+zebra+3.JPG" /></a></div>At the reserve we took a two-hour tour (that turned into closer to three hours as the guide had to wait for feeding time to find the white rhino), in the back of an open vehicle that allowed us all to get the photos we wanted - imported impala, nyala, eland, roan antelope, kudu, zebra, giraffe, ostrich and buffalo, alongside native creatures such as warthog, patas and vervet monkeys, crocodiles and of course birds.<p></p><p>There are no predators in the 3,500-hectare reserve (hyenas are kept separately in a fenced-in enclosure) and the animals allow the vehicles to get reasonably close. It didn't feel particularly authentic - especially once we saw some stacks of food which had been delivered whilst we were in a different section of the park - but of course it is always nice to look at such animals and some pictures, such as this of the roan antelope, do at least look authentic!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwkmUStnCoc3iFMueMga9GVrqP9rpCPFqRkwCNqBOzW5B8Tpp0hScD2BFhClYWbuwOUrHOe3765jus3xH7N8YR9abs6-d5WmUIAiBLij0gkNEIi2uWFJHsB-jtME4yiN98wa5oIgjaLZE/s2048/Reserve+de+Bandia+-+roan+antelope+1.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1528" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwkmUStnCoc3iFMueMga9GVrqP9rpCPFqRkwCNqBOzW5B8Tpp0hScD2BFhClYWbuwOUrHOe3765jus3xH7N8YR9abs6-d5WmUIAiBLij0gkNEIi2uWFJHsB-jtME4yiN98wa5oIgjaLZE/s320/Reserve+de+Bandia+-+roan+antelope+1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p>After the tour, I quickly went round the reptile house (which included a beautiful green mamba and another snake whose name I missed that burrowed itself entirely under the sand), and we stopped for an early lunch overlooking a large watering hole, keeping a watching eye on the green vervet monkeys which loiter and run on to the tables to steal food when people look away. I'm afraid I wasn't a very good vegetarian today as I couldn't resist the antelope burger.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMPNef5DVVhzdbbXJgiyIC2_n2nU3qsap2vxcqhVC-1X3wePmGt_sZnhGALU1kp0wWT4woHRFGrPH3RmNeE2Oki4koqSAxZvGx5IIEeSZGmRwqQfvuKkMofHBwENVu5SJCjBzvcwKFTeU/s2048/Reserve+de+Bandia+-+warthog+1.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1448" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMPNef5DVVhzdbbXJgiyIC2_n2nU3qsap2vxcqhVC-1X3wePmGt_sZnhGALU1kp0wWT4woHRFGrPH3RmNeE2Oki4koqSAxZvGx5IIEeSZGmRwqQfvuKkMofHBwENVu5SJCjBzvcwKFTeU/s320/Reserve+de+Bandia+-+warthog+1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p>After lunch we moved on to the nearby Accrobaobab - an 'adventure playground' amongst the baobab trees. Not really my thing - zip-lining between baobab trees has never been on my bucket list - but some of the others were keen to have a go, and rather than just sit there waiting for them I decided I had to participate! Not the seven-stage, $29, affair that they were signing up for, just the single $7.50 zip-line down a 315 metre descent from a platform 24 metres up in a baobab tree.</p><p>I signed the waiver form, ticking the box to confirm that I have Senegalese-compliant public liability insurance (cough, cough) and they put on my harness. Apparently it all complies with European safety standards, but I notice that the form said we would have a compulsory trial run, and that never happened. Rather we walked a little way through the forest and then were faced with a tall baobab tree with a very rickety-looking wood-and-rope ladder up to the platform. The instructor duly clipped me onto the safety harness and I made my way (slowly!) up the ladder ... this was the view I then had back down to the ground:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4yyUttWfCakwE5vEviR6o3GkYQGnqV5OSbO2FhQMOkgL8R8lebiao1cSiA1r3u5iwyN0ZoZyIh2nB-MOxrn4qy4C1hIyYITFOoEk9kh6iMia0CuFVIt1kvyKDhe7y9Zq5ivWfNQ62A5o/s2048/Accrobaobab+-+looking+down+the+ladder+from+the+Baobab+Tyrolienne+platform.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1526" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4yyUttWfCakwE5vEviR6o3GkYQGnqV5OSbO2FhQMOkgL8R8lebiao1cSiA1r3u5iwyN0ZoZyIh2nB-MOxrn4qy4C1hIyYITFOoEk9kh6iMia0CuFVIt1kvyKDhe7y9Zq5ivWfNQ62A5o/s320/Accrobaobab+-+looking+down+the+ladder+from+the+Baobab+Tyrolienne+platform.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p>The instructor followed, attached me to the zip-line, and told me to go.</p><p>What a moment!! I knew I was properly attached, and the equipment all looked to be in great condition ... but to just step off the platform into the void like that??! Every fibre of my body was telling me not to do it ... but of course I had to, and as soon as I did I started sliding down the line, feeling very safe and very glad I'd taken the plunge! This is me at the end of the course, feeling rather pleased with myself!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaiELvdV2bAxa-rs6D7z8AU9RkRz7SUD2bQynVY4TVbl8PGUGYHlNbLBp7TRj1YWRlAH5udhO_GTiK9t65Go_uwANyYh6tt8A2vlysDblgO4sQZ9IdgITrtMUogD9v08iIQD9q76tqeh8/s2048/2021+-+my+landing+from+the+Baobab+Tyrolienne+at+Accrobaobab.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaiELvdV2bAxa-rs6D7z8AU9RkRz7SUD2bQynVY4TVbl8PGUGYHlNbLBp7TRj1YWRlAH5udhO_GTiK9t65Go_uwANyYh6tt8A2vlysDblgO4sQZ9IdgITrtMUogD9v08iIQD9q76tqeh8/s320/2021+-+my+landing+from+the+Baobab+Tyrolienne+at+Accrobaobab.JPG" /></a></div><p><br /></p>Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264622412570656602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8631021198264932010.post-46918198693387429192021-06-26T10:42:00.003-07:002021-07-13T09:43:26.904-07:00the St Louis jazz festival take 2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuVbNhKC4P3w41uI43nIyZGGUXvHra0qJISSCoMhl_Td7IYL33ooI6ggaYvba5Y8bj8-jsCpMByr30ABhYOuFjy3ntURuePHFCd6jZ9wc_FSbc0Ovoarlce5jS3tfN67xPFu4VAjuJtmk/s1936/St+Louis+2021+Jazz+Festival+-+Baaba+Maal+1.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1423" data-original-width="1936" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuVbNhKC4P3w41uI43nIyZGGUXvHra0qJISSCoMhl_Td7IYL33ooI6ggaYvba5Y8bj8-jsCpMByr30ABhYOuFjy3ntURuePHFCd6jZ9wc_FSbc0Ovoarlce5jS3tfN67xPFu4VAjuJtmk/s320/St+Louis+2021+Jazz+Festival+-+Baaba+Maal+1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p>I went to the St Louis jazz festival back in May 2010, and whilst this year's was smaller - due to the lack of tourists allowed into the country at present, I guess - I thought it worthwhile taking the four-hour trip up there to catch some of the action. Saturday night was the highlight, with Vieux Farka Toure followed by Baaba Maal on the official stage, and Cheikh Lo playing later as one of the 'off festival' acts. As with my previous visit, I didn't get to bed until 4am.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLVXg5hoBVSxx5jf-TED8wf6dfN9ofzm39i9RR3ARzqOQlAtCWoPyRjve5Oq7DwxoMWXoco2raQG78onIBkgL4JsxoXYB5l-qTHDBmzMbGFByAnvku0taVMUE4zyg7ZwoPFO5LD2MvKV0/s1549/St+Louis+2021+Jazz+Festival+-+Cheikh+Lo+%2527off%2527+the+festival+4.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1549" data-original-width="1090" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLVXg5hoBVSxx5jf-TED8wf6dfN9ofzm39i9RR3ARzqOQlAtCWoPyRjve5Oq7DwxoMWXoco2raQG78onIBkgL4JsxoXYB5l-qTHDBmzMbGFByAnvku0taVMUE4zyg7ZwoPFO5LD2MvKV0/s320/St+Louis+2021+Jazz+Festival+-+Cheikh+Lo+%2527off%2527+the+festival+4.JPG" /></a></div>It's a great festival - with different acts playing all through the night in at least a dozen different locations - but frustrating as there is no centralised information as to who is playing where, and even when you spot the posters on walls, the advertised times of the performances bear no relation to reality. So if you try to plan a schedule, you can end up seeing just the first ten minutes (or even just the warming up) of each artist before you rush away to catch the advertised start time of the next. Much better really to just wander about with little-to-no specific plan. I would love to be able to re-live the festival weekend so as to catch a different set of acts!<br /><br />There is also a festival parade, although again, with no useful information available. There was no advertised route, and people I asked didn't even know if the parade was going to happen - but finally, two hours later than advertised, a couple of floats came along the street, accompanied by a few of the advertised 'false lions' that I had been keen to see. This picture was taken by a friend of mine, whilst I struggled as ever with a camera which insists on cycling through its settings menu whenever I want to take a picture with it:<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf8utEAPT-Cu1mrpRnkiCEyn6XEBT5qc4iuANAm79abeXa_BwRBq3G2OQkLG8h5sY-8-fezPX1BfyFHRETSUoL6W9uKP1jESCKgXR8TNFofF15Kuvi5obMaBaAlY4vSsnVdCWw6zDjq5w/s1005/St+Louis+2021+Jazz+Festival+-+carnival+1.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="465" data-original-width="1005" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf8utEAPT-Cu1mrpRnkiCEyn6XEBT5qc4iuANAm79abeXa_BwRBq3G2OQkLG8h5sY-8-fezPX1BfyFHRETSUoL6W9uKP1jESCKgXR8TNFofF15Kuvi5obMaBaAlY4vSsnVdCWw6zDjq5w/w400-h185/St+Louis+2021+Jazz+Festival+-+carnival+1.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p>Of course there were also the beautiful old streets, with their decaying old buildings, to wander around in the mornings (how I envy people whose body clocks don't wake them at around the same time every day, regardless of what time they got to sleep). Plus the city is considerably cheaper than the capital (taxis around a quarter of the Dakar price, and some ridiculously cheap restaurants), and whilst the festival was held a month later than usual, the rainy season hadn't yet started, and so I walked the streets, soaking up the atmosphere and admiring the old buildings.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE6YGsrYVOEGcM_QJbgSOe0cCiWw5OKbN_OZuzAZR39PSdRZmb0KJxRieY_P16FMr1aSb8tvsTYTOGIfwbYcX7ky7cx6mUdwN_NM16ivO6-xF1wfXgYcaVGNoY2vBSVEsbDRryvYMqT_0/s2048/St+Louis+streets+8.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1499" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE6YGsrYVOEGcM_QJbgSOe0cCiWw5OKbN_OZuzAZR39PSdRZmb0KJxRieY_P16FMr1aSb8tvsTYTOGIfwbYcX7ky7cx6mUdwN_NM16ivO6-xF1wfXgYcaVGNoY2vBSVEsbDRryvYMqT_0/s320/St+Louis+streets+8.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>What was sad was seeing the signs of severe coastal erosion on the outer island of Guet Ndar.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNs9uu15Ywe7iw7MljsBVodHcMKCXv0NeJAq8K3jezV7V6psjdjBHUaXWsXlgnQQ_W8UWxcTqQ4KZe-BXZG-D5hinL-MoMbJu8sg_leIgI79bvfkjegrX7P_IZvU9NAL4UqsE_rLCQPlg/s2048/Guet+N%2527Dar+-+erosion+from+the+sea+7.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1444" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNs9uu15Ywe7iw7MljsBVodHcMKCXv0NeJAq8K3jezV7V6psjdjBHUaXWsXlgnQQ_W8UWxcTqQ4KZe-BXZG-D5hinL-MoMbJu8sg_leIgI79bvfkjegrX7P_IZvU9NAL4UqsE_rLCQPlg/s320/Guet+N%2527Dar+-+erosion+from+the+sea+7.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Apparently the sea now comes 200-300m further inshore than it did some 20-30 years ago, and you can clearly see the effect, with the back walls of what were once rooms now exposed to the elements, the foundations also exposed. & this community already, apparently, the most densely populated area in the whole of West Africa. Thankfully, work is now underway to build up the sand into a long 'sea wall', which will give some protection although I can't see that it will last all that long.<br /><br />The weekend ended far too quickly, and I did at one stage ask myself why I am living in Dakar rather than in St Louis!<br /><p></p>Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264622412570656602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8631021198264932010.post-41117130784761423172021-06-07T06:26:00.000-07:002021-06-07T06:26:01.112-07:00the music scene kicks off again<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwTsgsuKLMcoIlreXDfqENfjNEGG_uNAIfUeRbL2pljJEy1o2DDlJZTQE2VhI73ScihngsKoGP1W9jIx-v18zMRph4oOszLvYB2s3duR9oMaDZc3BrX3vc50AMLSnmCXnm6HHeoeCNTD0/s2048/Dakar+nightlife+-+Pape+et+Cheikh+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1479" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwTsgsuKLMcoIlreXDfqENfjNEGG_uNAIfUeRbL2pljJEy1o2DDlJZTQE2VhI73ScihngsKoGP1W9jIx-v18zMRph4oOszLvYB2s3duR9oMaDZc3BrX3vc50AMLSnmCXnm6HHeoeCNTD0/s320/Dakar+nightlife+-+Pape+et+Cheikh+1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p>Now that Ramadan is over, and with the curfew lifted earlier in the year, there is rather an explosion of live music happening in Dakar. People sometimes ask me why I am staying in Dakar, which is more expensive than somewhere down the coast and with all of the disadvantages of a big city (noise, traffic, pollution, crime, etc) - and the availability of live music is the main reason why.<br /></p><p>So last weekend I went to my usual hang-out - Le Relais - to see Pape & Cheikh, playing traditional Senegalese folk music. The singer's voice has gone a little croaky as he's aged and he sounds better now than he did on the old music of their's that you can buy.</p><p>The downside of live music here is the timing of the concerts, never starting before midnight and in this case as there was a support band, Pape & Cheikh didn't come on stage until around 01:30 (and finished at around 03:15). I passed the time beforehand in conversation with a man sitting at the same table - who turned out to be a very talented harmonica player. He got up and jammed on one track with the (jazz) support band and totally transformed their otherwise quite bland performance. We swapped numbers and I'm hoping that he might prove to be a useful contact.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcp1fpj0QAPPWCaFW6cXbdaKP02McOuROEx1AoNhUzk3s6yCU2Y9Q9fzeK1_BOa0ptzSBAdF82dAHqrjwWJiJo0b7_FaDl56KGTTe8S_KX3i8o_UBL7ggOl_gF63DV5NNzpLoXCE1tzHI/s2048/Dakar+nightlife+-+Salif+Keita+at+the+Pullman+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1447" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcp1fpj0QAPPWCaFW6cXbdaKP02McOuROEx1AoNhUzk3s6yCU2Y9Q9fzeK1_BOa0ptzSBAdF82dAHqrjwWJiJo0b7_FaDl56KGTTe8S_KX3i8o_UBL7ggOl_gF63DV5NNzpLoXCE1tzHI/s320/Dakar+nightlife+-+Salif+Keita+at+the+Pullman+4.JPG" /></a></div><p>Then this weekend there was a difficult choice to make, with Salif Keita in from Mali to give a gala performance (= dinner included, ticket price very high) at the Pullman Hotel, and Oumou Sangare, supported by Bassekou Kouyate (both also in from Mali), giving a gala performance beside the Renaissance statue, near to where I live. Then there was Wally Seck, performing at a much more reasonable price at the National Theatre. I felt I had to see one of the Malian visitors, and as I'd never yet seen Salif Keita perform live I took a deep breath and purchased my CFA 50,000 (US$93) ticket; fortunately I was able to find a buyer for 41 of my old CDs, which at CFA 1,000 each helped to defray most of the cost.</p><p>Thankfully also, being in the grounds of a hotel which might have had guests who wanted to sleep that night, the concert started relatively early and was over by 1am. I wait to see who will play where this coming weekend, but for sure I will have another musical outing ... and another late night. I was also pleasantly surprised this morning to learn that the St Louis Jazz Festival will take place later this month - whilst our COVID cases here now are negligible (33 new cases reported yesterday - out of a population of nearly 17 million) I still thought that they might cancel it for a second year.</p>Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264622412570656602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8631021198264932010.post-23960112744138331512021-06-03T03:45:00.002-07:002021-06-03T03:45:45.885-07:00the contradictions within an outwardly conservative society<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv9lC62hUjQYnzBypyA7ANaKYI1UPosDOALDwYRxghOUya6J4eEcPkozy-OVBgUP_XLVU31JOL1sv2-g0QAtwT4Dn8Drs3waVVu7uwhDFJk4Ulwc0Hhdxffk3HmHpDnqoLHTwDgVZPqJk/s2048/IMG_0243.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1433" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv9lC62hUjQYnzBypyA7ANaKYI1UPosDOALDwYRxghOUya6J4eEcPkozy-OVBgUP_XLVU31JOL1sv2-g0QAtwT4Dn8Drs3waVVu7uwhDFJk4Ulwc0Hhdxffk3HmHpDnqoLHTwDgVZPqJk/s320/IMG_0243.JPG" /></a></div><p></p><p>Starting this post with a very poor quality photo - but you get the idea, I'm sure. It is a poster currently displayed on many sites around town, advertising a popular series (now in its third season) on local television, called "Mistress of a married man". The one at my local bus stop, having been up for a month, has now been replaced by a condom advert.</p><p>I've been thinking about this, and many other aspects of society here, as my life begins to justify the title of my blog that I am "in" Senegal rather than, as previously, it being a transit point between my travels to other countries.</p><p>Remind yourselves that this is a 95% Muslim country, ranked in one 2019 study as the second most religious country in the world, where life is based around the family. But now that I'm spending all my time here, starting to get a deeper understanding of the country, I'm seeing much more of the many contradictions that lie just below the surface. Yes, the people here are very religious - their belief in Allah is central to their lives - but that doesn't seem to mean that they have to follow all of its requirements!</p><p>Affairs outside of marriage seem to be very common. I asked a friend about this, and he told me that his behaviour was allowable since the religion permits up to four wives, and realistically he cannot be expected to choose a second wife without 'trying her out' first! I have yet to get a more 'official' view on this - maybe something for me to ask about in Saudi Arabia, if my December trip goes ahead! At the same time, women here have quite a lot of clout. Not only are 42% of parliamentary seats held by women (putting Senegal in the top ten internationally for female political representation), but amongst the small wealthy section of society, women have a lot of money. As one rather resentful Senegalese man explained to me, the Koran requires the man to pay all household costs - the rent, utility bills, food, etc - so if the woman has any income, that money is hers and she can do whatever she wants with it. So, as he pointed out, many of the smart (expensive) SUVs driving around are owned by women (not obvious as their drivers will always be male). Certainly the outfits (both the clothes and the jewellery) that some women wear on nights out is astonishing.</p><p>Alcohol is another contradiction. Forbidden by the Koran, it is nevertheless widely consumed. Of course there are the more expat-orientated places that serve it, such as the beach-side bars - although a good proportion of the clientele at such places are Senegalese - but additionally, every neighbourhood has a wall with a nondescript metal door behind which is a beer garden of some kind. This may well be different out in the villages, but in Dakar it seems that most people drink alcohol. Indeed most supermarkets have a whole aisle of beers, wines and spirits - certainly far more than could be consumed by the expats and the 5% Christian community! It is, however, consumed behind closed doors and not to excess, which thankfully means that there is no public drunkenness.</p><p>There is no clear religious prohibition against cannabis (although some Sunni scholars class it as an 'intoxicant' and therefore forbidden), and it is surprisingly common. The Bayefall community (a particularly Senegalese sufi Islamic sect) consume it as part of their beliefs, alongside music, to get closer to Allah. Whilst there seems to be tacit acceptance of its use by the Bayefall, it is illegal, and the local press seems to be full of news articles on seizures of yamba, as it called locally. I note, however, that some of the seizures are from police officers and religious leaders! There is also - within Dakar, at least - a group of reggae adherents who hold all-night reggae parties, at which yamba is consumed freely, with the police standing guard outside ... I've been told that the organisers acquire a 'special licence' for this...</p><p>Some Senegalese have told me that they are a nation of hypocrites, but I think you could also say that they are tolerant and open-minded!</p>Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264622412570656602noreply@blogger.com0