the end (probably) of louiseinsenegal

So I have made the decision to try out the nomadic lifestyle, saying goodbye to Senegal.

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.

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. 

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.

On to louiseinlimbo.blogspot.com !  (or, as I now find it listed as, louiseinlotsofdifferentplaces.blogspot.co.uk)

delaying the start of my new life

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!!

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.

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.

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...

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.

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.

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.

in London for the Jubilee

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.

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!

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!

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.

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.

moving on from Senegal

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.

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.

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'! 

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.

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.

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.

eviction

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.

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.

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...

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.

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.

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.

making the most of the little freedom I have

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.

... 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.

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.

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.

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.

Bogo Ja festival

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!

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.

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.