I was very excited to receive a phone call on Monday to tell me my stuff from the UK was ready to be delivered to me the next day. Tuesday morning I wandered around my little house, impatiently waiting for the lorry to arrive although also half resigned to the likelihood that it wouldn’t come at all. But it did come, and there were all my boxes, with a treasure trove of long-awaited contents.
Well, apart from the things I really shouldn’t have brought. Thick winter duvet? A guidebook of walks around London?? But also amongst it were my mini-hifi and my CDs, my photo albums, my books, a change of clothes at last, an easy-to-use corkscrew and my hammock. Bliss!
& later in the week the carpenter delivered a set of bookshelves and some kitchen cupboards, so there were even places to put some of the stuff, although most of the CDs and books still remain in their boxes. The hammock has had plenty of use already, as its delivery has coincided with a welcome clearing of the cloud cover and consequent rise in the daytime temperature from 23°C to 32°C. The corkscrew has also had some use…
In fact this afternoon I sat with a dainty little plate of spicy salami and a glass of shiraz as I watched the Tottenham v Bolton game on TV, feeling very civilised! I’ve started to feel a little more like my house is also my home, and therefore somewhere I should have some pride in. I finally found some material I like which they are to use to recover the horrible old sofa set I was given – a sunny yellow colour with little tortoise motifs in black, cream and rust. It looks very African and hopefully the bright colour will lift the room a little. I have vague ideas of large tribal wood-carvings and traditional cloths hanging on the walls, but all that will take some time as I have to wait until I visit the appropriate countries. I know you can buy Malian Bogolan cloth in Dakar but at several times the Malian price and anyway, I’d rather buy it in Mali. Must be careful not to get too acquisitive/materialistic about this though!
The channel showing the football is part of a free trial period I have been given for the local digital cable package. But we are one month into the two month trial and so far only two of the forty-odd channels actually work. The others come and go, with a few minutes of something watchable before the screen freezes or the picture deteriorates into dozens of little coloured squares. We have bought a longer aerial, and the technician has been three times so far to try to sort things out, but with no success. During the week I tried to wire up my video player that arrived with my shipment, but found that the digital cable company technician had used the video socket for one of his cables. I tried to trace the cable into the nest of wires that now sits behind the TV, only to find that it disappeared into a roll of sticky tape with two other cables, and that the single cable that came out the other side then went into a little box with lots of loose wires protruding from one side… At that point I gave up for fear of electrocuting myself.
Unfortunately though that is fairly typical of the way things (don’t) work here. Quality of workmanship is very low. A lovely man called Toumani is making much of my furniture (cheaper than buying it ready-made), having come recommended by several colleagues for the quality of his work. Yet now I have put a few things into the kitchen cabinets the door catches don’t work, as the weight of a few mugs and jars has pulled the hinges out of alignment. & one of the drawers in my dressing table won’t open. & one of the wardrobe doors has started to stick (sorry Mum – I know you don’t like me starting sentences with ‘and’).
The $20 chopping board I bought when I first moved into my house has already split in two. Most of the doors in the house don’t quite fit – in fact the back door ends so far above the floor that a mouse came in through the gap under it last week.
Even when you do find something nice and of reasonable quality, the service levels can disappoint. Last week I found three lamps I liked, and asked the shop to set them aside (and watched them do so) whilst I went into work to get approval for the purchase from my employer, who has to pay for them. The lamps were delivered Saturday morning, but one had the wrong base and another the wrong lampshade, so I had to spend time and money taking a taxi back to the shop with the lamps to exchange them for the ones I had ordered. & sure enough when I got to the shop there were the proper parts sat by the service desk. Apparently they had sent different ones because they thought I’d prefer them!!
I also have to get used to the digital clock on my mini-hifi constantly flashing “SU 00:00” at me, as the electricity cuts out for a few minutes at least a couple of times every day and I’ve given up re-setting it. Just as well I didn’t bother packing my electronic clock-radio!
It was election day in Senegal today and we were strongly advised by the head of our office to stay indoors in case of trouble. We have also been given the day off tomorrow, again in case of trouble. Certainly passions are running high, and I can hear lots of noise on the streets. It is hard to imagine Senegal suffering the sort of problems so many other African countries have, but I am aware that the current president’s private residence is only around the corner so I have taken heed of the warning, even though I would love to be out there investigating what is going in.
Generally the run-up to the election has had a bit of a party atmosphere, with the various groups of supporters wearing their candidates’ colours and making lots of noise – rather like groups of football supporters. There was a big fight between rival supporters earlier in the week, with several serious injuries, but in a country where alcohol is not much in evidence things don’t usually blow up into anything serious.
From what I can gather the incumbent, Abdoulaye Wade, has a good chance of staying in power. His supporters point to all the improvements he has made such as the new roads, street lights and improved health facilities. But many people seem to blame the government for rises in the prices of a lot of basic goods such as rice, bread and gas, and some of Wade’s opponents claim they will lower such prices if they gain power. Many also feel that Wade, somewhere in his eighties, is too old to govern. Strangely it does not seem that the 60% unemployment rate is a factor in this election.
It is nice to see that the Senegalese take their right to vote so seriously. The voting process is very slow, but the TV news has shown voters patiently queuing for hours. Gloria told me the voting stations have a long table with fifteen piles of card, one pile for each candidate (all men...). Each card shows the photo and name of one candidate. The voter walks alongside the table and picks up one card from all fifteen piles, and then takes those cards into a private room. There they put the card for the candidate of their choice into an envelope, and throw the other fourteen cards into a bin. Such a waste of trees and ink, but I suppose it makes the process more accessible for the illiterate. The envelope is then taken back into the main room and deposited into a transparent sealed ballot box. The voter signs a register (if they are able to) and places their thumb onto a pad of dye, to prevent them from trying to vote a second time. But I have little doubt that whoever comes second will still complain of electoral fraud, that seems to be de rigueur these days.
The results will be announced on Friday, but with fifteen candidates I would have thought it unlikely that any one will get the 50%+ they need to win, so we will probably have to have another round of voting between the two who get the most votes this time. I wonder if the office manager will give us another day off?
Travels around Ghana
I have just returned from a week working in Ghana. Our country office is in Accra, which is where I started my week, but it turned out that most of the expenditure I was interested in was in our northern-most program area, in the Upper West district on the Burkina Faso border. As a result I spent much of the week in a Land Cruiser, travelling some 1,823km in total. The upside was that I saw so much of Ghana, from south to north, rainforest to savannah. The downside that my morning pick-ups from the various hotels have ranged between 5am and 8am. Plus we worked all day Saturday, the one day I had originally hoped to spend sight-seeing, and most days didn't finish until 9pm. Technically I should get three days off work to compensate for the weekend working and travel, etc, but I have so much to do that I doubt I can manage one day.
But it was a great opportunity to see Ghana. Particularly in the Upper West district, where I was taken to see irrigation projects and to speak to community members involved in the projects. It is a beautiful part of the country, but has rain for only three months of the year and virtually no sources of water for the rest of the time, so there is serious malnutrition, and seasonal migration, during the dry season. Our irrigation projects there are aimed at providing a water source to their communities throughout the year, which should provide food security and reduce migration. The results were clear to see – well into the dry season, the irrigated areas were green and full of crops, and the water outlets were surrounded by women collecting water for cooking and washing. I asked whether the water storage was likely to provide a breeding ground for mosquitoes, and was told that fish were being introduced into the water basins to prey on the mosquito larvae, and would also act as a further source of protein for the communities.
Another problem that had to be addressed was that crocodiles (of which we saw three) like to dig holes into mud banks, so the dam walls had to be faced with large stones to prevent them doing so. These sort of projects are very complicated – and I do wonder whether all of the environmental (and social?) implications are understood – but certainly in the short term the effects are very positive.
But the Ghana I saw was not just a land of poverty. The Senegalese are proud of Dakar’s prominence within West Africa – they see it as the capital of the region – but I find it hard to track down many of the things I need or want here, and was surprised to see them all on sale in the markets of Ghana. If there had been any time available to shop I would be carrying home avocados, digestive biscuits, porridge oats, an electric toothbrush, a CD rack…
I enjoyed flying via the Ivory Coast, too, which looked beautiful from the air. Around Abidjan it was lush and green, with lots of rivers or lagoons. There were also some wonderful palm tree plantations, with palms laid out in neat rows – looking from the air like fields of green stars.
I also took the opportunity to join the Air Ivoire frequent flyer scheme. I don’t have the opportunity to collect airmiles the way my colleagues do in regions served by better-known airlines, but thought I should sign up to what I can. With the starter card I get a newsletter, but if I do enough flights to move up to Ivory level, I will be entitled to “a privileged welcome at the Air Ivoire offices and reservations”. I can’t wait.
Privacy
A pretty unexciting week has given me more time to reflect on the differences between life here and life in the UK.
One big difference concerns personal space. In terms of physical space, there is very little when you are with Senegalese people. Yesterday I visited my friends in the Medina to watch some TV – the Tottenham v Man Utd game followed by some traditional Senegalese wrestling. The women and children watched the wrestling indoors, whilst the men and I watched the football from benches outside. When it ended I went and joined the wrestling audience. I found a space on the bed and lounged with the others, and soon one of the hostesses was leaning against me, whilst one of the children rested her hand on my shin – both totally unconsciously, with no apology or acknowledgement as we would give in the UK.
When any Senegalese crosses a road with you they will take your arm or your hand; yesterday Gloria (my maid) walked with me to a shop she had recommended, and we seemed to spend most of the journey holding hands or in some way in physical contact. I rather like it, but it is very different from the way the British behave!
The same applies to the wider physical space of your home, it seems. On Monday while I was at work the carpenter delivered a dressing table to my bedroom. Tuesday someone else delivered a spare gas canister. Wednesday it was a delivery of air-conditioning units, on Thursday at 9pm a colleague appeared at my door with a TV technician to try to sort out my TV reception, and when I came home to get some lunch on Friday there was a carpenter repairing a crack in my front door. & of course all the time there is a guard at my gate, to whom I never really know how much to engage in conversation when he lets me in or out. I don’t usually want to have a conversation with my guard about where I am going or when I might be back, but I also don’t want to be rude, and I recognise that an eight-hour shift sitting at someone’s gate must be pretty boring and a few minutes’ conversation will be welcomed.
& of course there is Gloria, my maid. When I agreed to engage her I told her she should come two or three times a week, as she saw necessary. But she turns up nearly every day. Saturday morning I returned from buying some vegetables to find her already at work in the kitchen. She had already done four days this week, so I expressed some surprise at seeing her there on a Saturday. She told me the man might come again about my aerial, so she needed to be there to watch him and make sure he didn’t steal anything.
She also gave me a long lecture about the relationship between a maid and her employer. How it is her job, not mine, to buy vegetables. Her job, also, to wash the dishes, and to make my bed. She asked me to make a list each week of all the meals I will want, so she can work out what ingredients are needed and do the appropriate shopping (she gets very agitated about the fact that so many Senegalese charge higher prices to whites) – also if I tell her what time I want to eat then she will ensure the meal is ready at the appropriate time. Apparently I should be contented in the knowledge that she will look after my house and household needs in every way. & - a little strange this – if I will be around on a Saturday but have no specific work for her to do, I should call her and she will come and take me on walks to show me different parts of Dakar!
I’m still musing on how to respond. In some ways it would be lovely to be looked after in every way like that. My job is looking like it will be more and more demanding in the near future, plus I start French lessons next week and my Open University course materials have just appeared. But I treasure my freedom, my independence. I have for many years had to repress a shudder when friends have to phone home to tell a partner they will be late, or worse, have to turn down a last minute invitation because dinner will be waiting on the table. I love the freedom to do what I like, where I like, when I like – to not be answerable to anyone. But if I have to leave a list on a Monday morning of what I will want to eat on Thursday evening and at what time, I will have lost a lot of that freedom. & can you imagine if I had a man to stay overnight? My guard would know, my maid would know – enough to put anyone off!
I told my maid that her hard work, her high standards of cleanliness and her desire to look after me reminded me a lot of my mother – and suddenly I was enveloped in a big, long, hug. I think I shall have to play this one very carefully…
One big difference concerns personal space. In terms of physical space, there is very little when you are with Senegalese people. Yesterday I visited my friends in the Medina to watch some TV – the Tottenham v Man Utd game followed by some traditional Senegalese wrestling. The women and children watched the wrestling indoors, whilst the men and I watched the football from benches outside. When it ended I went and joined the wrestling audience. I found a space on the bed and lounged with the others, and soon one of the hostesses was leaning against me, whilst one of the children rested her hand on my shin – both totally unconsciously, with no apology or acknowledgement as we would give in the UK.
When any Senegalese crosses a road with you they will take your arm or your hand; yesterday Gloria (my maid) walked with me to a shop she had recommended, and we seemed to spend most of the journey holding hands or in some way in physical contact. I rather like it, but it is very different from the way the British behave!
The same applies to the wider physical space of your home, it seems. On Monday while I was at work the carpenter delivered a dressing table to my bedroom. Tuesday someone else delivered a spare gas canister. Wednesday it was a delivery of air-conditioning units, on Thursday at 9pm a colleague appeared at my door with a TV technician to try to sort out my TV reception, and when I came home to get some lunch on Friday there was a carpenter repairing a crack in my front door. & of course all the time there is a guard at my gate, to whom I never really know how much to engage in conversation when he lets me in or out. I don’t usually want to have a conversation with my guard about where I am going or when I might be back, but I also don’t want to be rude, and I recognise that an eight-hour shift sitting at someone’s gate must be pretty boring and a few minutes’ conversation will be welcomed.
& of course there is Gloria, my maid. When I agreed to engage her I told her she should come two or three times a week, as she saw necessary. But she turns up nearly every day. Saturday morning I returned from buying some vegetables to find her already at work in the kitchen. She had already done four days this week, so I expressed some surprise at seeing her there on a Saturday. She told me the man might come again about my aerial, so she needed to be there to watch him and make sure he didn’t steal anything.
She also gave me a long lecture about the relationship between a maid and her employer. How it is her job, not mine, to buy vegetables. Her job, also, to wash the dishes, and to make my bed. She asked me to make a list each week of all the meals I will want, so she can work out what ingredients are needed and do the appropriate shopping (she gets very agitated about the fact that so many Senegalese charge higher prices to whites) – also if I tell her what time I want to eat then she will ensure the meal is ready at the appropriate time. Apparently I should be contented in the knowledge that she will look after my house and household needs in every way. & - a little strange this – if I will be around on a Saturday but have no specific work for her to do, I should call her and she will come and take me on walks to show me different parts of Dakar!
I’m still musing on how to respond. In some ways it would be lovely to be looked after in every way like that. My job is looking like it will be more and more demanding in the near future, plus I start French lessons next week and my Open University course materials have just appeared. But I treasure my freedom, my independence. I have for many years had to repress a shudder when friends have to phone home to tell a partner they will be late, or worse, have to turn down a last minute invitation because dinner will be waiting on the table. I love the freedom to do what I like, where I like, when I like – to not be answerable to anyone. But if I have to leave a list on a Monday morning of what I will want to eat on Thursday evening and at what time, I will have lost a lot of that freedom. & can you imagine if I had a man to stay overnight? My guard would know, my maid would know – enough to put anyone off!
I told my maid that her hard work, her high standards of cleanliness and her desire to look after me reminded me a lot of my mother – and suddenly I was enveloped in a big, long, hug. I think I shall have to play this one very carefully…
Cold
Nearing the end of my time back in the UK. Not sure if I was lucky or unlucky to catch the first cold weather of this winter - I hate the cold, but a light coating of snow looked so pretty (and gave me the chance to try out my new digital camera!).
Being back has given me a chance to buy some of the things I have been struggling to find in Dakar. However I was surprised at how overwhelming I found the amount of choice available in the shops here. I've only been away from it for six weeks (although I was never a great fan of shopping), but already it seems slightly obscene that there is just so much here; in Dakar I couldn't find a single quilt to fit a king-size bed, here in the UK there seem to be millions. Maybe one day the world's resources will be spread rather more fairly and there will be limited choice in both locations.
Moral dilemmas
As I am now in the UK for ten days of courses and meetings, I will not have much cause to write about my life in Senegal. However it does give me time for reflection. Time to think about life there and how it compares to life in the UK.
One difference I have been thinking about is the practice of employing maids. I was offered recommendations for maids from the first day I arrived, and finally gave in earlier this month and took over the services of a maid (Gloria) from a colleague who was departing Senegal. It didn’t come easily for me, something I could never have imagined myself doing and something I feel quite embarrassed about. No criticisms meant of friends who have maids, cleaners, etc, but it just isn’t me. It doesn’t fit in with my beliefs – those connotations of superiority and upper or upper middle class attitudes that I’d prefer to avoid (too posh to clean up my own mess?).
But here the attitudes are completely different. Everyone who can afford to have a maid does so, and indeed would be seen very negatively if they didn’t, the presumption being that they were too mean to pay for one. It is seen as an important way of sharing wealth – the ability to provide a job for another person (and probably supporting an extended family network on the wages). The other day I noticed the office guard, who cannot be at all well paid, sitting there whilst someone even less well-paid cleaned his shoes. There is just a different attitude here.
&, I must admit, I have appreciated the cleaning she has done. At this time of the year the harmattan wind blows in from the Sahara depositing a fine dust over everything. Not only does it almost blot out the Sun on bad days, and get in your eyes and nose, but it gets into the house under the doors and through the mosquito netting and very quickly everything is covered with it. You can sweep and dust one day and within 24 hours the place is dustier than my London flat would have been if left for months. Goodness knows how bad the place could get if I went off on a business trip for three weeks.
I also have concerns over my ability to be a good environmental citizen now I am in Dakar – for various reasons, but Gloria is one of them. She came on Saturday, as she was busy with her previous employer on Friday, so I got to see some of her work. I was surprised to see her scrubbing vigorously not only at the lounge floor (which I know she last cleaned only three days ago) but also at the flagstones in my yard. I don’t know for sure that the water she was using was hot, nor do I know which cleaning product caused the bubbles on its surface, but I know for sure that damage was being done to the environment.
Even if my French were up to explaining why I would like her to minimise her use of electricity, water and chemicals, I don’t know that the explanation would cross the cultural barrier. Gloria thinks that her job is to provide me with a sparkling clean house, and she is clearly proud of her work, which I must admit she does well. How can I tell her that I would rather have a few smears on the floor if that would reduce my contribution to global warming?
& if she did understand what I meant, how would she reconcile that to the number of flights I need to take to do my job??
I think I have convinced myself that I can live with the flying. On the one hand (unlike going on holiday), if I weren’t doing this job someone else would be, so I’m not adding to the total miles being flown. & on the other hand, I may, over time, be in a position to influence the amount of consideration given to the environmental impact of the development projects undertaken in my region (and maybe even globally?) – something which probably would not be done by someone else in my job. Or at least I will try, although I have to show that I can do the job in hand before I start extending it into new areas.
One difference I have been thinking about is the practice of employing maids. I was offered recommendations for maids from the first day I arrived, and finally gave in earlier this month and took over the services of a maid (Gloria) from a colleague who was departing Senegal. It didn’t come easily for me, something I could never have imagined myself doing and something I feel quite embarrassed about. No criticisms meant of friends who have maids, cleaners, etc, but it just isn’t me. It doesn’t fit in with my beliefs – those connotations of superiority and upper or upper middle class attitudes that I’d prefer to avoid (too posh to clean up my own mess?).
But here the attitudes are completely different. Everyone who can afford to have a maid does so, and indeed would be seen very negatively if they didn’t, the presumption being that they were too mean to pay for one. It is seen as an important way of sharing wealth – the ability to provide a job for another person (and probably supporting an extended family network on the wages). The other day I noticed the office guard, who cannot be at all well paid, sitting there whilst someone even less well-paid cleaned his shoes. There is just a different attitude here.
&, I must admit, I have appreciated the cleaning she has done. At this time of the year the harmattan wind blows in from the Sahara depositing a fine dust over everything. Not only does it almost blot out the Sun on bad days, and get in your eyes and nose, but it gets into the house under the doors and through the mosquito netting and very quickly everything is covered with it. You can sweep and dust one day and within 24 hours the place is dustier than my London flat would have been if left for months. Goodness knows how bad the place could get if I went off on a business trip for three weeks.
I also have concerns over my ability to be a good environmental citizen now I am in Dakar – for various reasons, but Gloria is one of them. She came on Saturday, as she was busy with her previous employer on Friday, so I got to see some of her work. I was surprised to see her scrubbing vigorously not only at the lounge floor (which I know she last cleaned only three days ago) but also at the flagstones in my yard. I don’t know for sure that the water she was using was hot, nor do I know which cleaning product caused the bubbles on its surface, but I know for sure that damage was being done to the environment.
Even if my French were up to explaining why I would like her to minimise her use of electricity, water and chemicals, I don’t know that the explanation would cross the cultural barrier. Gloria thinks that her job is to provide me with a sparkling clean house, and she is clearly proud of her work, which I must admit she does well. How can I tell her that I would rather have a few smears on the floor if that would reduce my contribution to global warming?
& if she did understand what I meant, how would she reconcile that to the number of flights I need to take to do my job??
I think I have convinced myself that I can live with the flying. On the one hand (unlike going on holiday), if I weren’t doing this job someone else would be, so I’m not adding to the total miles being flown. & on the other hand, I may, over time, be in a position to influence the amount of consideration given to the environmental impact of the development projects undertaken in my region (and maybe even globally?) – something which probably would not be done by someone else in my job. Or at least I will try, although I have to show that I can do the job in hand before I start extending it into new areas.
Exploring the nightlife
I didn't plan to have a late night this weekend, but when I went to bed Saturday night it was quickly clear that I had no hope of getting to sleep, as somewhere nearby was a very loud party.
I was pretty sure that Orchestra Baobab would be playing at Just4U, and had seen a sign earlier in the day that suggested that Cheikh Lo would be playing at Pen'Art (though it said 'ce soir' and at 10am that could well have been left over from the previous day), and as both were walkable from home thought now would be an excellent time to try one of them out. I really had no idea whether or not this part of Dakar was safe to wander around in at night, but there was a big bright moon so at least I wouldn't be in danger of tripping over, which would probably be the biggest risk on a dark night. It appears that each property is responsible for its own pavement area, which means the quality, style, cleanliness, even the existence, of paving varies every few yards. Some properties don't bother so there may be just sand, or piles of rubble, whereas others make a real effort and lay coloured mosaics and plant trees (though strangely in the working class Medina there seem to be regular, well-mainained pavements - perhaps the authorities are responsible there). It means that you have to constantly watch where you are stepping, and with the only artificial light coming from shop signs it would make walking around on a dark night quite difficult.
But back to the nightlife. As it is cold enough at this time of year to need a cardigan (or similar) once the sun goes down, I thought I would go to Just4U as this is outside (Pen'Art is indoors, and I didn't fancy dancing with my cardigan tied round my waist all night...). US$6 for entry, and US$2 for a coke, didn't seem a bad price to watch Orchestra Baobab live, whom I would happily have paid an awful lot more to see play live on one of their rare trips to London. The venue is an outdoor 'garden' with a small stage, chairs grouped around tables, two bars and I think a kitchen somewhere as I saw food being taken past. I noticed how many white people were there - probably more than I had seen up until then in the whole of Dakar, although still just about in a minority. I was talking to a Senegalese man later in the evening, who said he only went there very rarely, as it was so expensive - I guess that partly explains the racial mix.
I had enjoyed listening to my Pirates' Choice CD by Orchestra Baobab, and they played many songs from that. But extended, and in some cases made more Senegalese, for example by extended mbalax-style drumming, or in one case by a man from the audience who joined them on stage to add some griot-style singing to one track. Some people got up to dance, including a middle-aged man in black tie, a drunken man in a billowing blue boubou (the traditional Senegalese outfit), a woman in a glittery backless floor-length gown, and various other people in jeans. Such a great mixture! It was an excellent evening overall, and I will certainly go there again. Just such a shame that the Senegalese start their nights out so late; Orchestra Baobab came on stage about 1am and I got home at 4am. Not something I would do every weekend! (& the party near my house was still going when I got home...)
I was pretty sure that Orchestra Baobab would be playing at Just4U, and had seen a sign earlier in the day that suggested that Cheikh Lo would be playing at Pen'Art (though it said 'ce soir' and at 10am that could well have been left over from the previous day), and as both were walkable from home thought now would be an excellent time to try one of them out. I really had no idea whether or not this part of Dakar was safe to wander around in at night, but there was a big bright moon so at least I wouldn't be in danger of tripping over, which would probably be the biggest risk on a dark night. It appears that each property is responsible for its own pavement area, which means the quality, style, cleanliness, even the existence, of paving varies every few yards. Some properties don't bother so there may be just sand, or piles of rubble, whereas others make a real effort and lay coloured mosaics and plant trees (though strangely in the working class Medina there seem to be regular, well-mainained pavements - perhaps the authorities are responsible there). It means that you have to constantly watch where you are stepping, and with the only artificial light coming from shop signs it would make walking around on a dark night quite difficult.
But back to the nightlife. As it is cold enough at this time of year to need a cardigan (or similar) once the sun goes down, I thought I would go to Just4U as this is outside (Pen'Art is indoors, and I didn't fancy dancing with my cardigan tied round my waist all night...). US$6 for entry, and US$2 for a coke, didn't seem a bad price to watch Orchestra Baobab live, whom I would happily have paid an awful lot more to see play live on one of their rare trips to London. The venue is an outdoor 'garden' with a small stage, chairs grouped around tables, two bars and I think a kitchen somewhere as I saw food being taken past. I noticed how many white people were there - probably more than I had seen up until then in the whole of Dakar, although still just about in a minority. I was talking to a Senegalese man later in the evening, who said he only went there very rarely, as it was so expensive - I guess that partly explains the racial mix.
I had enjoyed listening to my Pirates' Choice CD by Orchestra Baobab, and they played many songs from that. But extended, and in some cases made more Senegalese, for example by extended mbalax-style drumming, or in one case by a man from the audience who joined them on stage to add some griot-style singing to one track. Some people got up to dance, including a middle-aged man in black tie, a drunken man in a billowing blue boubou (the traditional Senegalese outfit), a woman in a glittery backless floor-length gown, and various other people in jeans. Such a great mixture! It was an excellent evening overall, and I will certainly go there again. Just such a shame that the Senegalese start their nights out so late; Orchestra Baobab came on stage about 1am and I got home at 4am. Not something I would do every weekend! (& the party near my house was still going when I got home...)
New Year Emotions
I didn't know whether to entitle this post 'malaria test', 'moving into my new house', 'tabaski' or 'new year', as all four titles would be relevant to this past weekend.
First came the high temperature, with aching joints in my neck and shoulders, slight headache and the overall weakness that comes with a temperature. My instinct would have been to stay in bed and let it pass, but of course in the tropics I know that such symptoms have to be taken seriously, and with one colleague already down with malaria I knew the risks. So a doctor was summoned, who asked the obvious questions and checked my temperature, blood pressure, etc, and referred me to the clinic for a blood test - a positive would mean malaria and a negative probably flu.
The clinic was clean and efficient (or at least it was clean until I was sick all over it) and within an hour I had my result - negative. I have to admit to being slightly disappointed! Not only because malaria would have been rather more exciting and glamorous than flu, but also because it would have justified calling out a doctor and having colleagues fussing all over me, which I now feel rather embarrassed about if all I was suffering from was flu. But in any case, I took the prescribed tablets and ampoules and was better within a couple of days.
During my illness, however, the time came to move into my new home. Very exciting, although a holiday weekend was perhaps not the best time to suddenly find myself alone in a very sparsely furnished house with no food in it. However I set about trying to making myself at home there. & now it has at least a little furniture in it I can see why I have been thinking of it as 'little'. The kitchen is not big enough for cooker, fridge and washing machine, so the fridge is in the dining room (and the dining table they have given me is too big so will have to go back). The spare bedroom which I am currently sleeping in looks to me to be too small to house a wardrobe as well as the bed, though we shall have to measure up. The only sizeable rooms are the bathroom and the lounge, but being east facing and with its only window looking onto a wall, the lounge is really dark and so I have not felt tempted to spend any time in there as yet. But colleagues tell me that as the hotter weather comes I shall be grateful for it.
To be honest it doesn't feel at all like a home as yet, but once I get some more furniture in, and when my stuff arrives from the UK - particularly my music! - it will have a bit more life and hopefully start to feel like mine. What I don't like much at the moment is the lack of privacy one gets from having a guard. The first time I used the kitchen I suddenly heard someone at the door - it was the guard, checking up as he had noticed the door ajar. & with my windows all at ground level and curtains only in the bedroom I was very aware of being visible to the guard as I wandered around in the evening. Worst of all though, is the fear that I may not be able to sunbathe in my own yard! Clearly the all-over tan will have to go, but I'm not even sure that I would be comfortable in a bikini in front of my uniformed guard. Will have to get advice from colleagues on that one!
On New Year's Eve I went out wandering and searching for food - and my goodness, what prices! US$6 for a lettuce!!? But we are out of season now for home-grown produce, and everything imported is expensive because of the duty. Still, I found a few tomatoes, onions, baguettes, etc, and even treated myself to a bottle of Senegalese wine, though had to drink it out of a mug as I haven't yet bought any glasses.
In my wanderings, I had just gone into the outskirts of the Medina (the big, old, working-class heart of the city) when I saw a blackboard, down a little alleyway, on which was written a few of the previous day's English Premiership football fixtures. I went down the alleyway to see what this meant, and blundered straight into an extended family Tabaski celebration - sheep heads and feet all over the place, women washing up and the men sitting around watching them (some things are the same all over the world...). I was immediately ushered in and offered a big plate of meat, and when I finally left a few hours later it was with the promise that I would be back the next day to watch the New Year's Premiership football on their family TV.
I had, I admit, been feeling a little lonely in my house up until then. Here I was alone in Africa, still not sure if I had done the right thing by taking this job and coming here, and with no-one to talk it over with. & I do find - always have - that when I feel a little below par in Africa I suddenly notice the poverty - no, not the poverty, actually it's the squalor of the place - and that brings me down even further, to a level below the way I ever feel in other parts of the world. But having gone low, it takes very little to bring me right back up again, and so it was here, my new-found friends putting a smile on my face and a spring in my step as I went home.
& so on New Year's Day (after an early night, still feeling tired after my dose of flu) I returned, and ate lunch and watched TV in the Medina. The TV was stood on an old crate on the sand, with a sheet of corrugated iron held up overhead to give shade, and a couple of wooden benches set up for the audience of assorted family and friends. Various wires and cables from the TV disappeared up above, one of which must have connected to the satellite dish on the roof, as the football was being shown on a South African TV channel (with English commentary!). Around us the family's children played and two tethered sheep munched on whatever bits of rubbish they could find.
I saw into a couple of rooms there, and they were TINY. Typically one wall was solid concrete and the other three were made from wooden boards; there was a bed taking up 90% of the space and a couple of bits of other furniture squeezed between the bed and the walls. I did use the toilet at one stage and this was of course just a hole in the ground in a screened off area. I guess there was a kitchen somewhere, although the preparation of the food and washing up afterwards all took place in big bowls out on the sand, beside the TV.
Lunch was a big communal metal bowl filled with rice and mutton, cooked in a tomato and chilli sauce - a little spicy for me, but quite nice. All day the men made Senegalese tea on a little burner, and I was also given cold bissap (a bright red sweet drink made from the hibiscus plant). Apart from the result (a draw against a team ravaged by injuries) I had a great day, and I suspect I will be back there on a regular basis. My only slight worry was whether I will be expected to invite any of them back to my place one day - the gulf between the size and quality of our homes is so enormous that I really don't want them to see where I live.
First came the high temperature, with aching joints in my neck and shoulders, slight headache and the overall weakness that comes with a temperature. My instinct would have been to stay in bed and let it pass, but of course in the tropics I know that such symptoms have to be taken seriously, and with one colleague already down with malaria I knew the risks. So a doctor was summoned, who asked the obvious questions and checked my temperature, blood pressure, etc, and referred me to the clinic for a blood test - a positive would mean malaria and a negative probably flu.
The clinic was clean and efficient (or at least it was clean until I was sick all over it) and within an hour I had my result - negative. I have to admit to being slightly disappointed! Not only because malaria would have been rather more exciting and glamorous than flu, but also because it would have justified calling out a doctor and having colleagues fussing all over me, which I now feel rather embarrassed about if all I was suffering from was flu. But in any case, I took the prescribed tablets and ampoules and was better within a couple of days.
During my illness, however, the time came to move into my new home. Very exciting, although a holiday weekend was perhaps not the best time to suddenly find myself alone in a very sparsely furnished house with no food in it. However I set about trying to making myself at home there. & now it has at least a little furniture in it I can see why I have been thinking of it as 'little'. The kitchen is not big enough for cooker, fridge and washing machine, so the fridge is in the dining room (and the dining table they have given me is too big so will have to go back). The spare bedroom which I am currently sleeping in looks to me to be too small to house a wardrobe as well as the bed, though we shall have to measure up. The only sizeable rooms are the bathroom and the lounge, but being east facing and with its only window looking onto a wall, the lounge is really dark and so I have not felt tempted to spend any time in there as yet. But colleagues tell me that as the hotter weather comes I shall be grateful for it.
To be honest it doesn't feel at all like a home as yet, but once I get some more furniture in, and when my stuff arrives from the UK - particularly my music! - it will have a bit more life and hopefully start to feel like mine. What I don't like much at the moment is the lack of privacy one gets from having a guard. The first time I used the kitchen I suddenly heard someone at the door - it was the guard, checking up as he had noticed the door ajar. & with my windows all at ground level and curtains only in the bedroom I was very aware of being visible to the guard as I wandered around in the evening. Worst of all though, is the fear that I may not be able to sunbathe in my own yard! Clearly the all-over tan will have to go, but I'm not even sure that I would be comfortable in a bikini in front of my uniformed guard. Will have to get advice from colleagues on that one!
On New Year's Eve I went out wandering and searching for food - and my goodness, what prices! US$6 for a lettuce!!? But we are out of season now for home-grown produce, and everything imported is expensive because of the duty. Still, I found a few tomatoes, onions, baguettes, etc, and even treated myself to a bottle of Senegalese wine, though had to drink it out of a mug as I haven't yet bought any glasses.
In my wanderings, I had just gone into the outskirts of the Medina (the big, old, working-class heart of the city) when I saw a blackboard, down a little alleyway, on which was written a few of the previous day's English Premiership football fixtures. I went down the alleyway to see what this meant, and blundered straight into an extended family Tabaski celebration - sheep heads and feet all over the place, women washing up and the men sitting around watching them (some things are the same all over the world...). I was immediately ushered in and offered a big plate of meat, and when I finally left a few hours later it was with the promise that I would be back the next day to watch the New Year's Premiership football on their family TV.
I had, I admit, been feeling a little lonely in my house up until then. Here I was alone in Africa, still not sure if I had done the right thing by taking this job and coming here, and with no-one to talk it over with. & I do find - always have - that when I feel a little below par in Africa I suddenly notice the poverty - no, not the poverty, actually it's the squalor of the place - and that brings me down even further, to a level below the way I ever feel in other parts of the world. But having gone low, it takes very little to bring me right back up again, and so it was here, my new-found friends putting a smile on my face and a spring in my step as I went home.
& so on New Year's Day (after an early night, still feeling tired after my dose of flu) I returned, and ate lunch and watched TV in the Medina. The TV was stood on an old crate on the sand, with a sheet of corrugated iron held up overhead to give shade, and a couple of wooden benches set up for the audience of assorted family and friends. Various wires and cables from the TV disappeared up above, one of which must have connected to the satellite dish on the roof, as the football was being shown on a South African TV channel (with English commentary!). Around us the family's children played and two tethered sheep munched on whatever bits of rubbish they could find.
I saw into a couple of rooms there, and they were TINY. Typically one wall was solid concrete and the other three were made from wooden boards; there was a bed taking up 90% of the space and a couple of bits of other furniture squeezed between the bed and the walls. I did use the toilet at one stage and this was of course just a hole in the ground in a screened off area. I guess there was a kitchen somewhere, although the preparation of the food and washing up afterwards all took place in big bowls out on the sand, beside the TV.
Lunch was a big communal metal bowl filled with rice and mutton, cooked in a tomato and chilli sauce - a little spicy for me, but quite nice. All day the men made Senegalese tea on a little burner, and I was also given cold bissap (a bright red sweet drink made from the hibiscus plant). Apart from the result (a draw against a team ravaged by injuries) I had a great day, and I suspect I will be back there on a regular basis. My only slight worry was whether I will be expected to invite any of them back to my place one day - the gulf between the size and quality of our homes is so enormous that I really don't want them to see where I live.
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