Viva Boabab!

Viva boabab!, viva boabab! Caribbean and African beats roll thru the club. The sax player gives a show, the two lead vocals swing, the bongo player smiles, the lead guitar thinks about a cigarette, the two base players are joking, and the drummer, the drummer is in seventh heaven. Welcome to club Just4U, Saturday evening, Dakar, Senegal. Have a cocktail, sit back and enjoy. The band on stage (as I discovered later) is the world famous Orchestra Boabab. During the seventies the band scored international hits (maybe this explains the slightly older crowd). They stopped, and were reunited. The sound is comparable with the Buena vista social club. I lean back and see the stars thru the palms tree. The evening is warm and relaxed. How did I end up in here?

The day started at six, I mean, five in the morning. I was woken up by a slightly drunk crowd, colleagues from the MRC. They had been clubbing and were going for a swim. I didn’t join them, I should have; the next hour was all about twisting and turning.

Twenty past six I was picked up by Anna, the twenty something kiwi girl. Anna was leaving today, and on her way back to New Zealand she wanted to stop in Istanbul and Dakar. Since I was meaning to go to Dakar as well we diced to team up. To make it slightly more exiting we were planning to travel over land, by all means. This could turn out into a long journey, so we had to leave early.

The early start was extra necessary because it was Set Settal that day. Set Settal is the wet dream of David Cameron. For a few hours the country comes to a stand still. If you are spotted on the street you can get fined or go to jail. There is only one place where you should be those hours, and that is at home. The purpose of Set Settal is to clean up your compound, street and direct neighbourhood. One morning cleaning a month keeps the country tidy. Easy as that. This cleaning festival should start at nine; so we had to be out of the Gambia before. The biggest obstacle between my house and the border is the Gambian river. The river is too wide for a bridge as it takes an hour by ferry. The service starts running as soon as there is light; this is at seven in the morning.

Anna had decided to leave in style, and what is a better style as by an original Indian tuc-tuc? So there we went, suitcase in the back, suitcase on top, sleep in our eyes.

The ferry was in demand that morning; a serious crowed was stacked on the boat. The crossing took an hour and ten minutes. For an hour and ten minutes it was dead quite on the boat, for one hour and ten minutes we all glared to the rising sun. For an hour and ten minutes the time stood still and our faces glow gold.

Once on the other side we catched up with time by rushing into a taxi, and thanks to serious speeding we arrived ahead of time at the border. The border was easy-piecy. Stamp at the Gambian side, stamp on the Senegalese side, donkey cart to the taxi-stand, five minutes shouting in French, claiming seats in the taxi, telling numerous kids you do not want their cookies, load more boxes on the taxi, and of you go. Twenty to ten, Dakar here we come.

The first miles were on proper tarmac, stopping every once and a while for road blocks. As in the Gambia there seems a huge police force in Senegal involved in checking cars ever odd mile. Very annoying since the police is unpredictable and unreliable, sometimes it takes a few seconds, sometimes ten minutes.

Tarmac became stones and stones became sand. Although still heading along the thick red line as printed on the map of Senegal, this road was more about corn fields than anything else. In a state of half-sleep, with Amadou and Mariam singing on the background (Amadou and Mariam sound like this), chasing the taxi in front of us, passing him on the left, he passing us on the right, tree, road, taxi again, market, donkey carts, it all came together. For an hour we were clutched on the back seat. Back on proper tarmac again we felt like sea-sick people returning to the harbour, delightful.

The rest of the trip was as any road trip. The landscape in Senegal hardly changed. It consisted mainly out long grass, low bushes and scattered trees, almost none of the land is obviously cultivated. Every couple of minutes you see little clusters of small huts with palm leave roof tops. The scenery is almost stereotypical Africa. We only experienced some heavy traffic just before Dakar so we arrived at 4 at the central taxi stand. Six hours, not bad, but my arse was numb for last hour. From the taxi stand it was a short taxi ride to the hotel. Swim, sleep, Senegal fast food, taxi again.

“Oui, bonjour, ca va? Et tu, to Just4U? Oui, Just4you. How much? Wha? How much! What! Non! Ok! Me and my French skills. For the price of 2000 CFA (pronounced as Sifa = 2.6 Pounds) we were on our way to the music temple of Dakar. Arrived at the club I gave the driver 5000 CFA and claimed my change. But what does this smart arse do? He says straight in my face that I gave him only 2000 and he does not want to give me my change. I make a fuzz, he leaves the car, other people get involved, we shout, 3000 CFA it is not worth a fight, and he knows. We go inside and decide; getting mugged in Dakar - TICK!

The next morning is very slow. Since we are in Senegal we might as well enjoy the French culture. We go for a coffee and croissant. Yummy. Before we have the bill it is afternoon, the croissant was French, the service African. Downtown Dakar is fairly organized but not special in anyway. The only gem we discover is a very modern cathedral, guarded by African angels. The service had just finished so the choir was still singing some French hymns, they sounded familiar but I did not recognize them.
Dakar is situated on the end of a peninsula and is slightly curved, due to this there is a lagoon kind of feeling, this combined with the azure blue sea and the yachts anchored just of the coast we imagine ourselves in the Mediterranean. Therefore we decide to spend the rest of the afternoon on the beach.

Fortunately I am not the first Dutchman in Dakar, well travelled as we are. In 1588 we were already in Senegal and even conquered a small island from the Portuguese. Homesick as they must have been they named the island after another island in the Netherlands: Goeree after Goeree-Overflakkee. Or “le Goree” for French, or “Gore Island” for the English. The island is 20 minutes of the coast and a visit looked the perfect thing to do at the end of a warm sunny Sunday afternoon. We arrived at the island around 17:30, still an hour and a half to wonder around, which is more than enough for the tiny island. The island is populated by happy people who life literally everywhere, in houses, holes, huts and bunkers. The inhabitants make a living by producing art, or however you call the handmade mass produced African gimmicks. Given the colourful houses, the smiling people, the diverse art work and the beautiful sea Goeree is a very pleasant place to hang out. This was strengthened by the African music festival which was still going on when we enjoyed our meal. The night had fully arrived when we were on the boat back; Dakar had been a very relaxed and pleasant experience.

Back on the shore I packed my bag and made my way to the airport. Two minutes before boarding it turns out we will have a two hour delay. Yeah, in the end we fly at twenty to four. Due to the small distance I am in my bed by five. A long, long working day will follow.

Cheers

Albert Jan

Fishing score: two small stingrays and a brownish fish with a lot of teeth.

Symphony in distress

“Deal” said Anna, the twenty-odd something kiwi girl, sitting across the table.
“A short story, with at least twenty lines of dialogue it will be.”
“But on one condition” she followed. “The final result has to be published on our blogs.”
“Good idea!” I heard myself saying with some enthusiasm.
“WHELP!” I thought to myself. The commitment to write a short story was not something I was waiting for. After setting this deal we both engaged ourselves into some contemplation. Then our eyes crossed and reality became real again.
“Fiction or non-fiction?” mumbled Anna. The bread, although just arrived, had found its way.
“Lets make it fiction,” I replied, “otherwise I have to reproduce this conversation literally”.

Lamin Boeti number two and Lamin Foetsie where digging around in the ground harvesting groundnuts. Both were armed with a little machete. Unfortunately for them the machete did not help much, so both where forced to use a lot of energy. While digging around a very unsupportive fact was present as well, the sun burning on their backs. As suns come in Africa, it was a very hot sun, a very nasty hot sun. Therefore both Lamins did not like the sun, actually both Lamins did not like spending a lot of energy and both Lamins did not like groundnuts. Apart from Lamin Foetsie, he quite likes them.

“Shall we think about a better solution than this lousy machete?” asked Lamin Boetie number two. He had been standing in a weird position all day and his back was hurting.

“No,” replied Lamin Foetsie.

“Shall we seed something else than groundnuts, they are hard to harvest, not very tasty and the market is not very good.” Lamin Boetie tried again.

“No,” said Lamin Foetsie again.

“Shall we form a cooperation with our fellow farmers and organize the use of machinery?” Lamin Boeti asked.

“No,” said Lamin Foetsie

“Shall we reinstall the irrigation system the Chinese built here, so we do not have to be hungry for two months a year?” Boetie asked.

“No,” said Lamin Foetsie.

“Shall we try to eat from our own land instead of buying very expensive imported rice?” asked Lamin Boeti. Lamin Foetsie thought for some seconds and said, “No.”

“Shall we use gas for cooking instead of wood? They say it is cheaper and cleaner,” asked Lamin Boetie.

“No, are you kidding,” replied Lamin Foetsie, who suddenly became talkative. “We are not going to do anything Boetie, we might live in this harsh environment, totally justifying a more structural and knowledge-intensive approach, but we know we can survive like the way we live, and I am not taking any risks. I just do not have the space to take risks in my life. I do not have the money, the knowledge, or access to the right people.” Lamin Foetsie continued. “Sometimes we might get things from some NGO or whatever, or they try to teach us other behaviours, but I am not buying any of that. I perceive those new things as risks, and I do not like risks, and why should I take them? We do not know what tomorrow will bring.”

“What did you say brother? We know how to survive? Two of your children died before they were five. That is not survival.” Lamin Boetie replied. Lamin Foetsie did not like this comment, but Boetie was right, some of his family have not survived. But who’s fault was that? He himself survived without anybody’s help.

“Shall we give more food to the children and our wives when there is not much, instead of first feeding ourselves? They are more vulnerable than us,” Lamin Boetie asked again.

“No” Lamin Foetsie replied, shaking his head.

“Shall I --” but Lamin Boetie could not finish his question, his mobile was singing, the latest tune of 2BAB Shakur lifted up the groundnut field. It was his mate, Lamin. Lamin lives in a village two miles down the road but today he was visiting the Lumo (market red). Lamin asked Lamin if he wanted to buy a goat for Tobaski. En sha la! Boetie had totally forgotten about this. He had to buy a goat to celebrate the end of Hajj. The 17th of November approaches faster than appreciated and it was a good time to sort it out. Yes of course he wanted to buy this goat. It reminded him that he had to stop by the tailor on his way back. He got also a brand new colourful costume made for the celebration. Glad his mate asked him, now he had a goat and he would not forget to go past the tailor. Good things always come together.

“Shall I take Lamin Boetie number three out of school?” Lamin Boetie picked up his conversation again. “He can write now and, given the situation we are in at the moment, where rich countries attract all people with any skill out of the country, the chances that he will learn something useful are quite small,” Boetie number two stated with a sigh. “And who can blame those people, I won’t be able to live off the money you will make as a teacher.”

Lamin Foetsie replied by nodding his head, but it was unclear what it meant. Boetie number two stretched his back again and peeled a nut. He looked to the flock of birds flying past. “Is it not wicked Lamin, that the most common birds are the most pretty ones?” Lamin Boetie observed. “Imagine it would be the other way around, how boring would that be?” Lamin Foetsie looked to the birds as well and totally agreed for a change. He stretched his back and walked to the donkey who was waiting at the end of the field. Boetie had followed him and jumped on the cart. Their day was over, the sun was about to set. It was time for their meal of the day, and since it was their only one they wanted to enjoy it. The ride back to the village went along a lot of uncultured land, land waiting to be used. So far nobody had come around to use it, maybe Boetie number three will make it. Who knows, he didn’t that is for sure.


End

Sorry, dreaming up this short story based on my experiences in rural Africa took so much time that I have almost no energy left to share my adventure on the road. I came back from the rural side to the coast last Saturday in a peugot 505, this is myself and 12 other people (it does fit). We went easily 100 km an hour, risky business if you realize that we did not have any brakes. Seriously we did not have brakes, no hand brake, no normal brake. We could only slow down by creatively gear switching, as there is switching in return while still going ahead. But I survived, and I was on time for the party at my apartment block. Halloween with 30 degrees and a midnight swim. Life is not so bad.
My new hobby is sea fishing, but so far I only caught knots in my lines….

Click here for some new pictures.

PS. All first born male are called Lamin, so there are a lot of them (I did actually meet a Lamin Boetie number two), all first females are called Fatou. Easy system and helpful for the less creative.