dakar - janvier, kane

le 6 janvier, 2007

A rendezvous chez Mme. Kane in Mermoz.
Perfect, beautiful day of sula music, food, dance (yes, I shook my bones) and after she read words of précaution and sagesse..
Music was provided by two, a toothless smiling fou and his friend in toque, shades and manteau. Under a lime and lemon tree, ate ceboudjene in the shade. No order, just chants and string, my face stung by the sun. Melting into the rhythm and the wolof cries. Malik (Kane's son) and Yassi? (her daughter) were kind, they insisted I return. The mint tea, attaya, was strong and sweet. I took the canadian children back home because they lost their way. Impossible to recognise what I will become. Last night I dreamt of playing the djembe with bananas. Music floats into my room from Papi's stereo. The birds chirp constantly, you run into animals everywhere..time for a short nap beforedinner. Tonight Just4U and tomorrow the beach..

le 7 janvier

Dakar rises with the sun as the mosques wail the shahâdah and sourates from theQu?ran. The planes roar by every fifteen minutes, but soon you ignore thosehumming turbines and learn to dance around the roaring engines and cargo of theroads. From dawn to dusk the streets are packed with marchands ambulants(street vendors), horse-drawn carriages lugging petrol and bottles andconcrete, talibe (street children) line the streets with sticks and cans andoutstretched hands. If you have far to go, the best way to get around is in thewhite ndjaga ndiaye or the blue and yellow car rapides, both operated by theMouride brotherhood. These worn-down Mercedes buses from the 40s cost tencents, you're guaranteed a seat, frequent stops, a bumpy ride, and thedroning Soufi chants from the radio.Dakar is an oasis on a peninsula. You could spend hours walking through dozensof districts, from the colonial centre-ville through the chaotic merchantparadise of Medina into the sprawling UCAD campus of Fann, and then along thecorniche cliffs that mark the end and beginning of Africa, past the tree andbarbwire lined embassy strip, turn east and walk through Mermoz (a littlestatue commemorates the crash), through quiet stony paths that wind around thegrand mosque, past the sprawl of boutiques and dibouteries (eateries) andshacks living beside the airstrip, into Liberté and Grand Yoff and openmarkets. There are three autonomous villages (Ouakam, Ngor, Yoff) that surroundDakar to the north; they line the ocean and are inhabited by generations of Lebou fishermen.

january - dakar

asalaamaleikoum.

first the changes in my dreams-moving from english to french, from white to black,from one family to another..that has been the strangest transformation of all. apart from that, i have settled into this space, ci jam ak jam. in peace and peace.
the planes roar by like the white ndjaga ndiaye trucks on the streets filled with sand and dust and fumes that fill my lungs but stronger and sweeter still is the spicy onion sauce that comes with every meal.. but for breakfast, every meal is bread and jam, or (my favourite)- chocomousse.

the cargo of dusty roads are filled with horse-drawn carriages lugging petrol, silent hums tugging bottles and cans, mbalax beats, gorgeous boubous, (the colourful flowing robes) praying with their gris-gris, talibe (abandoned children) as young as five scatter the streets from dawn until minuit- people make a living any way they can.. sous-verre glass and artwork, street hawking anything and everything, colliers, soulis (sandals and shoes-you go through them fast) maillots, peanuts roasted in the sand, green oranges, nescafe rules..
Dakar is divided into a dozen different districts, you could spend hours walking from the centre-ville through the chaotic merchant paradise of medina into the sprawling ucad campus and then to the corniche cliffs that mark the end and beginning of Africa, further into fann and the tree and barbwire lined embassy strip, turn east and walk through mermoz, quiet stony paths that wind around the grand mosque, past the sprawl of boutiques and dibouteries and people living beside the airstrip..
one day i walked past the airport into the dry hills of mamelles.. thorns and the odd dead dog lined the road. made it to a beautiful beach. i climbed down a thousand steps and collapsed in sweaty glory beside the water. breathed the air. drove my fist into the ground and dragged a million bits of colour across the sand.. let them filter through my open fingers-thought-we are just flecks of dust, flying blind in the wind. on my knees, i found a place i love. i'm squinting, tracing the sun's reflection, and it happens. god is all, all is god. the twin minarets behind me seem to sway, the colourful pirogues (fishing canoes with motors) begin to sparkle, the blackest skin glistens, the waves break and breathe again. instead of dissecting the world, drowning in the past, disturbed by the surround, here you are the rhythm.
everyone i know, everything i know, it's all across the ocean, and i want it to stay that way.
i adore the senegalese. they are warm, open, genuine, witty, and good god how beautiful.. no sense fumbling with adjectives, anecdotes are better-some i will try to remember, others will come back to me when i'm gone.
everyone you meet, instead of giving orders and taking direction, you learn to ask about their day, their health, their family.. thankfully i can do this in wolof, but it will take another couple months before i can be conversational.. i am eating well, sleeping well, dreaming and loving all. some days you live on nothing but the kindness of strangers.
i live with scott, papi, daouda, fatou and astou, and maam. people stay up late watching portugese soap operas dubbed in french, the news, and the latest drama concerning la lutte- wrestling with a senegalese twist. the controversial fight between tyson and bombardier, quelle histoire.. i will explain someday. today my grandmother had friends over (who also made the hajj to mecca) and they put their hands together and with all the noise around them found a perfect silence.

i wake up to sweeping and birds and chanting from the mosque, every day and night in fact, the shahadah-alxhamdilulah, allah akbar. my feet are strong and leathery from walking sand and stone, my teeth are strong and salty from chewing fish bones, my head is strong but it took a beating a few days ago... sunday i went to the zoo, used the swings, threw peanuts at monkeys, listened to an old lion roar-ostriches are bizarre. papi is crazy, poking a caged python
trying to get it to stretch out.. monday night i woke up with a slight wheeze, went to the bathroom, inhaled once, felt nausea and vertigo and waited until it passed, inhaled again and then blackness- i don't remember passing out, but i awoke in the midst of a violent seizure. i won't describe to you the worst feeling in my life. inshallah all i did was cut my head. tuesday i decided to brave school and i am glad i did so- after class my friend gloria from nigeria took me to the falaises at the corniche and we made out until i realised my head was still bleeding. the next day i had some tests done and they say i am not epileptic, but they cannot explain the seizure. but i am here, i am alive, i feel good.
that's all for now, i'm kind of tired, and you shouldn't try to do too much. please, take a minute to breathe in silence during the day. slow down. don't think of me.

ba suba ak jam
until next time, with peace

adam