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Senegal, Louga, West Africa.

POST CARD TO THE HYPOCRITE

How was your holiday? Ok thanks for asking. In 4 words of less than one syllable per word, thats about the limit of most peoples passing interest in your holiday. After this a glazed expression forms on the victim's face. Knowing full well they want to tell you their own exploits that was grander,further,hotter,cheaper,dearer or what ever makes them feel better for not going where you chose to go. All the while they hope your photos don't see the light of day!
If anyone is really interested in how my holiday went this is my post card to the hypocrite.
Dear ? Weather: hot, Yesterday: hot slightly hotter than today but not as hot as the first. Oh! The food is good too, that is if you like your food on the hoof, litterally and if your willing to try anything. Yes, anything, its all in there, the four T's. Tongue, testies,teats and tonsils, and all recognisable! Or fish straight from the sea into the pan head to tail. A circle of eaters around the plate and a pile of crunched fish bones spat as skillfully as a Californian patrol cop on chewing tobacco, into a neat pile on the floor. Waiting like stikkle bricks for the cats to choke on.
Day 3. I became vegetarian! (see title)
I came to Senegal with a desire to gain greater understanding in African culture, a whole generation of men who must be ages somewhere between 35 and 50 years seeking a better life in Europe, leaving the younger men with the responsibility and naivity as a hardened Steps fan. Has this void damaged the Africa I longed to discover? I feel arrogant and guilty for even thinking this. Someone said that there are more drums per head in London than in the whole of Guinea. So who's craving a culture? The African? Desperate to emulate the 'boyz in the hood' complete with any accessory that glistens, fake or real all desperate to wear anything different. Like the dodgy Oasis T- shirt (cancelled tour due to Liam Gallagher lost his teeth for Christmas)rather than their own traditional garments called the Bifal that are perfect for the climate.
The Bifal patchwork clothing representing a patchwork of cultures sewn together to form one religous society brought together after political disputes with the authorities set up a spiritual home in Touba.
The family I stayed with pay homage to their Maribu, a spiritual guide. By painting a mural on the house wall and when the maribu tours only then does the Bifal clothing appear. This then puts the drumming into perspective. A wonderful arrangement of break neck drumming with sudden stops and delicate but tricky introductions and breaks to allow a few rants towards the Maribu hidden behind a curtain. I wondered if he was secretly jigging behind the curtain the the infectious rhythms.
As the drumming became more and more frantic, outbrakes of modern Senegalise dance occured. If you can imagine a cross between John Travolta on a hot tin roof with a Michael Jackson crotch grabbing knee bending thing going on! All at twice the speed of your average Disco king dare throw their limbs around. But all this movement totals a duration of approximately 10 seconds. Then its someone else's turn to do the same. If us whities dare to dance it is hilarious to the local girls.
Oh yes I forgot........We have Morris dancing, line dancing!


Exodus
Senegalise women who's husbands are in Europe go about their chores with an unusual mixture of pride, routine and I guess fate. They have a steadying, normalising presence. As the young men come and go as if they were on a bungy cord. Yaye (mother), the matriarch of the family, once a politician, feeds the family and often some of the luckier kids on the street. Often 20 at a time and half the neighbourhood given the chance.
The poor kids come for their sweetmeal porridge, made with milk from the fruit of the Baobab tree. The friendliest kids you could ever meet, they cross the street to shake the hand of a white man (Toubab) (dictionary- foreigner usually white). In their other hand is normally an old tomato puree`tin hoping for the chance you might throw them some loose change or a manky carrot top or Onion skin. At the end of the day the orphans collectively gather the food they have scrounged that day to make soup. Probably their only meal of the day.
One such kid was wearing a tatty, dirty Osama bin laden T shirt. I asked him if he knew who he was. From what I could gather he new nothing about him, I chuckled and thought nor does the U.S.A pal.
So....is it I that craves culture in our cultureless society? Oh yes we have CUL-CHA like chicken tikka massala, Mcflurry to go a kinder surprise, big Mac's and home delivery pizza and mecca bingo and the lottery. We go to our supermarket to bulk buy, whilst the average waged African exists on £3 per week on a hand to mouth live- for- today attitude. I witnessed a man buy one cigarette paper and some tobacco. You can buy one spoon of sugar here. Enough tea for one cup or small knob of butter. I gave a chap £3 to by some shoes as he was walking on only one shoe and that shoe had no toe section only a strap across his foot so when he walked the sole slapped the sole of his foot! It drove me mad, goodness knows how he felt!
Why don't you save some.........SAVE! a word obviously rarely used in these parts of Africa. Evidence of a tatty crepe bandage used to patch up a sick drum. Whilst a human casualty wears some torn material to support a crippling wound. Why save when it can be used now! And find something else that will do later. The masters of re-cycling.
One example of masterful re-cycling are the many saret's (a pony & trap). They run a taxi service, the chassis of the saret was probably from a scrapped london taxi. The remains of the taxi probably re-incarnated as a refrigerator or something equally ridiculous. Each saret would be piled high, A modern goat herders transport topped with trussed goats on a mountain of goods. On the way to market... Occasionally losing the odd goat much to the dismay of the remaining trussed captives. Its not surprising as the sarets suspension seems to be as powerful as an olympic vaulters spring board. Its quite comical watching a goat doing a tripple flack summersault with a pike! Landing on the searing sand of the midday sun. Ummm you can almost smell the goat sizzling.........
Volume control I wished the makers of HiFi equipment would explain to my host's what Volume control meant. The volume is either off or full and the sound quality of a thousand pissed of vipers and the tonal quality of Ken Dodds diddy men on helium.At the same time over the top beckons the call for prayer in the Minarettes with much the same quality as the aformentioned radio. A few heed its call and stop what they are doing to un roll their beach mats and face Mecca (not the Bingo hall) Incidentally the quietest place in Louga happens to be the Catholic Church yard.


All that glistens
As our time to depart approaches an underlying excitement simmers as the family gather for the handing over of gifts. The gifts being anything, anything you have brought from U.K. Even the clothes you have on! If it looks expensive or glitters its even more desirable. The most sought after items are anything that has a designer label. Yes.. Tesco, Aldi, Nike, Adidas, anything with a logo must mean its good 'gear'.
I part with some of my none designer cloths to a young man wearing the latest Nike T- shirt, Nike sandals and Prada shorts who incidentally asked me two days before for the price of a cup of tea..... (Read Save). Confused? Um so am I.
So...... how could I possibly sum up in my expert opinion based on a fleeting visit.
It would probably be as accurate as the Queens opinion looking through the bullet proof glass of her Rolls Royce on a state visit to China. Maybe I should sum it up as an exchange of cultural ideals both of which will probably never achieve.
I hope the Bifal patchwork doesn't end up as a patchwork of designer labels. I hope the traditions filter back and the older teachers come home to allow the male generations to become kids.
As we enjoy the traditions of African life I hope it doesn't sell itself short for a quick fix.

Wish you were here?..................

January 2003 4.55am