Paradise Regained

It was an incredible high to be speeding to Leopold Sedar Senghor airport two days after graduation (I am delighted to report that we had a 100% pass rate, despite those students who were notorious partisans of least effort, see story http://www.traveling-stories-magazine.com/notes-from-a-conseil-de-classe/#more-610). On my way to catch a flight to Athens via Madrid, all I could think of were the sidewalks – the recycling programs – AC and mosquito-free
sleep - no haggling in stores = bliss.

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Coming Full Circle

The end of the school year is approaching, and it seems I have come almost full circle, because just the other day I was introduced to a young man who came to Dakar for a ten-week internship. An interesting fellow, he is a computer science and religion major from Indiana, and he described with something vaguely akin to relish the giant cockroach that tried to ’spoon’ with him on his first night in town.

He then recounted his own trip to the tailor’s, a mere 2 bedraggled shacks down from a spot used as a central goat meetin’-and-greetin’ spot, and he managed to take it all beautifully in stride. I remembered my own first meeting with the school principal during which we were interrupted by the bleating of goats, and this in turn was followed by a flood of memories: I remembered my first ride on a suitably rusty car rapide, the view of fly-covered sides of beef hanging in the midday sun, and the brightly colored boubous of the mango sellers before they were turned from the pavement.  

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Bound for Bandia

Known as a fairly big private reserve that was established in the Dakar area in 1986, and about one and a half hours or 65 km from the city center, Bandia is a huge tourist attraction: mistakenly so, if I may be permitted to comment. On the way there, you pass a wonderful forest of baobabs, which is certainly typical of the region and impressive to see. Upon arrival, you are decked out with a guide and possibly a rental jeep and all sorts of things that cost a lot of money and then you proceed to see a sleepy rhino, a happy family of giraffes, some wild boars, and that pretty much completes the picture. If I am not mistaken, there are a few ostriches and grazing gazelles as well.

More unusual than any of this is the sight of a griot, or singer of the lower caste, whose remains are on view within the hollow trunk of a baobab (these trees, which lose heir leaves during the dry season, can live up to a thousand years and their trunks become increasingly hollow with the passage of time). So if any of this is worth going out of your way for, be my guest. The website calls the trip an unforgettable experience, and though it may well be, it is simply not what I had in mind when I pictured my first time in an African game park. I wanted lions and zebras, not hours of time spent in the hot sun hoping beyond hope to see something more exciting than a wild boar.

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Plight of the Talibés

The first time I came out of a European-style supermarket here in Dakar, I was immediately surrounded by a group of pitiful-looking young boys wearing threadbare clothes and clutching empty tomato paste cans, begging me for money. The vision is heartbreaking, the story behind it even more so, sadly. These young boys, known as talibé (pronounced TAL-ee-bay, from the Arabic ’seeker’ or ‘learner’), were traditionally sent by their parents to study the Quran with an influential spiritual leader, or marabout (marah-boo), to deepen their knowledge of the holy writings.

In exchange for this religious instruction, parents might provide money or gifts. Children would also be expected to help the marabout, often by offering donations they would receive for reciting the Quran. Asking for money in this way was said to teach humility and appreciation for whatever one has while preparing the children for life’s hardships. At the same time, the practice could be said to encourage the practice of zakaat or almsgiving (one of the five pillars of Islam) among members of the wider population.

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Why They’re Better Mixed

I remember when friends of mine began having their first children, both in the US and in Europe. Virtually everything they bought was top of the line, organically produced, etc -  vegetable-based paint for the baby’s room, organically treated wood for the cradle, lovingly raised New Zealand sheep hand-shorn for the carpet (perhaps I exaggerate here, but only slightly), baby wipes containing organic chamomile and aloe vera, even special bathtubs and bottles ergonomically suited to a baby. Read the story »