3ème Festival Mondial des Arts Negres

It seems only fair that for all the cool events we miss by just weeks, that we’d have the good fortune to be in Senegal for the third World Festival for Black Arts.  Amazingly, almost all of the hundreds of events are absolutely free.

The world-famous kora player, Toumani Diabeté, was the first performer at the opening ceremony.   Somehow the majesty of an instrument normally best enjoyed in a small and intimate room was not lost as he played standing alone in the middle of the 60,000-seat stadium.  Next up an impressive dance/theater performance telling the story of the African diaspora followed by speeches from the presidents of Mali, Mauritania, Equatorial Guinea, Senegal and Guinea Bissau and finally… Wyclef Jean??  Wyclef started his speech by complaining about Haiti not letting him run for president (“I came to Haiti and they sent me home before I was even off the plane”).   Although considering he doesn’t speak French, maybe all they told him was that he needed a visa first.  Next, he congratulated himself on being educated (“I can read.  I can write”), encouraged people to do hip-hop because they love it and not “for the bling and hot chicks” and ended with the embarrassing, “If you want to see Haiti, then just look at me.  I am beautiful.  I am strong. I am...”  Are all Haitians self-congratulatory?  I think not.

My favorite part about the evening, though, was the fake camera crew wandering through the aisles all night with their cardboard camcorders, wooden microphones and homemade t-shirts.  Je l'aime.

The parade of Burkina Faso marionettes never materialized (or we were in the wrong place at the wrong time – turns out the English schedule differs from the French on some important details).  Archie Shepp’s gravelly voice enthralled us for an evening under the majestic African Renaissance statue (apparently they’ll be spending another $7 million to lengthen the woman’s skirt at some point although arguably the money would be better spent covering her side-boob). Massimo thought it looked like something out of fascist Italy. You be the judge...

Planet of the crabs…

Even if we never leave Ocean & Savane, the trip to Senegal is already worth it.  The beach is covered with crabs the size of my head and at nightfall as they advance from the beach further inland it looks like a sea of crabs.  I am simultaneously amazed and fearful of them, realizing we’re outnumbered.

As for the people, it’s impossible to improve on Max’s description:  “They are so beautiful.  If we give them money and power, we instantly become second-class citizens.”  It’s hard to disagree when everyone you see is tall (the perfect posture from carrying stuff on their heads helps) and elegantly sculpted with skin the color of polished ebony.

We spent Juan’s birthday at the Doudj National Park.  To say we were underwhelmed at the beginning is an understatement – the Pantanal was 10 times cooler – but when the boat rounded a corner and we saw thousands of 20 kg pelicans hanging out on a narrow concrete slab, we were sufficiently impressed.

We experienced the three-part Senegalese tea ceremony each night (amére comme la mort; doue comme la vie; miellé comme l’amour), marveled at the more-or-less tame sea hawk perched just feet from our dinner table, and made friends with the hotel’s chocolate lab puppy.  The kicker:  all of it costs the same daily rate as bush camping on the truck…

More pictures here:

St Louis - Senegal

Our type of bush camp...

After too many sleepless nights and the promise of a Christmas dinner back home in Longreach, Amy jumped ship and took the 3am London  flight out of Nouakachott.  Meanwhile, the truck’s itinerary for the next seven days involved nonstop driving and desert camping every day in dangerous Mauritania.  Not a problem.  But no showers for a week with no plans to stop at anything interesting?  No thanks.   So we’ve taken matters into our own hands.  

Enter the noble Italian heroes: Massimo and Massimiliano (yes, we realize how amazingly Italian these names are), followed by their faithful sidekicks: Tia and Juan.  M² came up with the idea to leave the truck for a 10-day visit to Senegal and fly back to meet the group in Bamako, the capital of Mali.  We didn’t take much convincing.  A 7-hour drive from Nouakchott, four of which we spent in an impounded car that the driver bribed a policeman to borrow (genius) and three of which we spent packed like sardines into a mini-bus with a goat tied on top, is the first French settlement in Senegal:  St. Louis.  

Crossing the border with M², we can see why people get the impression that tourists are easy targets.  When I asked Massimiliano (Max) if his pockets were allergic to money, he replied, “I had only 20 euros in my pockets but I feel like I paid the whole world.”  For example, they probably would have paid our pirogue driver the original 8000 ouagiyas he asked for, if I hadn’t pointed out that the book said we shouldn’t pay more than 200 each.  Which, by the way, got me in big trouble with the friend of the boat driver.  “I do not look in a book when I visit your country, I listen to your advice!”  Promptly followed by him invading my space to grab my book, me asking him not to touch me, Juan saying, “Leave my wife alone” (in French), and then the guy saying, “Yes, I prefer to deal with the men.  Here, we don’t deal with the women.”  Wow.  We ultimately settled on 2000 but only after the Mauritanian policeman we’d bribed…er, paid…for border assistance intervened.   Ultimately it was probably a fair price since Massimo alone had 80 kg of baggage.  Across the river at Senegalese customs, after Tia had the passports stamped, Juan was told, Toi, t’es bon, mais ta femme parle beaucoup (“you are ok, but your wife talks too much”).  

After arriving at Ocean & Savane and examining our stilted huts built over the river, we strolled 100 meters to the beach on the other side of the hotel and there wasn’t a person in sight.  Back at the hotel, the bar was stocked with cold beer and French wine.  Max promptly announced, “Tonight, I bush camp.”  And we laughed at the thought of where the truck was now.