Today I went to meet the friends from yesterday to play music. I took just my guitar and fit the things I needed into its pockets. I'm speaking better and better broken French! Mon ami Amadou (very common name here) wanted to meet at midi (noon), but I spent the morning cooking a Polish stew that I had learnt from a fellow treeplanter way back in 95. It's called something like 'Gewedge', but I made it without meat and rice instead. Excellent!!
When I met Amadou, we went to his shop to see if Baba MC was there, Baba MC is a singer and rapper in French, English and Wolof. The shop was closed though, so we went to Amadou's brother's shop. The shop is in a kind of alley, and there is another store-owner, a very young man with excellent quality merchandise as well, behind in a courtyard. I played 'Hard Time Killing Floor Blues' which went over well, tried a little Ali Farke Toure style guitar as well, but my nails were too rough. Then played No Woman No Cry, and changed the words to French and included my friends in the song!! After this I did Zikhr tasbih (remembrance prayer) on guitar. The brother loved it so much he gave me a necklace as a gift. There is a language of Sufi Islam which can bridge borders and build trust, which we share, me as an Ismaili mourid and they as mourids of the Mouridiyya Sufi brotherhood of Cheikh Banba. Words like batin, din and duniya, tariqa and adab. This was a day of sweetness. To me Zikr is remembrance but it also means sweetness.
On the way there I had encountered a very old dog lying on the sidewallk, in the heat of about 28 deg Celsius. The dog appeared to me to be blind, and was sleeping. Not allowing sleeping dogs to lie, I took my water bottle and found a discarded plastic cup (littering is not taboo in Dakar), and left some for him.
Since I had bought gifts for Donna at the brother's shop, I had not enough money to pay the man from the day before, for the gift for my mother, and to eat as well. So the brothers took me to the suburbs. The taxi in Dakar is maximum $2000 CFA it seems anywhere, and it was quite far and quite different from the city centre. Where I am staying, near the Presidential Palace, is considered quite expensive. Anyway, when we got out of the taxi, there was a barbeque hut where we ate some mouton. They conserve water very well there, and wash their hands before eating. It was very delicious.
Last Sunday we had gone to a party (it seems I am among the elite) for the Senegalese champion de lutte (wrestling). Today was the national championship, and everyone in the suburbs was glued to the television. We watched one of the early rounds while eating mouton.
We then proceeded to Amadou's house, and his brother departed to go home to his two wives. Amadou has four childern, one is away at a madrassa. His three little ones were at home, but his (1) wife was not. It was hard to tell his kids apart from a whole lot of beautiful smiling kids. We went to find another singer, but he too was watching wrestling. After going back to Amadou's, I played with a piece I've been composing, and created words in French, Arabic and Wolof dedicated to the little one's and their father. It was really fun, and they sang along.
It was time to go, sadly, and we tried to get a taxi but got one that was charging too much. So Amadou put me on the #5 public bus to Palais. On the way, it got dark and the bus broke down. I had no idea where I was, so I walked to a restaurant that looked very proper. There I met Mica, who is Portuguese but Christian and born in Senegal. His the manager of a patiserrie and pizza/shawarma fast food joint. When the owner came, he had to attend to him, and afterwards complained to me about this owner's incompetence and controlling behaviour. We got along very well, and Mica helped me get a taxi at a very good rate.
I decided then to go to Just For You, which is a musci establishment near the university I had been told of even in Ottawa. Everyone said that even on Sunday, there would be live music, but this was not correct, so I kept the same taxi and returned near le Palais du Presidente where I am staying.
In the suburbs, you can see horses, and I walked on a marked road with sign on a mosque, but the road was really an open area of red sand for walking only. No cars within the residential section of the suburb at all. The other weekend, I had been to the 'Beverly Hills' of Dakar, and this weekend was totally different and amazing!!!!!! I took loads of pictures with my phone from Canada and maxed the memory. This was better technique than the big camera, because it is subtle, but I cannot yet upload the pics. Dommage!
oh in case you're wondering, the taxi driver told me that the current champion won the tournament! While driving I saw a van with people standing on top singing. Driving is nuts here, and all the cabs are battered. We even scraped up against another car on the way.
a bientot from Dakar,
Arif
