Today in the news we learnt that the car rapides will "soon" be replaced, and I'm torn between sadness and relief. Sadness, because they are such an integral part of the life of the city, and so much of my learning process in Dakar happened inside of them. And relief, because they are dangerous: toubabs working for foreing organizations are usually forbidden by their employers to use them, and seriously, it's not surprising -- it's almost a miracle that some of them are still running.

The car rapide is one of several kinds of public transport in Senegal, to my knowledge. In Dakar, there are several ways to get around this busy, large, and not-always friendly city:

The first option is to take the taxi -- that is, if you feel strong enough to argue with a driver and manage to agree on a price. Taking a taxi is almost without exception an adventure: you pay per ride, so more time on the road is a waste. Also, the same car will be driven by an undetermined number of people with several degrees of separation from the vehicle, to which they may not feel very attached. And I haven't seen a single one with working security belts. You guessed it: taxi is not my favourite kind of transportation in Dakar.

The sept-places are collective taxis that travel between cities and towns. They are taxis, but usually the price is already fix and the possibility of friction with the driver minimal.

Within Dakar, you may also take a city bus. The big, blue ones with the yellow stripe are beautiful and comfortable, and would make Dakar worthy of an award if they only passed on time and more often. So far, that is not the case.

Then you have the ndiaga ndiaye, which is much like the car rapide, but white and with more seats. You find them all over Senegal, and I have taken them from downtown Dakar to the suburbs as much as from one town to the next in other regions. They are efficient, but boy, some owners just don't care. Most of the times they're ok, but once, on the way from Bambey to Diourbel, I wanted to cry when a ndiaga ndiaye started loosing (many) screws. I learned that screws are a severly overestimated part of a vehicle structure.

In this one I crossed Gambia:

The clandos (clandestine taxis, usually in very, very bad shape) are NOT a good option, in fact this is only an option when there is no other one. I had to take them in Guédiawaye to go from my friends' place to the house where I was staying. Bad, bad, bad idea.

Then, in some parts of the cities I have seen carts pulled by big four-legged animals of different kind. I've never taken one of them, although they seemed particularly popular in Kaolack (where, by the way, you could also get around by moto-taxi).

And of course, you can take the car rapide. And if we are to listen to evidence, it must be very rare that (young? female?) toubabs get in most of them, because more than once and more than twice I caught the apprentice taking pictures of me with their cellphones, and let me tell you, I'm on the not-so-cute side of things. This guy, for example: he took a picture of me. In punishment, he had to let me take a picture of him and his friends. I think the rest of the passengers had their share of fun with the exchange.

In general, I found Dakar (and more generally, Senegal) offered many options to get around -- some safer, cheaper, and more agreable than others, but many nonetheless. Although they were not always toubab-friendly (and I don't mean this as an offense) this would be a very different place if no cheap, easily available, and relatively quick transportation was not in place. To put it simply: I don't think metro Dakar would function without it: most workers couldn't go to work, most students couldn't go to school, and there would be a growing demand for private transport that would collapse the already fragile communication network in the city. So it's great.

Now, honest to truth, the fleet needs to be renovated. As I understand it, car rapides are the most common bus in Dakar, and if I am not mistaken most of the buses are private (I may be wrong, though). So I wonder what could it mean when they say that Chinese-owned Eximbank is financing a plan to replace this colourfoul buses. How will they paint the new ones?

Ok, so maybe my last entry was a bit pesimistic. In fact I wouldn't have been able to write it if I didn't have some sort of answer already in hand. I've heard many times that hope's the very last thing one should let go -- and yes, there is still hope for fair, beyond-the-shock photojournalism. Here goes one example: the International Guild of Visual Peacemakers, also known as IGVP.

I came across their site thanks to Javi, the truck driver with the most amazing life you will ever imagine .. but that's a story for another post, and in any case, as far as I know Africa is the only continent left for Javi's explorations.

The IGVP is a group of visual comunicators (mainly photographers) determined to present a different face of those which Western Media shows as "the Other". In their website, still under development, they state that their goal is:

peacemaking and breaking down stereotypes by displaying the beauty and dignity of various cultures around the world.

We are not interested in glossing over conflict, tragedy, or injustice. However, we believe that displaying the beauty and dignity of people is a more creative and redemptive pursuit than “shock value.”

The images of some of the IGVP photographers are astounding. Among my favourite are the pics of David DuChemin (who has a beautiful album on Ethiopia here), Matt Brandon, Mario Mattei and ... well, I like them all, really. And most importantly, I believe in what they're trying to do.

In their website you will find resources for photographers, a blog with information on projects / photographers that they support, and more information on the project and the community behind it. The most recent entry in the blog is written by Javi Acebal, who also is part of Maneno. And in the oven at this very moment there is an entry about Women and Borders, the photo project that Javi and I are organizing on the migration of women from Senegal to Spain.

So, from here, I just wanted to say THANK YOU to Mario Mattei and the IGVP for their support, and wish them all the very best with their project :o)

I guess many (all?) of you have already been frustrated by the way African countries and people are represented in the Western media, and it is only because I am a neophite in this affairs that I find the issue particularly poignant. Does one every get used to this manipulation of languages, images, and discourses? I can't say. All I know is that it makes me angry to witness in my work, day after day, how Senegal, Senegalese people, and in particular Senegalese migrants are misrepresented in the newspapers (for a brilliant exception, if you read Spanish see this article). One of the things that I find particularly disturbing is that even professionals with international reputation such as J. Bauluz, the one and only Spanish Pulitzer Prize, are making their career on the endless repetition of the same stereotypes, the same victimization, the same blood-and-pus-and-corpses-floating-in-the-sea images, the same death that we've always seen. Even when those who talk and write claim to be talking a different take on the issue, the result is the same. This is what I am talking about:

I am tempted to think that this is not only the case for Senegal but for all of the continent, and even beyond that, for all the countries that fall outside of that which we know as the West, the Global North, the Developed World, etc. And the question that I ask myself every day is: can we change it?

I have no answer.

Ok ... the last few weeks have been complicated, thus my silence, but now I'm back with a lot of stories (and pictures) to share.

To break the ice, I wanted to share this video (via super Elia) remininding us of the terrible floods that have taken place in Senegal over the summer while politicians were on holidays (or elsewhere far away from their responsibilities). Note the reference to the Monument mentioned a few entries earlier in this blog ... This time the news have touched me personally: some friends will never make it to their relatives' funeral. Sometimes I admire your endurance.

More coming up soon.

The video says it all ... :o)

This second video comes through openalex and explains the Barefoot College's solar electrification programs across Africa. Very cool.

For the last few days there has been a heated debate about the news that the Libyan government will execute a number of Nigerian nationals who were planning on emigrating to Europe illegally. Libya has been, let's say, a bit too enthusiastic about helping Italy stop undocumented Black Africans from reaching European territory. The externalization of migration control is happening all throughout the border of the EU, but cooperation with some countries such as Libya and Morocco is, to put it mildly, highly problematic. You may read some reports by AI, a light academic article by Marko Kananen or take a look at Gabrielle del Grande's blog if you are interested in learning more about it. (BTW, del Grande also has published an interesting yet very sensationalist book on border control in Europe, Mamadou is going to die: the Carnage of immigrants in the Mediterranean sea.)

It is in this context that the news about the execution of more than 200 Nigerians happens, which makes it the more worrying because the idea is not completely far-fetched. But, is it true? We don't really know. Although the international media has been quick in spreading the word, the fact is that all articles point to the same source: Nigerian newspaper Vanguard.

Not that there is anything new under the sun, really: there is plenty of evidence to prove that the Libyan government has been torturing, raping, practicing illegal detentions, mistreating detainees in prisons, and abandoning undocumented Black Africans who were assumed to be undocumented wanna-be migrants in the desert. This has happened also to international students and status refugees who lived in Libya, just because they were Black. But if this was really happening, if the Libyan government is really planning on "officially" executing 220 Nigerians for no other crime that crossing its borders without a valid permit, then ... well. I wonder how the EU is going to justify the heavy subsidies that it is sending to Libya in exchange for their cooperation in the control of undocumented migration and a generous share of their natural resources.

Damn it. I hope del Grande is right and this article is an hoax. I think we're loosing perspective when it comes to border control.

--> 14/08/09 UPDATE: from This Day journal (Nigeria):

No Nigerian was killed in Libya

The Presidency has denied reports that about 200 Nigerians were secretly executed last weekend by the Libyan authorities. It described the report, which alleged that about 230 black Africans, mostly Nigerians, were to be secretly executed by the Libyan authorities last weekend as baseless and unfounded. Presidential Spokesman, Mr. Olusegun Adeniyi, who fielded questions from State House correspondents on the issue yesterday, faulted the story, saying, "I can assure you there was no such thing. I have a copy of a very detailed 32-page report compiled by the Nigerian ambassador in Libya dated July 13 this year on Nigerians currently having issues with the Libyan authorities. "From the report, there are 14 Nigerians on death row for such offences as murder, drugs, armed robbery and ‘419’." He said the list contains the names, location of prisons where the Nigerians were being held, dates of sentence and their states of origin in Nigeria.. He also disclosed that a total of 57 Nigerians were currently serving life sentence for offences in connection with alcohol, fake currency, drugs, robbery and fighting, while 587 others were awaiting trial for various alleged offences. Adeniyi said government was making diplomatic efforts towards securing reprieve for those on death row and also to ensure that at least those with immigration issues were released so they could be repatriated home, while acknowledging that the negotiations were not easy.

I've been missing Senegal since I came back. Pretty much every day my phone rings for a few seconds, and it's someone I met there saying "bonjour" in that peculiar way. If they ring twice, that means that I should give them a call. Sometimes I also get an sms telling me that the hibernage is going well at home or that there are so many mangoes even cows let them rot on the ground. Yesterday I called Mame Fatou, my "mum" in Guédiawaye (in fact an Ibadu or orthodox Muslim woman my age) with whom I've had the most interesting conversations about religion and politics I've ever had. Every time I talk to her I wish they had invented something even faster than planes that would allow me to go there to taste her Thie Boudienne again.

And really, it's about time I go back, because I've ran out of Casamance cashews!! One more addiction to add to my list, following olive oil. Little did I know when I got off the boat in Ziguinchor that I was about to learn where cashews came from and how hard it is to make them properly. Because, in case you don't know (as I didn't) cashews come from a tree that has a fruit that looks a bit like a red or yellow chubby pepper with a green ... something hanging at the end. Like this:

People (often children) go around picking the cashew fruit around with buckets. There are not many Toubabs doing it, but every now and then you run into one that shines like the the ass of a blue-butt-money. This one was seen near Bignona.

Once you've picked up the cashew fruits and sorted out the pepper-like fruit from the ... herr ... something-like appendix where the nut is, you proceed to make juice with the fruit, squeezing it either by hand or with the help of a big stick. But careful with the bees!! They're addicted to cashew juice (specially when it starts to ferment!)

And then comes the hardest part: drying and toasting the nuts. Impatient young people will probably not wait long enough for them to dry in the sun. The problem is that then nuts become flammable, and you know what will happen when you put them on the fire? This:

And that is bad, because cashews are not fire-proof and they get black and with an intense burnt flavour (guess what: you've burnt them!). But if you let them dry long enough and then put them on the fire, the shell will get crispy and separate from the nut easily.

That's better!! The end result, in this case a mix of burnt and not burn cashews, is super tasty. But I'll have to wait until next year to have more of those. Sniff.

Sometimes I feel more Toubab than others. And since French is not my first language, sometimes I have to read things slowly, or even twice, to understand them well. But there are these cases when I read them four, five times, and I still think I must have made a mistake. This seems to happen more often when I read news about M. Abdulaye Wade, 83, current president of Senegal.

See the picture?

From the Atepa Group's website

It is a projected (and severely over sized) vision of the Monument to the Renaissance of Africa, conceived by Wade Senior. It symbolizes "an Africa that frees itself from all sorts of domination to enter a new world" (source). It is also meant to compete with the (smaller, bien sûre) Statue of the Liberty on the other side of the Atlantic. When I arrived in Dakar I lived about a kilometer from it, and the thing was still far from having a recognizable shape. Little by little we could see two sets of legs, then a torso, and then I left. If all goes well (the construction, my plans) I will see it shortly after it is finished: the project is scheduled to finalized in December. Apart from the monument, the area around the monument will be geared towards tourism, including a lookout to the city of Dakar, several restaurants, stores, and conference space.

Nothing out of the ordinary, although this is one of many faraonic monuments in a city that, in my humble opinion, could use those funds to build badly needed infrastructure (garbage collection, sewage) and a better public transit system for all those who spend four hours a day traveling between the banlieu and the Plateau. But it's ok, said Mr. President, because we haven't paid for the construction of the monument: we have exchanged it for the lot where it will stand, and we will be able to enjoy its (and his) glory for the next 1,200 years.

None of this convinced those opposing the construction of the monument -- and let me tell you: they're a good bunch. A number of those who are listened argue that the monument is an offense to the arts, others that it is insulting the modesty of a nation of believers and that it is an aggression to the beautiful landscape of the Mamelles area (for a couple of reactions see here and here). I agree with number one and three, and declare myself incapable of intervention regarding number two.

Anyways: it's a matter of life that we don't always agree with politicians. But what about someone who is an elected official (a President of the government is not any kind of elected position), who has a salary for the job that he does, which is to keep a country running properly, and then decides to add "extras" to his salary? What about M. Wade Senior saying that, since it was his idea to build the monument, it is therefore his intellectual property? And that his son (Wade junior, who failed in the last Dakar elections and has ambitions to be the next president of Senegal) will be in charge of keeping the business running so that he, Wade senior, can reap a generous 35% of the benefits?

Excuse my Toubabness, but I don't get it. And I'm not the only one.

>> EDIT: I just found out about a new and creative version of the monument that has been circulating around the internet, showing the Wades in their heroism. The Minister of Communication doesn't like it very much ... Maybe he also has intellectual property rights over the statue?