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.