Four possibilities come to mind: hope, hopelessness, obsession, mirage. Talking about the future with young people in Senegal is talking about leaving, leaving, leaving. Leaving the country to go to Europe, maybe the US, and come back to reap the fruits of emigration: money, status, and beautiful women. How will they go? However they can test their luck. What are they going to do there? Entering is all that matters, once inside the fortress they'll find their way, somehow. Why? Parce-que la vie ici c'est dure, ma soeur, très très dure.

Four percent of the Senegalese population lives abroad: that is twice the average for the rest of the world, and the figure is quite possibly underestimated. In some parts of the country, particularly in suburbs of the capital such as Yoff, Rufisque, Thiaroye or Guédiawaye, roughly 80% of the families depend partially or totally on emigrants' remittances, that is, the money their relatives send them.

Father of emigrants with goats in Bambey.

Emigration is an inherent part of the country's history. It may not be going to far to say that the desire to migrate is as inherent to Senegalese national identity as the famous teranga (hospitality) and the delicious thiéboudienne. Just taking into account the period since independence in 1960, migration within has always been counted by the millions. Neighbouring countries such as Mauritania, Mali, Gambia, Guinea Conakry and Guinea Bissau, and later on farther places such as Zaire, Congo, Camerun, and Lybia in the 1970s, have been favourite destinations for entrepreneurs and traders dealing from anything from soap to diamonds.

France has always been at the top of the list as well, undoubtely as a consequence of the colonial history between these two countries. Not a single elected president of the Senegalese Republic has not pursued their studies at a French University, which points to the deep currents that run between these two. Despite de diversification of destinations, France remains strong: a common language, policy and political links, as well as the pull of a well- established Senegalese immigrant community in the country are factors that contribute to it.

More recently other destinations have emerged: Italy, Spain, Canada (Quebec in particular), and ... Latin America. The Senegalese population is a people on the move -- for studies, for trade, for curiosity, for whatever. The migrant has become a model figure, desired and despised in equal amounts. S/he is envied and desired because of the economic power attributed to him or her (rightly or not) which in turn earns them respect within the community. But s/he is also despised: for becoming a selfish toubab (white person), for not sending more money for the family, for exercising so much power on those around them in the little time they spend back home.

Here, migration is a paved road to somewhere better. It has no shape, it's a powerfull yet blunt desire. The miseries and sacrifices of those who send the money are unknown for the most part -- there is no misery outside of Africa. Crowded appartments, police surveillance, discrimination, and solitude are not part of this dreamland picture where money is as easy to get as a ripe mango can be picked from a tree. And thus, the look fixes ahead, beyond the waters, beyond the duress, beyond corrupted politicans and mass unemployment, like an afterworld. One day I too will migrate, inshallah.

Young man and the sea in Goree Island.

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.