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.

I'm becoming a huge fan of Senegalese music.There's a culprit: the guy behind the counter at the Teranga Music store in Saint Louis. He's right on the island and has a very small, yet exquisitely selected, collection of music. He's also very knowledgeable, happy at all times to share stories and anecdotes with whoever happens to enter the store. A real discovery.

This guy, whose name is either Oumar or Ismael (I met them both at the same time) produced from behind his counter at least two compilations that I can't stop playing: one by Bembeya Jazz National (Guinea) and another one by Orchestra Baobab (Senegal, see info in wikipedia & World Music Central). Orchestra Baobab's history seems to me to be very closely tied to the history of the country itself, and so I keep on reading about them and at the same time learning about Senegal.

The band appeared in 1970, when a new club opened in Dakar (the Baobab club). In an attempt to compete with its main rival at the moment, the Miami Club, the newborn business recruited some of the musicians from the Star Band, up until that moment resident of the Miami. This was the Dakar of the 1970s: a city right on top of the wave, with an incredibly strong cultural life in the realms of cinema, literary production, and, of course, cinema, under the auspices of post-independence President of the Republic, philosopher, and poet: L.S.Senghor. This was the Dakar that some directors encapsulated so well in movies such as The Journey of the Hyena, by D.D. Mambety.

The musicians in this initial period of the band had different ethnic and national backgrounds: the two singers were from Casamance, a beautiful region in Southern Senegal (Balla Sidibe and Rudy Gomis); the guitarist was from Togo (Barthelemy Attisso). These formed the core of the band. Then, there was also Wolof griot singer Laye Mboup, Moroccan guitarist Latfi Benjeloum, Casamançais bass Charlie NDiaye, and Manlinkés Mountage Koite and Issa Cissoko, saxo. It has been brought to my attention that ethnic groups in Senegal may not have the significance that Westerners usually attribute to it. However, in this case I bring it up precisely because I think the Orchestra Baobab supports that argument. Also, this mix of origins and musical traditions is said to be the secret of the band. They re-interpreted Cuban music in their own way, mixing it with Western African percussion and griot musical styles. The result is a beautifully composed music with an unmistakable Caribbean flavor, where Attisso's guitar stands up without getting in the way.

After the 1970s came the 1980s. The Baobab Club closed it doors. It was a time of transition for Senegal and a difficult period for Casamance, where a few of the musicians came from. In the political realm there was a new government led by A. Diouf (today general secretary of the Organisation International de la Francophonie). Economically, it was the beginning of a crisis that would result in the collapse of the two main sectors of the Senegalese economy, peanuts and fishing. This, in turn, would lead to a major restructuring of the country's economy in the mid 1990s -- one of those wonderful S.A.P.s (structural adjustment plans) promoted by the FMI et al. And last but not least, the war started in Casamance, hitting some of the musicians' families.

Little by little, the members of the Baobab Orchestra disbanded. They had recorded more than 20 albums (their impressive discography is here). By 1987 it seemed they had become part of Senegalese history, but in 2001 they got back together upon insistence from Nick Gold, director of music label World Circuit, and Yossou N'dour. They played in London. After a very successful tour, they recorded their last album to date: Made in Dakar.

But enough words, enter three songs. Here, their famous song "Lua ka ta kema" (The moon does not burn, otherwise known as Utrus Oras), a cover of the song composed in 1972 by José Carlos Schwarz, from Guinea-Bissau and recorded by Orchestra Baobab in 1982. The language is creole.

More upbeat is the following song, Ndeleng Ndeleng, from his last album "Made in Dakar" (2001).

The absolutely Cuban Cabral will serve to wrap up this entry :o)

It's almost impossible to talk about Senegal without talking about Yossou Ndour. In 2004 the magazine Rolling Stone described him as one of the most famous singers alive, but that's only part of the story.

Nobody doubts that Yossou Ndour is an exceptional musician. Throughout his career (he first performance was at 12, and he's now 50) he has managed to make mbalax known around the world. He's revolutionized Senegalese music and taken it with him wherever he goes -- which is, basically, everywhere. But beyond the music, he's been a world-class political figure: according to Time Magazine (2007) he's also one of the 100 most influential people in the world. He's gotten involved in political movements such as the one to free Nelson Mandela in the 1980s, participated with Amnesty International, or worked with the UN and UNICEF, among others. Also, since 2001 Ndour has been involved in the Joko Project, which he described in a 2005 interview:

Joko is (...) designed to create internet access in rural regions, and to give local residents the chance to learn internet skills and to create a business. We give them the chance to open internet cafes called ‘Joko Club’, which are part of a national network. There, they can conduct training, teach people the use of the internet, sell products via the web, operate telephone lines — there are many possibilities. It’s a way of increasing employment and training in the remote regions of Senegal.

In domestic politics, he's unavoidable. He has no problem talking openly about prickly issues such as clandestine migration (in his song Tukki), the Massamba Seck affair, religion, Panafricanism, or poligamy.

But to know something and feel it are two different things. And even though all these things were in my head as I walked up the stairs of the Escenario de Puerta del Ángel last Tuesday, it was moving to see him alive. To hear him. To dance to his music. It was incredible. After the first song everyone in the crowd was dancing. We danced for about two hours, and three times (3!!) we made the band (10 musicians and 3 dancers) come back on stage. People were happy when we came in, many in their beautifully embroided boubous. And we were happier and sweatier when we walked out. So happy.

I don't know if it's just me, but I had the feeling that the many Senegalese in the audience felt much more entitled to be (t)here because Ndour was up on stage, making all of us move, dance, laugh and sing at his will. He talked about Africa, he made us all answer to his Salaam Aleikum, he laughed and smiled a smile whiter than his white boubou.

Music can indeed be powerful.

Those who've been to Gambia or Senegal will recognize it immediately. It is a kind of music that blends traditional instruments from Western Africa with guitars, trumpets, and electronic music (for a history of the genre, see here). Its main trait is that very busy rythm so hard to get rid of. In Dakar it's everywhere: markets, bars, night clubs, cabs. Many, specially women, dance it wherever they are, moving according to the last fade in mbalax dancing -- even for this there are trends. The music is said to be primarily Wolof, but it seems to me that it is now everyone's music, thanks to, among others, Youssou N'Dour, Titi, Thione Seck, Ismaël Lô, Omar Pene o Coumba Gawlo Seck. Most of these musicians are from minority ethnic groups (= not wolof).

During my brief stay in Senegal, *the* move of the season was a lateral 2-step. You can see a practical example in the video below, made for the song Maana by Fallou Dieng. I have lost track of how many times I have danced this song trying to emulate the women around me (the results were always disapointing). But, together with this elegant and somehow arrogant move, one always finds a more traditional dancing style. A serer friend called it "the ass-breaker dance" for reasons that will become evident after watching that video (pay attention after minute 3).

Yes, this is what a posh nightclub in Dakar looks like a saturday night. However, and from my very humble point of view, what really caught my attention was to see women with their long skirts dancing Mbalax "sabar style" (sabar is, at the same time, an instrument, a kind of music, and a dancing style). Want to see what I am talking about? The video below, made by a Dutch student, explains a bit the whats, whos and whys of sabar.

And, in case someone still wants more music, below you will find a version of No Woman, no Cry by Titi.

More!? Two recommendations: Femme Objet by Coumba Gawlo or a more "western" tune by Yossou Ndour, here. Dancing time!! :o)

PS: If you see any mistakes in this entry, please let me know. I'm trying to learn more about mbalax :o)