It was an incredible high to be speeding to Leopold Sedar Senghor airport two days after graduation (I am delighted to report that we had a 100% pass rate, despite those students who were notorious partisans of least effort, see story http://www.traveling-stories-magazine.com/notes-from-a-conseil-de-classe/#more-610). On my way to catch a flight to Athens via Madrid, all I could think of were the sidewalks – the recycling programs – AC and mosquito-free
sleep - no haggling in stores = bliss.

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He then recounted his own trip to the tailor’s, a mere 2 bedraggled shacks down from a spot used as a central goat meetin’-and-greetin’ spot, and he managed to take it all beautifully in stride. I remembered my own first meeting with the school principal during which we were interrupted by the bleating of goats, and this in turn was followed by a flood of memories: I remembered my first ride on a suitably rusty car rapide, the view of fly-covered sides of beef hanging in the midday sun, and the brightly colored boubous of the mango sellers before they were turned from the pavement.  

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More unusual than any of this is the sight of a griot, or singer of the lower caste, whose remains are on view within the hollow trunk of a baobab (these trees, which lose heir leaves during the dry season, can live up to a thousand years and their trunks become increasingly hollow with the passage of time). So if any of this is worth going out of your way for, be my guest. The website calls the trip an unforgettable experience, and though it may well be, it is simply not what I had in mind when I pictured my first time in an African game park. I wanted lions and zebras, not hours of time spent in the hot sun hoping beyond hope to see something more exciting than a wild boar.

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In exchange for this religious instruction, parents might provide money or gifts. Children would also be expected to help the marabout, often by offering donations they would receive for reciting the Quran. Asking for money in this way was said to teach humility and appreciation for whatever one has while preparing the children for life’s hardships. At the same time, the practice could be said to encourage the practice of zakaat or almsgiving (one of the five pillars of Islam) among members of the wider population.

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I remember when friends of mine began having their first children, both in the US and in Europe. Virtually everything they bought was top of the line, organically produced, etc -  vegetable-based paint for the baby’s room, organically treated wood for the cradle, lovingly raised New Zealand sheep hand-shorn for the carpet (perhaps I exaggerate here, but only slightly), baby wipes containing organic chamomile and aloe vera, even special bathtubs and bottles ergonomically suited to a baby. (more…)

The Ile de Goree, or Goree Island, is quite simply the most beautiful area I have yet encountered so far during my stay in Dakar. You get there via ferry, known here as a chaloupe, much as New Yorkers access Staten Island. Given its geographical location on Africa’s western tip, it is predominantly associated with the idea of the Atlantic slave trade (although according to Wikipedia “probably no more than a few hundred slaves a year were ever embarked here for transportation to the Americas”), and there is a museum called the Maison des Esclaves built around 1776 which attempts to do justice to the history of slavery (see an artist’s rendition of the property). Some are convinced that the House of Slaves is a hoax, as from an architectural point of view the house is one of the finest homes on the island and would almost certainly have been a trader’s house, emphatically not a place where slaves would have been kept. (This reminds me of my expensive visit to see the Jane Austen house in Bath – which, as it turns out, is not really where Jane lived at all: the museum is in a Georgian townhouse just a few doors down from where Jane actually lived for a few weeks. However, disappointed as I was, the use of period costumes etc. did give a nice flavor of the Regency era).

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I have just come back from a really lovely dinner at one of Ngor’s most pleasant restaurants, a little place called Sao Brazil. Picture solid wooden tables and chairs in a garden setting, bougainvillea everywhere, even white wine and ‘real’ ham (meaning made from pork instead of beef, always keeping in mind that Senegal is a predominantly Muslim country). A great place to unwind, except for the fact that during dinner, my colleague looked at me and shook her head, warning me that I really ought not to be so cynical about every aspect of my life here in Senegal.

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Like an elegant host of a large, family party, surrounded by relatives of inconsistent style and increasing volume, Hawaii’s Halekulani Hotel sits at the southern end of Waikiki Beach amidst other hotels. It is a part of the scene because of its presence yet apart from it because of its quality. (more…)