What do you mean please?

I started taking Wolof classes a few weeks ago. It's kind of pointless now since I'm leaving so soon, but it had just gotten to the point that it was embarrassing and I coudn't converse fluently with some of my best friends. I should have done it a long time ago, but better late than never, as they say.

Wolof is the dominant language in Senegal. Even if they are from a different ethnic background(Puulaar, Sereer, Jola, etc), virtually all Senegalese speak Wolof. As do all the Gambians, Guineans, Ivorians ets, who come to Senegal to work. While in Dakar, most everyone speaks French, in the villages there are some people who know nothing but Wolof.

Anyways, what's interesting about the Wolof classes is what is demonstrates about Senegalese culture. Here are some examples:

A French girl in the class (most of the foreigners here are French) asked how you say 'please' in Wolof. The teacher said there is no such word. Why?

When you say please, or 's'il te plait' in French (the direct translation is: if it pleases you), you imply that the person you are asking has the option to refuse. When in fact, in Senegal, if you ask someone to do something, they are obliged to do it. I always used to yell at my 'grand frere' Kalz during Ramadan, because when we were all hungry and breaking fast, he would ask me to stop preparing my own meal in order to prepare his, or to bring him water before I've even had a bite to eat - without even saying please! I always felt the urge to tell him to get it himself, but for him it was perfectly normal to ask me to do it and no please or thank you necessary. But now I understand why.

There are actually many arabic-based words in Wolof. All the days of the week for example: Altine is Monday (from Al-Itneen), Talaata is Tuesday (Al-Talaat), etc. That's because when Islam arived, Arabic words replaced the Wolof ones. French is having the same impact now as some words have no real Wolof version, but some amendment of a French word. Watch is montar (montre in French), fan is wantilaateer (ventilateur), etc.

Wolof names are also reflective of casts. Certain last names are part of the "entertainer" cast I talked about in an earlier post: les grillots - dancers, singers, drummers, storytellers. The name "Thiam" (the name of the family I live with) is supposed to belong to the bijoutieux (jewellers). Carpenters are a cast, tailors another, etc. The nobles are the non-casted. But the cast system is falling apart, and as such, so are the assciations. People's names and professions no longer correspond to their casts, and people are intermarrying between casts (formerly it was dishonorable for a noble to marry a casted person, or even open a hair salon. Because the nobles weren't supposed to work).The Thiams with whom I live with are nobles, not jewellers. I imagine in half a century, Senegalese will not know casts ever existed.

My last point on Wolof classes: It is incredible the amount of time we spent learning greetings. And here, learning greetings means learning how to say "How are your goats doing?" ... That's because greetings are about 10 minutes long and include everyone and everything. Salamu Alaikum. Nangadef? Ana ma wa kerr ga? Naka affairee. Namoonala. 'Hello? How are you? How is the family? How is business? It's been so long since I've seen you.' Before leaving of course, you must ask the person to greet their family for you, wish them off in peace, etc. It sounds very nice indeed and is heart warming that they care so much about personal relationships. But it becomes a little difficult when you're in a rush and you have to spend 10 minutes greeting each of the three regulars you pass around the corner from your house. If you say hello quickly and keep going, you're being rude.

Ok, until next time. Ba benenn yoon!

The path to foreign corresponding?

I've always been so intimidated by the process of becoming a foreign correspondent. How do you do it? Where do you start? Some start at a news outlet in their own country and work their way up from general city news, to provincial politics, to national politics, to international news. I imagine it would take years and is never for sure. Others just implant themselves wherever they want to go and start building a reputation for themselves bit by bit. But there are so many questions...

How do you get plugged into the news world to know what's going on when?
How do you coordinate different buyers for your stories? Can you work for a wire like Reuters while at the same time pitching to the CBC or are you going to piss them off?
Who's out there and who wants what?
And if you work or a wire, they expect you do be ready to cover any breaking news in the region you're in. In Chad, that can range from business stories on the oil pipeline, to environmental problems in Lake Chad, to the new European mission there, to conflicts with neighbouring Sudan, to poverty. You have to be ready to write serious for the serious papers, and tabloidy stuff for the tabloids. You have to be persistent. You have to take every story you can get. Attend every event. Get to know people. Make yourself known.

It can be real hard. People only have so much appetite for a central African country like Chad. And as a freelancer, there is never a guarantee of work or a good rate for your work.

So to address some of your comments, I'm not doing this trip to kill my 10 days. I'm doing it because it is a very narrow opening of the door into this world. IRIN is willing to pay me for reports from Chad in those 10 days. Agreed, 4 of them wil be spent travelling probably (and you can't imagine the hassle of trying to organize flights in Africa. You assume you can book a flight anyday to wherever you want, but either the airline doesn't even go that city and there are no flights for three days, etc.) but that leaves enough time to do some decent reporting, especially if I know what I'm looking for. Once I have some reports written on the ground under my belt, it will be a lot easier to approach Reuters or Agence France Press or anyone else, because I will have somethng to show them. Even to get on the UN plane to the humanitarian hub in the east, Abeche, (apparently the UN is the only institution that flies there) you have to prove that you are writing a story for someone. ie. You have to already have a committed buyer that is willing to vouch for you.

Plus it will allow me to do this first trip with the support of the UN (in terms of permits, authorization, etc) and give me a hang of how things work before I try to do it on my own.

In Chad for example, you need a visa to enter, you need a permit to travel within the country, you need a permit to work as a jouranlist, you need a permit to visit refugee areas, you need a permit to take pictures, the list is endless.

Bottom line, it's quite compliated. Basically, this gives me a chance to see if I can do it on a small scale before trying it all out. I'll go for a vacation when I get back to Canada!

What Next?

My biggest fear in coming here was that I would do my six months, go back to Canada, and return to my old life - reporting about Larry O'Brien (Ottawa's mayor) or garbage collection (no joke, I have done several stories on this) or some woman who lost her parrot (again, not joking). These are, indeed, important stories that someone has to tell and that many are interested to read - but it's just not what interests me.


On top of that, my time at IRIN has been incredible in terms of orienting myself to the humanitarian issues in West Africa, but for the most part, I have been reporting from my desk in my air conditioned office, next to a Frenchie, a Brit, an American and an Australian. (p.s. What's the noun for a French person?)


So... I've been thinking of what to do next. And I've come up with two options, and I'd like your votes! I'm still planning on going to Egypt in the month of January to study Arabic, but I have about 10 days between finishing at IRIN and starting my Arabic classes, in which I would like to visit another country in the region and set the framework for returning as a freelance journalist. Then the plan is to come back to Canada for a while - enough time to see my wonderful friends and family! - and then eventually head back here (I use "here" very broadly - meaning, Africa, Middle East, wherever I see fit!)

Option 1 - Niger. (not to be confused with Nigeria)

Rated the world's poorest country by the UN. Mostly desert, lots of nomads - and a whole lot of complications!

You guys are always asking for my articles, so here are a couple that give you an idea of what's going on there: http://www.irinnews.org/Report.aspx?ReportId=74905 http://www.irinnews.org/Report.aspx?ReportId=74738


A quick summary of Niger is basically this: It is a mix of complete poverty, foreign companies exploiting uranium, a semi-rebellion by Touareg people who say they are being discriminated against and that the government is not redistributing the revenue from the uranium extraction, and a government that refuses to negotiate with the rebels, and is instead arresting people and journalists who it believes are sympathetic to the rebel cause. Voila.


There is a state of emergency in the north of the country, where the sporadic rebellion is taking place; foreign journalists have been barred from entering; and movement is quite difficult because of landmines.


So if I went, I would probably be stuck in the capital (far from danger mother, don't worry), and I'm not sure how much I would be able to accomplish, other than to orient myself a little to the country, make some contacts, etc.


Option 2 - Chad.


I'm sure you've all heard the story of the French NGO accused of child trafficking for trying to "save" Darfur orphans by taking them to host families in France. Yup, that's Chad. (Here's another taste of my journalistic adventures: http://www.irinnews.org/Report.aspx?ReportId=75211) But apart from that, there is lots going on there and apparently a complete lack of reporters (other than the ones who have flown in to cover this scandal and will leave as soon as it's old news). In the east of Chad, about 450,000 people are in camps - they are either refugees from Darfur (in neighbouring Sudan) and the Central African Republic, or they are internally displaced people, because Chad itself has been home to fighting between government and rebel groups, cross-border raids by Sudanese militia, and interethnic fighting. A European Union force is going to be deployed there in a couple weeks to stabilize the eastern region.


Nick, from the office, says that while Chad is a "very unpleasant" place to be, it is far easier to operate in than Niger, and apparently Associated Press is looking for a stringer there.


Either way, I'm kind of intimidated by the idea of being a freelance journalist in an area I don't know (how to make contacts, be in the loop for press conferences, understand the complicated politics, and avoid dangerous situations), especially when I don't have the backing of an organisation. Having a media outlet behind you not only gives you a name when you approach interviewees, but also connects you to a whole structure set up to help you (contacts, resources, people with experience, etc) ... I imagine even something as simple as a cell phone or connection to internet can be difficult in these countries when you're on your own.


Still, no media outlets have the money to permanently station people in some of these countries, so a stringer can be very successful by writing stories for all sorts of different outlets. And I guess once you make friends with the local journalists, you can connect yourself to the media scene. I've already got a good starting point (all the phone numbers I've gathered over my time here of president's spokespeople, etc) and I can almost definately string (journalistic term for "freelance or write") for IRIN, at the very least.


Really I think the only way to ever get to where I want to be is to just plunge right in! You never know what you're capable of until you're tested, right?


And Mom, at least Darfur is not on the list! Wish me luck!

Unsustainable Charity

Juxtapose what I’m about to write with my last entry and you will get a glimpse into how confusing it is living here. It mixes you up and sometimes you really don’t know what to think.

Basically from the moment I got here, my Senegalese friends have asked me for money. Kalz asked me for 2000 francs ($4, but worth more here obviously) within days of meeting me. I gave Lamine 10,000 once, which was supposed to be a loan but apparently loans don’t exist here. Blondin asked for 2000. Fatou, another 2,000. Atouman’s Mom – yes, his mother – asked me for money. His sister, himself. After a while, you just want to scream at them, “I’m not a damn bank!” But part of you is embarrassed to say no because they know you have the money, and you know you have the money. If a friend in Canada told me they needed 20 bucks, I wouldn’t ask questions. I would just give it to them. So why should it be any different here? Plus, they do so much for me; they’re so kind. I feel bad not returning the favour – albeit financial – when my turn comes.

But several things make me uncomfortable about this.

First of all, I find myself asking whether they really need it. Atouman’s family for example - they all wear gold jewellery: rings, earrings, necklaces .. things that I don’t even wear. Lamine smokes a pack of cigarettes a day. It’s a question of priorities, I suppose, but I’m sure not sure when they ask for money that’s it’s really a desperate situation.

Second, sometimes I think kids here are raised to beg and it bothers me. It’s almost shameful and I feel bad for parents who have to watch their children act that way. There’s this one kid near my house named Diallo, who I've become friends with. But now everytime he sees me, he tugs at everything I’m wearing – my watch, my purse – asking for money. He almost rips things out of my hands if I have anything. Today, he followed me into my house because he thought I had bananas in my bag. It seems his mother is embarassed every time he clutches at things - but where did he get that habit from, if not from the people around him? Part of me just doesn't want to encourage such "desperate, undignified" behaviour (ie. Don't they have any pride?) and part of me hates myself for writing those words and asking that question.

But my biggest problem with this money thing is that it’s so unsustainable. You give them money today, they need more money tomorrow. The need never ends. And they can’t constantly depend on someone's charity to fill that need. They have to find ways to generate it on their own. I think of the little beggar boys on the streets – here begging is actually entrenched in a system. The Talibe are young boys – sometimes orphans, sometimes from poor families who give them up - who live with a marabout (Most Senegalese Muslims have religious leaders called Marabouts, who they believe give them advice, guide them, etc. “My marabout told me this or that”). The arabout teaches the kids Qu’ran, feeds them and gives them some place to stay. In exchange, they have to beg on the street for money which they take back to the marabout - supposedly in order to pay for everything he does for them, but in reality it all oes to the marabout. It's common knowledge that the kids are badly treated by the Marabouts ie. not fed enough or clothed well. Many walk around the streets of Dakar all day barefoot, with dirt on their faces and ripped clothes. The Talibe are recognizable by their tin cans. The fact that people continue to give them money – people incluing Senegalese – only encourages them to maintain this system, in which they spend every day of their lives begging for money. These are young able children who could be doing so much more. And sometimes it makes me think I shouldn’t ever give them anything, because it only keeps this system alive. I suppose it’s the same question international donors ask themselves on the broader development scale.

It's also a question that I think every foreigner asks him or herself when they get here. Check out my friend Erin's thoughts on this topic if you're interested. She's teaching English in a village in Benin. (Choose the Nov. 1 post)

http://www.travelblogger.net/members/mooresie/index.html?action=ViewTravelBlogs&

I've stopped letting it bother me too much. When I feel like it, I give. When I'm tired of giving, I stop. But it's definately an issue that has many implications on the wider scale, and I hope that eventually, as a global society we find the right balance.

Mine and Yours

The other day, I was walking home from a day out with Drew, my Canadian friend who is working for the UN's Youth Employment Strategy, when I passed a Boulangerie and thougt I'd treat myself to a cream-filled donut! (they're delicious). I bought it, walked out of the store, and was about to bite into it, when I saw a begging Talibe boy on the street. Embarassed, I put it back in the bag, and kept walking.

The fact that I didn't feel comfortable eating the donut in front of him made me think long and hard about why I was eating the donut in the first place. How can I refuse to give him 50 cents while I eat a completely unnecessary donut?

(the pic is unrelated, well sort of - it's a bunch of kids who swarmed me the night of Korite asking for money: it's tradition to give children money at Eid)

My friend Kalz, who lives at the house, joked with me once that I should buy him a boubou for Korité (Eid) because he had nothing nice to wear and had no money to buy anything. I laughed and didn’t take him seriously. But then went ahead and bought myself a new boubou, on top of the two I already had. Why should I buy myself new clothes when I’m surrounded by people who can’t have that for themselves?

I guess what I’m saying is that being here really makes you re-evaluate possessions. If you feel bad for having/eating certain things, they why have them/eat them? And if you have extra, why not spend it on others so that they can enjoy the same happiness you do. Enjoying the happiness by yourself (when you have to hide to eat the donut or you're the only one in a nice boubou) isn’t all that fun.


I mean, look at this picture. This is one of my best friends' house.

I don’t want you guys to think I’ve gone all communist (although I've never really been against communism), but we should be asking ourselves serious questions about the way we live.

We’ve gotten so used to completely satisfying ourselves in all aspects of our lives, but that’s not necessarily healthy. In Canada my mentality has always been – I’m in the mood for a chocolate bar, and I can afford it, so why not? But here, instead of thinking why not, I ask, why should I?

Which brings me to another point. Ramadan. I think Ramadan was so much harder than usual for me this year, because I actually noticed a change in my consumption. (Hence the weight loss you've all commented on. My arms are not actually that skinny - it's the camera playing tricks). Normally in Canada, we consume so much at night during Ramadan, that it really doesn’t feel like you're learning anything. You fast during the day only to gorge yourself at night. Here, our meals were so limited at nighttime, that I really felt the difference. I was tired, felt weak sometimes. But I got through it just fine. And that’s the point. We don’t need all that we consume in Canada. And I don’t want to be the preaching girl who went to Africa, but this time around, Ramadan actually made me question my habits. Normally, as soon as the month is over, you go back to everything you did before. So what’s the point? The goal of Ramadan is to make us think about what we have and appreciate it. I also think it should teach us to limit ourselves to what we need. Now, every time I eat till I’m full, I ask myself why? And when I eat chocolate or pop… why? If you can survive on so much less, and everyone around you has so much less, why are you gorging yourself? And what's so bad about feeling hungry anyway? Life here teaches you how much less you need. I rarely eat candy or chocolate. If I get cucumbers at dinner, I’m lucky. But does it make any difference to my life? No. I'm perfectly happy. Ok, my rant is over!

Korité

So, Eid in Senegal… Well, for about 10 days beforehand, people started talking about the big party, la Korité - that’s what they call it here. “Are you getting ready?” people kept asking me. I said “What do I have to do to get ready?” The answer included a new hairdo and a new outfit. At first, I thought I wouldn’t bother, but the hype was too strong to resist. The fabric markets and hairdressers were jammed packed for a week beforehand as people tried to do their last minute preparations. The picture here is of Marché HLM, the biggest fabric market. You pick out fabric that you like and take it to a tailor to have it made. I did that the day before of course, and somehow still managed to get it on time. I think no tailor slept the day before Korité, except beside their sewing machine.

My dad arrived in Senegal for a visit the night before the party. I picked him up at the airport at about midnight Friday night. He came bearing gifts! A whole bunch of things I had requested from Canada – from Clean & Clear face wash to Extra gum – plus some gifts from my mom and from Egypt, where he stopped before here. My grandma sent me kahk! (Egyptian dessert).

In the morning, my dad wore the boubou and slippers I bought him and I wore a boubou as well and we headed to the mosque to pray with some of the folks from the family. They were surprised that as a woman I was going to the mosque, and when I got there and found only men, I thought I might have to cause a fuss in order to be able to pray with them! But eventually I found a section with some women and all was well. It was nice just to be outside, because everyone we passed on the street was dressed in a nice boubou, with a prayer mat in hand. After the prayer, strangers shook each others’ hands, the way we do in Canada.

Then we headed back home, where an extravagant breakfast was ready. On the roof, where I normally do my laundry, two professionals were killing a sheep. I went up there afterwards to find everything – the intestines, the poo that was inside the body, the horns – all over the bloody ground. We ate the lamb that afternoon. It tasted great. But when they brought out a soup made of the intestines, I just couldn’t touch it.

Most of the day, we spent eating and chatting with everyone. A lot of family friends had come by the house, and it was just a nice feeling of getting together. There were nice drinks too, like bissap and takh, made from the boiled leaves of fruit trees.

At night, most Senegalese visit their family members to ask forgiveness if they have wronged them in any way. In fact, the whole day, people you see shake your hand and say “Bal ma akh” – forgive me for my sins.

Late at night, I took my old man out dancing, Senegalese style. I bought these bright blue shoes to match my new outfit – I’d never be caught dead wearing these shoes in Canada, but here, it just seemed to work! – and we went to a ‘mbalakh’ concert (Senegalese pop). You should have seen Atouman trying to teach Dad to dance!

Anyways, it was a great ending to what had been quite a long and difficult month of Ramadan (harder than usual this year I think). It felt nice to be surrounded by people, to have a feeling of community and togetherness.

After the party, the city sort of shut down for a few days as people recovered from the strenuous preparation and extensive fete. Markets weren't up and running as usual, and the streets seemed a bit empty. But unusually, in a 95% Muslim country, they only get one day off for Eid and 10 for Christmas (the French made their constitution), so things were back to normal before long!

My first visitor

So, I had my first visitors!!! Celine and her boyfriend Danilo came from Spain, where they live, for a 3-day visit. (Celine and I went to highschool together and travelled to Spain together a few years ago). It was great having them here ... we went to the markets (that pic of me sitting on the ground is when I was resting while Danilo - the ultimate bargainer - was going at it), they spent time with the sheep on my roof, the Independence Monument near my house, Atouman's twin sisters in their matching boubous

As was necessary, of course, Celine dressed up in a boubou at night and we went to a religious ceremony (they were here during Ramadan) where people danced and chanted "La Illaha illa Allah" to the beats of drums.

We visited l'ile (island) de N'Gor, after almost a day-long ride (what would otherwise be 20 minutes) in a Ndiaga Ndiaye, the white mini-buses that stop for anyone that flags them down.

Celine picked up the "salamu alaikum" easily, and Danilo being a natural bargainer, they fit right in. The tricky part was the languages. Danilo is Brazilian, and thus speaks Portugese. But he and Celine speak together in Spanish (that's their common language). He speaks some English and no French. Celine speaks French, because her mother is Swiss, but I normally speak with her in English. I speak rudimentary Spanish, and no Portugese. And the languages in Senegal are French and Wolof. So, there were so many langugages mixed in my head - I would open my mouth to speak Spanish to Danilo and french would come out. I'd try to talk to the merchants in French, I'd get English instead. It got to the point where before talking, I would have to stop for two minutes and think - ok, who am I talking to, and what language are they expecting!

Anyways, it was a great few days... reminded me of our adventures in Spain. Thank you my love!