Bienvenue a Senegal

Dakar is a beautiful place, just as I’d guessed it would be. I can say that without suspicion that it’s only the distance from Chad talking, because I spent a full day in Paris on the way over. Which was a bit of a trip, frankly, in both senses of the word. I know Paris well, having spent perhaps a little too much time there while we were living in Geneva. But it seemed totally alien to me the other day, a place of dazzling efficiency and modernity, a place mercifully free of sand and aging Russian machine guns. It’s always the little things that get you when you return to a familiar place, too – the food, the smells, the architecture. I nearly wept for joy when I downed my first café au lait in the airport.

But I digress. Back to Dakar.

It’s an interesting combination of vibes, kind of a Mediterranean Africa, with a little Hawaii thrown in. I’ve spent the day lounging by the pool under the palms, soaking up a little Senegalese sun and some much-needed rest. I didn’t realize how tired I was until I looked at myself in the mirror in Paris, saw the dark circles of fatigue and dehydration under my eyes. It was the first I’d really seen of myself in a while. Not that there aren’t any mirrors in Chad, just that you don’t spend much time looking at yourself. It seems silly somehow. Anyway, I’m hoping that a little sun, a fresh pedicure and a couple of litres of water mixed with oral rehydration salts (soooo nasty, by the way) will breathe a little life back into me.

The buildings here are quintessentially Mediterranean – arched doorways, whitewash and pastels, bougainvillea blooming everywhere. Here at the hotel, you could mistake it for just about anywhere tropical, with room service and flirty pool boys and palms and banana trees. But the streets are still Africa: hair-raising traffic, women walking with laundry on their heads, children selling fruit at the roadside. I’m looking forward to seeing more of it tomorrow. It’s my thirtieth birthday (*sigh*) so I figure I’m entitled to a little shopping.

Yesterday, some colleagues and I had lunch at a beautiful little café perched out over the heaving sea. Cruise ships jockeyed for space with dug-out canoes manned by dark, shirtless men fishing for the beautiful delicacies gracing our plates. I had one of those zen moments you sometimes get when you’re traveling, where your eyes glaze over and the beer buzz kicks in and you just think, “Gee whiz, it’s awful nice here.” Those moments are the best part about traveling, and they’re invariably among the most prominent of the memories you take with you. (For the record, I seem to have skipped that moment in Chad.)

My traveling companion in Chad lives here, works in our West Africa regional office. She’s renting a massive, three storey, five bedroom house with a lovely garden and pool. That would make me envious enough on its own. But what’s worse is that she’s paying significantly less than we pay for our 1,100 square foot apartment in Manhattan. Oy.

Of course, prices like that have their dark side. The girl who came over to do my pedicure today made that pretty clear when we started chatting. There’s a malaise simmering under the surface here, she says. Government employees aren’t getting paid. Most Senegalese work six or seven days a week, but have nothing left over after paying for food, electricity and water. The current cuts out every couple of hours; here at the hotel, we have a generator, but most people don’t. People are angry, she says, and she worries what the future will hold.

It must be frustrating, and more than a little scary. Senegal is stable, democratic – in many ways a beacon in Africa. But it could still go under. Still go the way of neighbouring Cote d’Ivoire, once a model of peace and prosperity. Every country in Africa could – even South Africa, if Bishop Tutu is to be believed. I ask the girl – Patricia, her name is – I ask her if it ever feels… I struggle with my French, rummaging around in a mental broom closet where a jumble of infrequently used words are stored… Futile, I manage eventually. She gives me a sad smile and says that there is no such thing as futile when you have kids to feed.

Conversations like that throw me sometimes. There are a lot of great reasons to come to Africa, whether it’s for holiday or work or whatever. But I think the best reason of all is how it puts everything in perspective, reminds you not only of how insignificant many of your woes are, but how familiar too – how even out here, where everything is so different, life is also fundamentally the same. People here have the same hopes and fears as they do back home. The fact that they face different challenges – bigger challenges – is more an accident of birth than anything else. There but for the grace of God, or fate, or chance – whatever.

The sun is apparently making me philosophical. I’d better quit before it spreads.