Dakar Academy: What and Why?

This video by professional John Brill (no known relation to my brother) of Colorado introduces you to the purpose and a few of the people of Dakar Academy, my home, and will make you thirsty for more. Fortunately, Brill is producing a longer video to quench that thirst! Stay tuned.

Fine Fun Art

For some amusement mixed with a sense of wonder, go to http://users.skynet.be/J.Beever/pave.htm and select any of the thumbnail pictures there. Unlike most trompe-l'oeil exponents, British artist Julian Beever paints his eye-tricking images on streets, not buildings. You may have seen some of these which have made the rounds in the past year or two via email, but there are several here I'd never seen, plus they're always worth a second look. You can also watch a time lapse video of Beever creating one of the scenes at http://media.cnpapers.com/chalk/

Fine Fine Art

We just held our Middle School Fine Arts Festival, which consists of a juried art show (judged by three international artists), a short drama presented by each grade (6, 7, 8), and a handbell performance by each grade. I had no part except to observe and applaud, which I did a lot. (I teach middle school in the fall, but not the spring.) Even in budding adolescence, some of these kids have extreme and already-developed talent. It truly amazes me. They're so good, I hope to purchase a few of the pieces! I certainly don't remember anyone in my junior high school being so gifted or skilled.

The High School Fine Arts program is next Saturday, and will be even more impressive. I did purchase an entry from this show my first year here--a striking, quirky, highly detailed ceramic set--a triangular vase, candy dish, and candlesticks, and a set of (square) coasters--all now prominently displayed in my living room. I do have a formal role in this event--conducting our 11-member Chamber Choir. They will perform 6 selections:

• Kafal Sviri--an exciting and difficult Bulgarian folk song (their favorite)
• Love You--a little known, a capella, American pop song from the 1970s (their other favorite) that I "discovered" when it played over the credits of the film Stranger than Fiction
• O Shenendoah--American folk song (which none of them had ever heard!) in a very pretty and subtle arrangement
• Windsong--another film tune, this one with an African flair (the text is in Swahili), written specifically for Mighty Joe Young--which they grew up on, but I had never seen or heard.
• Hitch a Ride--a light-hearted song in the style of a black spiritual
• Chantez a Dieu--a 17th century, Huegonot, fugue-like setting of Psalm 96 (or maybe this is their favorite)

I'm looking forward to the concert. They have worked hard, they are ready, and they sound great!

The Generosity Jam: Daily public giving, or secret unregulated giving?

Islamic Almsgiving

Alms-giving is one of the four pillars of Islam. Every faithful Muslim is expected to give something to someone in need every day. But, one is only required to give once, and it may be a very small donation.

Living in a Muslim country for five years, it has been interesting to learn a little bit about how this works out in practice.

The daily experience of letting go of something that is "yours" (usually money) is a good thing. Giving something away every day develops a habit and a mindset in which giving is a natural experience, and therefore, a more likely option when a need arises. It can loosen of our grasp of material wealth.

A second benefit of required daily almsgiving is de-stigmatization of the begger. If I am required to give, there must be someone to give to. The fact that I am required to give to them in some sense legitimizes their need. A life of begging, if not pleasant, is at least not dishonorable.

Another aspect of this Islamic pillar--that you are only required to give once each day--yields a third benefit: it de-stigmatizes not giving. Though every begger is ostensibly engaged in a legitimate practice, and is worthy of assistance, once you have given to one person, you are under no compulsion to give to another person in the same day.

Most beggers in Dakar respect this. For example, if I decide not to give to someone begging at my car window, I find that if I look directly at the individual, smile slightly and shake my head (usually also holding my clasped hands to my heart), the person will smile--often broadly, give a slight bow of the head, and walk away. Each of us has respectfully acknowledged the other--I haven't ignored her or her need, but have instead acknowledged her existance, her humanity, and the validity of her station as a beggar. And, though she naturally expects me to give alms to someone today, she accepts that I don't have to give to her.

There are drawbacks to this system, too, however. As with any something-for-nothing system, required daily almsgiving encourages abuse. Apparently begging instead of working can be quite profitable. Some beggers in Dakar are said to live in quite remarkable homes. Some travel miles and miles to beg on a corner that is particularly lucrative (and where they won't be recognized as the owner of that fine house across the street).

A second drawback is the effective encouragement of very small giving. Any amount qualifies, so why give more than the least possible? Hand out 10 to 25 cfa (about 2 to 5 cents US), and I'm off the hook for the day. And, in fact, such amounts are considered sufficient. Granted, 25 cfa here has more buying power than 5 cents in the US--350cfa can buy a meal--but it's still not much.

Christian Almsgiving

What of the Christian approach to alms? While Jesus lauded generosity, he didn't mandate any specific frequency of almsgiving. There is no requirement to give every day. Moreover, most giving is to be done secretly, without public fanfare, or even public knowledge. This approach is less legalistic, and therefore, it seems to me, less likely to produce a large begging population. In fact, the Apostle Paul, actively discouraged begging. He wrote that he who doesn't work should not eat. This tends to promote diligence among those who can work.

But the Christian approach does lend itself to stigmatization of the begging class (which, Jesus said, we will "always have with us"). In FIDDLER ON THE ROOF, Tevye says, "It's no shame to be poor--but it's no great honor, either." Yet, I suspect many people do experience their poverty as shameful, and experience poor treatment and receive less respect from many of us who are financially better off.

The lack of daily practice can also abet our human tendency to hold on to what we have. If I'm not required to give, and I don't practice giving daily, I can easily never give. (If giving is secret, so too, a lack of giving can be kept secret.)

There is one more factor for the Christian to consider, however: the guidance and prompting of the Spirit of Christ (or Holy Spirit). In the 14th chapter of his Gospel, the apostle John quotes Jesus:

But the Counselor, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name,
will teach you all things and will remind you of everything I have said to
you.

Having a relationship with one generous enough to give his very life for us should increase our desire to become more like him, including our willingness to help others materially. With this remarkable gift available to us, I opt for the Christian perspective on giving. Yet, I have something to learn from the Muslim example of daily generosity.

More Laughs

My last entry got me to thinking about some funny comments I've heard or read over the years. Here's a brief collection

When I die, I want to be cremated and have my ashes thrown in Ernie Martin's face.
--Playwright George S. Kaufman; Ernie Martin was one of his producers.

They weren't blind; they were just hard to see.
--A former colleague of mine
.

Guido Nadzo is nadzo guido.

--George S. Kaufman again, writing of actor Nadzo's performance in a Broadway play. Nadzo changed his name.

Yes! They won't let us rap, they won't let us wear boubous, and they won't let us jump high.
--A former student, in response to the question, "Are whites oppressed?" Note: Boubous are long, handsome, formal, shirt-like garments worn by many Muslim men in West Africa.

Not all alien abductions are bad things.
--Another former colleague

Embarrassing, but Funny

Remember the old joke where you walk up to someone and say, “Did you know that Mark doesn’t have a last name?!” The other person almost invariably replies, “Mark who?”

Well, I have a real-life reversal of that story.

I'm good friends with a family I'll call the McClendons. A few days ago, they sent me an email with a newsletter attached. I was delighted to hear from them, but I completely blanked on their last name, and couldn't find it in their message. It wasn't part of their email address. It wasn't in the body of the email. I looked in the attached newsletter--not there, either.

That night, frustrated and embarrassed that I still hadn't remembered their surname, I decided to ask a friend who also knows them well. The next time I ran into her, I said, "What's the McClendon family's last name?" As soon as it was out of my mouth, I realized what I'd done, and we both burst out laughing!

(By the way, I later learned the explanation for the case of the missing name...but I'm not going to tell you.)

Reprogramming the Automatic Response Bin

Have you ever changed jobs and found, on your first day, that you've driven half way to your old place of employment by mistake without realizing it? Or bought a new car and then spent half an hour looking for the old one in a grocery store parking lot? One of the things our brains are great at is doing things without making us consciously think about them. Occasionally, this comes back to bite us, but usually it's a great thing.

Imagine that dozens of things that have worked a certain way your whole life suddenly work a different way, and the action your brain has stored in the Automatic Response Bin is now the wrong action. For example, flipping light switches down turns the light on. Or you flush a toilet by pushing a button on top of the tank instead of flipping a handle on the front. These are little things, to be sure, but face enough of them at one time, and it can be surprisingly disorienting. That's part of what moving to a new culture involves. These little things add up to a bigger mental adjustment than one expects, or even consciously notices.

So, here are a collection of differences I've run into living in Senegal, some having to do with technology, and some not.

• Light switches: Up is "off," down is "on."
• Other power switches: Green is "off," red is "on."
• Hailing a cab: Holding your hand up and waving your hand means you don't need a taxi. Pointing down towards the road and waving slightly means you want one (you're saying "pull over here"). It's funny how much this throws me off, especially given how seldom I have taken a cab in the US, and how often I have taken one here.
• Toilet handles: Toilets here don't have handles. Instead, they have buttons on the top. Pressing the button flushes the toilet. (For a few, the water tank is attached to the wall above the toilet seat, and you pull a string to flush.)

Hee are a few more differences that aren't in the Automatic Response Bin category, but are nonetheless interesting.

• Honking: First of all, horns here don't honk, they beep. Secondly, when someone beeps at you, it doesn't mean that you're doing something unsafe, or that he's mad at you. Beeps are usually directed at pedestrians, and mean "I'm coming up behind you." Only in huge traffic jams where no-one has moved for a while do drivers bear down on the horn in disgust--but this is usually aimed at the policeman directing traffic.
• Door handles. Doors here have handles rather than knobs. Several times as I've entered or exited my office, the handle has slipped inside the front of my shirt and torn it.
• Getting directions. In Senegal, terenga [tuh-REN-ga], or hospitality, is a key cultural value. This has some interesting corollaries. To not help someone is virtually a moral failure. So, if someone asks you for directions, you must give him directions, even if you don't know how to get where he wants to go. Giving wrong information is better than being so rude as to give none!

This list was difficult to assemble, and that's part of the point. These aren't things you think about. They are so entrenched a part of the way one's world works that it's only when they work differently that they are noticeable.

Shopping Spree

On my way home from bird-watching yesterday, I stopped at a neighborhood grocery store and bought the following:

• 2 boxes of cereal
• 2 1-litre cartons of fruit juice
• 1 can of powdered milk
• 1 package of chocolate cookies*
• A candy bar...OK, five candy bars*
  
  *Studies have shown that dark chocolate is good for heart patients!
  Unfortunately, these were white chocolate cookies and milk chocolate candy bars...

The total for this shopping spree was 17,700 West African francs (cfa). At today's exchange rate of 400 cfa to the dollar, that trip cost the equivalent of $44US! When I arrived in 2003, the same items would have cost about 15,000 francs. With an exchange rate that hovered around 550 cfa to the dollar, this was equivalent to only $27US (and that wasn't cheap--$5 to $7 per box of cereal!).

So, yesterday's shopping trip cost about $17 more than it would have 5 years ago. Rising prices account for about $5 (15% if I've done my math right). The drop in the dollar accounts for about $12 (30%, give or take).

This makes me all the more thankful for my church and the friends who donate to my support each month. I am financially solvent because of your generosity!

"That's Africa for You"

A lot of things *in* Africa get blamed *on* Africa.

It is true that, for a variety of reasons, numerous things don't work as well here as they do in some other places. Since I am American and work mostly with Americans, we usually compare things here with things in the US.

Some typical complaints: the city electricity is frequently cut off without warning, for long periods of time. Meetings don't start "on time" as Westerners think of time. Bureaucracy can be paralyzing. The phone company sends out bills every few months, but may cut your service if you haven't paid before the bill arrives. Some governments officials are corrupt; bribery and nepotism are common.

"That's Africa for you!" folks exclaim when we encounter one of these circumstances.
But when things in the US don't work, we don't say, "That's the US for you!" We say, "That's the phone company for you," or "That's a politician for you." Why do Africa's problems get blamed on Africa, and American problems get blamed on individuals or organizations?
Consider the following.

I recently moved my office desk and computer a foot or two to the right. I had to unplug all the computer equipment to do so. When I plugged everything back in, the computer wouldn't turn on, though the monitor (which was plugged into the computer, not directly into the wall) did turn on! I tried everything I could think of to address the problem. I changed what was plugged into what (computer, power strip, regulator, wall socket) in every combination I could think of. No matter the combination, and no matter how many times I pressed the power button on the front of the computer, nothing worked.

Finally, I unplugged everything again (including the mouse and the monitor, etc.) and took the computer to our tech team who flipped a power switch on the back of the box, and it started right up. Apparently it had gotten bumped when I rearranged my office. But why are there two power buttons on the same computer? Sheesh! That's Africa for you!

Well, no, actually, the computer was bought in the US. That's the computer industry for you. That's the Secretary of State's Office for you. That's the Airline Industry for you. That's the Government for you. That's Republicans for you. That's Democrats for you. That's the human race for you!

As I just wrote to a friend in the States, it's...

...Very busy and interesting time here--working on grant proposals hoping to bring in outside support for the school, gearing up for a regional sports tournament for our students next week, and bracing ourselves for the world Islamic conference the week after--5,000 visitors arriving for 2-5 days. Oh, yes, and teaching. At least we don't have to deal with snow (though at least one embassy is taking a snow day during the conference because our geographically small city will be one major traffic jam, what with road closings and increased security).

Hot Off the Press

My musical play, "A Christmas Carol Card Collection," has just been "released" on DVD!

The play, very loosely based on Dicken's similarly titled book, tells the story of Ben Scrooge, President and CEO of Bleak Publishing House. He stumbles across a box of old Christmas cards. Reviewing these "posts of Christmases past" causes him to mentally revisit key points of his life. Each card leads to the performance of a skit or song (by our elementary and middle school students), re-enacting an instance when Ben chose greed over good.

When he finally understands from the cards that he can be reconciled to God through Jesus, he repents and determines that all of his "posts of Christmases future" will declare the good news he has finally grasped.

The script is laced with humor (even a guest appearance by Laurel and Hardy), Christmas carols, other Christmas songs, and one song by me that sets the stage (so to speak) for the story. Two of our high school students filmed the December world premier and edited it into one presentation. I haven't even had a chance to review the whole thing yet, but I'm mighty pleased to have this record of our performance. (Sorry, I'm not taking orders--there are only 9 copies in existence.)

The Rain in Senegal Falls Mainly in the Summer

We had a thunderstorm last night--quite unusual for February! I'm told the thunder was so loud that children took refuge in their parents' beds. Though the head of my bed is directly beneath a window, I slept through it all, waking only later to enjoy an owl hooting in the trees just outside my bedroom. I didn't even realize it had rained until I left my apartment. For once, Dakar smells fresh and clean!

What Happens to a Rhinoceros' Armor When it Gets Wet?

It rhinocer-rusts.

I took this photo standing about 10 yards from the subjects. Yes, standing. Outside of the Jeep! The park guide said it was safe. "They have very good hearing, but very poor eyesight," she explained. Once we were on the ground, she proceeded to talk loudly for several minutes.

I'll post more pictures of my visit to the Bandia Reserve later. This week has been (and remains) very busy, so I've had to delay updating my blog.

(Joke found on http://www.kidsjokes.co.uk/jokes/animal/kangaroo.html)

Three Smiley Middle Schoolers

Today marks one week since the arrival of an old friend from my church in the US. Beni was part of the same team I was when I first visited Senegal in 2003. She returns every couple of years to volunteer with different organizations.

This year, she's working mainly with one of several organizations that provides help for talibe [TAL-ee-bay] boys--boys whose families have given them to a marabout [MAIR-uh-boo], a regional Islamic religious/political leader, for training in the Koran. Though they do get rote Koranic training in Arabic (which is not spoken here), most become street beggars who raise money for the marabou. They are frequently underfed, underclothed, underwashed, and lacking in medical care. Many Senegalese are scandalized by this system, but marabouts are culturally, religiously, and politically entrenched.

In the next few days, I'll post an article with more details about the problem and about the organization Beni is volunteering for.

In addition to coming to volunteer, Beni generously loaded up her luggage with things I can't buy here, including oat bran, "Miracle Whip," my favorite brand of chewing gum, books and DVDs in English, and, most importantly, a lot of music for the Chamber Choir, for which we are grateful.

None of this has anything to do with the above picture, which shows three of my middle school students who just dropped by to say "Hi" and to sing silly songs to me.

Elected to a New Office

Things change often at my school. Classrooms become storage rooms, offices become kitchens, kitchens become classrooms--you name it! I have had several offices and several classrooms in my four-and-a-half years here--sometimes simultaneously. Last week, I moved to a new office in what was a classroom earlier this year, but is now half-filled with shelving where we keep infrequently used books and other teaching supplies. There's just enough room to sqeeze my 11-member chamber choir in my half of the room, so we rehearse here, as well (thus the sign on the door).








OK, so it's a low news day. You want I should make something up?

Photo Page Under Construction

This is my first attempt to create a linked page consisting only of photos and captions. It's not a particularly straightforward process. I'll post an announcement when I get it working, until then, this is a placeholder. (The photo is the elementary building and playground as seen from the third story of our new Middle School / High School academic building.)

The 12 Days of Christmas (redux)... and Beyond!

BLOG NEWS: I've published posts (below) for the final two days of my Christmas trip to the Republic of Guinea. All 12 days now have pictures and updated, proof-read copy.

GUINEAN NEWS: Political unrest erupted in Guinea over the weekend, resulting in one reported death. A national strike has been threatened for Thursday--on the one-year anniversary of the riots that left 130 dead last year. We pray for peace in Guniea, and for those of our students who are trying to return to Dakar from there.

DAKAR NEWS: There has been no further trouble in Dakar since the riots that broke out the Thanksgiving weekend, protests centered on two issues: rising food prices, and the razing of un-licensed boutiques (we would say stalls) in various markets around the city. The government relented during the holidays. The holidays are over. No news is good news?

SCHOOL NEWS: We've just kicked off the new semester with a day and a half of interesting and useful meetings (really!). Classes resume tomorrow.

SHOPPING NEWS: You're probably suprised to see shopping listed as a news item, but it's an interesting story. Dakar has a moveable market called Fëgg Jaay [FOOG-ee jie, or FOOK-ee jie]. It's mostly clothing, mostly used (perhaps including something you donated to Good Will or one of its equivalents last year), plus some new items that are often knock-offs of name brands. The city sets up two rows of booths, framed with heavy pipes, down the median of one of the city's major roads, leaving an aisle down the middle for shoppers. Each booth is about 6-ft. square. Most are covered with tarps for shade. They stay up a day or two, as people from that part of town shop, then are taken down, moved to another street, and set up again. Each Saturday morning, the Fëgg Jaay appears in all its glory on a mile-long section of a street not far from my school. On Sunday, it's gone, with piles of trash every few yards all that remains.

Fëgg jaay means "shake and sell." Some vendors have so much the clothing that, in addition to hanging it from the poles, they pile it high inside their booths. When you find something in the middle of the pile, wrinkled and dusty, the vendor pulls it out, shakes it, and tries to sell it to you for "a good price."

I went to this market last Saturday and was delighted to find a handsome windbreaker, two pair of pants my size, and two or three shirts, for the equivalent of about $20! Then, at another, permanent market in a nearby neigborhood, I bought two brand new shirts for about $3.50 each. Until now, I've done all of my clothing shopping on my visits to the States. No longer!

PHOTO NEWS: Unfortunately, I forgot to take my camera along to the Fëgg Jaay. I'll try to remember to post a picture of it another time. Lacking that, I've included two pictures of boabob trees, one God-made, and one man-made--complete with hanging fruit and roosting birds. (Click on the picture for a closer look.)

Alive and well in Dakar

I've returned to Dakar from my 12 teriffic days in Guinea. I'll put the remaining "12 days of (my) Christmas" posts up as soon as I am able.

Meanwhile, I wanted to post a photo I just took of an African Grey Hornbill (relative of the red-billed hornbill in my November 7 post). Interestingly, the photo in Wikipedia's article about this species was taken just a few hundred yards from mine--in the zoo/forest park across the street from my school. Their specimen looks rather different. Mine looks more like the hand-painted illustration in the same article.

I've loaned out my fancy Nikon camera for a friend to take some portraits. This was snapped with my little Kodak.

On the 12th Day of (my) Christmas

WEDNESDAY DECEMBER 26

This, my last full day in Guinea, was one of my favorites. As always, it was beautiful--sunny and warm (OK, a little too warm, or, at least, too humid for my taste). And I did all of the things I liked to do--traveled, visited with friends, watched a family have fun together, took pictures, and played music. Only the beautiful mountain countryside was missing.

The travel was merely across town to visit two of my students and their family. This was great fun. They are a bright, lively (especially two younger siblings, who, I was duly warned, may become my students in the near future), and interesting to talk to. They are hospitable, and served me a delicious meal of beef and chicken brochettes (shish kabob) and wonderful chocolate-filled cream puffs. We discussed Guinean history and current conditions (they've been without city power for a month now) and school and books and movies.

On the way to and from lunch, I took numerous photos. I've been surprised at the wide variety of sizes, shapes, and colors of moquest in West Africa, so I've begun documenting that variety. Check back for a separate page of pictures at a later date.

When I returned to Jim and Becky's, they played outside with the kids, chasing and screaming and laughing.

As night fell, I sang and played music with a young Guinean musician who has come to Conakry to attend a University. Only 23 years old, he's written many songs about life in Africa: "Cease Crying" and "Stop Playing with Fire" were among those he sang for me. He accompanied himself on a hand-made gongoma [GOHng-go-mah], a simple instrument made from a calabash, a piece of wood, and three broken pieces of a hack-saw blade. He taps the wood with his left hand and plucks the sawblades with his right as he sings.

We recorded some of his songs, and he insisted I join him on the choruses of one. So, I now own what may become highly-sought-after, seminal recordings of West Africa's next singing sensation. And who will guess that it's an old toubob (white guy) singing along with him?

On the 11th Day of (my) Christmas

TUESDAY DECEMBER 25

Though it's the 11th Day of my Christmas holiday, it's actually Christmas day, and I'm glad to report that Santa took time to visit us (see photo).

Baby Jenna's first Christmas was duly videotaped for the grandparents. Hannah, when not decked out in a red and white cap, helped her younger sister open her packages. To my surprise, there were gifts for me, too: a lalaangii (see Day 6 post) and two books, including a wonderful book about Guinea.

We were joined for breakfast by a young Guinean man. When he asked about my family, he was visibly moved to learn that, like him, I had lost both of my parents. This led to a long conversation about sorrow and happiness and hope. I was glad to be able to tell him about the steady hope I have because of the centuries of promises, recorded in the Old and New Testaments, that God fulfilled in the birth, death, and resurrection of Jesus. It was a surprising conversation, but fitting for Christmas day, since Christmas has no meaning outside of those promises.

In the evening, we attended a huge Christmas dinner hosted by a friend of Jim and Becky's, complete with two turkeys (which I attempted to carve), stuffing, mashed potatoes, home-made rolls, and a host of other wonderful dishes, including several fabulous desserts. The crowd was broadly international--American, Canadian, Egyptian, French, and Guinean, perhaps more--and the entertainment ranged from dominoes to card tricks to jigsaw puzzles to live hammered dulcimer music (hmmmm). It was a treat to be invited, a great way to close out Christmas day.

On the 10th Day of (my) Christmas

MONDAY DECEMBER 24

A downtown shopping trip took up most of my Christmas Eve day. Conakry, at 2 million, boasts a population about two-thirds that of Dakar, but is a much bigger city, stretched over a long, narrow peninsula. It took perhaps 45 minutes to get downtown despite almost no traffic.

Since West Africa is predominantly Muslim, there were understandably few indications in town that Christmas was near, even fewer than in Dakar. Nevertheless, the three I saw were rather large--two 6-foot Santas, and, in the middle of a major intersection, this leaning tower of a Christmas tree.

We went to a small artisan village, where I bought some rhythm instruments. In a larger market, I found some beautiful and unusual hand-dyed cloth, and purchased a few other items. Jim and I ate lunch at La Gondole--one of Dakar's nicer restaurant-ice cream parlors, which, I discovered, has a branch in Conakry.

We got home in the nick of time to leave for the outdoor, candlelight Christmas Eve service held at a local mission compound. I led the singing, and helped accompany a couple of songs on the hammered dulcimer I bought in Michigan last August, my public premier as a dulcimer player.

On the 9th Day of (my) Christmas

SUNDAY DECEMBER 23

Back in Conakry, we attended a large French-language church service Sunday morning. It turned out to be the annual children's service. The room was decorated with paper streamers and birthday baloons for Jesus' birthday. The kids ran the whole thing.

MUSIC: Several choirs of various aged kids sang a lot of great songs, and led the congregation in others. I wish I had music for them!

SKITS: A variety of skits were acted with amazing confidence and animation by children of all ages. Some were apparently quite funny, though the only joke I got was when Mary and Joseph reported to the census taker in Bethlehem...

Census-taker: Name?
Joseph: Joseph.
Census-taker: Wife's name?
Joseph: Mary.
Census-taker: Ages?
Joseph: I'm 9. She's 7.

SERMON: A boy I judged to be 10 or 11 years old gave a lengthy and lively sermon on Isaiah 9 in French. It was translated, on-the-fly, into an African language by another boy his age. I followed neither presentation!

Back home later in the day, while I played with the kids, Becky caught a chicken that had flown over the wall from a neighbor's yard.

On the 8th Day of (my) Christmas

SATURDAY DECEMBER 22

One of the things that most frustrates American children living in Africa is having their state-side friends ask them if they live in grass huts, ride to school on elephants, or hide from tigers at night. Don't Americans know that Africa has houses, that elephants are rare, and that tigers only live in India and Asia?

Though none of my students live in huts, and many urban Africans live in houses and apartment buildings, many, many other Africans do, in fact, live in huts. We passed hundreds of them on the way to and from our mountain vacation. Many, like the one shown here, offer items for sale to those driving by. In this case, it's charcoal, wrapped in grasses and bagged in pastel sacks, displayed under a huge, colorful mango tree. Perhaps more often, it's rice, potatoes, or pyramids of fresh fruit or vegetables. Sometimes it might be boldly patterned cloth, or recently butchered cows or goats.

In fact, the irregular intersection of manual labor and traditional products with technological sophistication is one of the earmarks of African life. Single A fisherman spends his morning in a small canoe, and brings his products to a market where vendors use hand-held calculators and cell phones. A shepherd guides his flock of sheep or goats across a divided highway. A street vendors hawk matches, CD players, and inflatable Santas side-by-side. Imams chant their calls to prayer not from the minarets themselves, but from tinny loudspeakers stuck at their tops (see photo--that's a speaker, not a bell). Africa is a living kaleidescope of change.

On the 7th Day of (my) Christmas

FRIDAY DECEMBER 21

This was a packed day! It started with birdwatching near the cabin in the morning. I saw numerous species not listed in my Birds of West Africa; and others that are listed, but not indicated as living in Guinea. And I have pictures to prove (some of) my sightings! Unfortunately, the quality of most of the photos is pretty poor, but they still should help with identification. Here's a fire finch perched on the end of a cinnamon tree trunk.

Then, Jim and I and three-year-old Hannah began a sight-seeing tour of the area. It started at the Dalaba visitor's center, a hut packed with local crafts and other items of interest, including this Hannah-sized, stuffed leopard skin. I almost succeeded in playing a reed flute like the one with which I was serenaded at the market yesterday, and the Center Director almost succeeded in getting me to buy one, but we couldn't agree on a price.



The next stop was the French colonial governor's compound, including a traditional "cassa des palabres" or House of Words. Built in 1936 using traditional mud construction, with beautiful geometric patterns formed in the floor, walls, and (before it collapsed from lack of care) the roof, the governor met here with important indigenous leaders to discuss political matters. A special place for each cheikh' (chief's) chair is marked in the wall--you may be able to make out two of these on either side of the door in this picture). It was here, in 1958, that incoming dictator Sekou Tourre convinced other national leaders to oust the French upon declaring independence--a move from which the country has never recovered.

Finally, we went to a beautiful lake where friends took me birdwatching in their canoe. I saw more stunning sights (including a large kingfisher with irredescent green back, wings, and throat; white breast; huge orange and black beak; and gray head), and took more terrible photos, the single exception being the birdless one at left.

On the 6th Day of (my) Christmas

THURSDAY DECEMBER 20

EXCLUSIVE VIDEO FOOTAGE BELOW!!

Today is the highest holiday of the Muslim calendar. Known by different names in different parts of the world ("Eid ul-Adha" in Arabic countries, "Tabaski" in Senegal, "Donkin" in Pulaar, one of the main Guinean languages), it is the Muslim celebration of Abraham's near-sacrifice, at God's command, of his son. At the last minute, God provided an alternate sacrifice, a ram caught in a thorny thicket near the altar he had instructed Abraham to build (see Genesis 22). Christians recognize in these remarkable events a foreshadowing of God sending his own son, Jesus, wearing a crown of thorns, to pay the price for our sins, literally once and for all, with his life instead of ours.

Muslim families sacrifice a goat or sheep or cow each year in gratitude for the sparing of Abraham's son. (When I left Dakar, roadsides and major intersections were filled with thousands of sheep for sale at makeshift markets. It reminded me of the hundreds of Christmas tree stalls in every city in the United States--though those generally smell better!) The sacrificed animal is divided and shared with family and with the poor. The rest of the day and the following day are spent in celebration with special meals, visiting of friends, and gift-giving.

We took the day to travel over roller-coaster quality, unpaved roads to Pont de Dieu--"Bridge of God"--a natural bridge on the penultimate level of a 5-tier waterfall. In the above picture, I'm standing on the middle level, just below the bridge, photographing Jim as he photographs me.

On the way home, we stopped by the city market for a few food items. Jim and Becky���s blonde two-year-old Hannah was the center of attention until Becky came back from her search for cooking oil trailed by four nyamakalabhe���musicians who insert themselves into social settings such as weddings and baby-naming ceremonies in hopes of securing cash donations. They welcomed me to Dalaba, singing ���You have come to Dalaba, You have come a long way,��� and similar phrases over and over . . . until I paid them to stop! One man played a djembe, a west African drum; one played a reed flute; and two played lalaade (singular: lalaangii), shakers made from wooden disks stacked on small, angled tree branches.

Back "home" at our mountainside cabin, we could hear the Tabaski/Donkin celebrations until 10 pm under the nearly full moon, with both children and adults chattering excitedly along the road that runs along the bottom of the hill on which our cabin sits.

On the 5th Day of (my) Christmas

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 19

After getting up to do a little birdwatching, during which I photographed the sunrise through the pine trees, I spent the rest of the day sleeping. Every move felt like lifting lead weights. I wore three layers of clothing and was still cold, so I lay on a mat in the sun all afternoon to keep warm. In my lethargy, I missed going to the local French restaurant at which we had made reservations for dinner. I began recovering just in time to eat some of the delicious beef bourguinon leftovers Jim and Becky brought home.

On the 4th Day of (my) Christmas

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 18

Tuesday we went shopping in the nearby city, Dalaba [DAHL-uh-buh]. (Be sure to watch the market video on my "6th Day" blog). We bought fresh eggs, flour, sugar, bread, lettuce, tomatoes, several packages of batteries (that didn’t work), and slippers, each item in a different shop. I watched awhile as a tailor sewed gold thread into the seams of a dress using a foot-powered sewing machine similar to one my grandmother used.

On the way home, we stopped at a hotel surrounded by poinsettias and oleanders, with a fabulous panoramic view of the mountains. Here I am holding my hosts' baby girl in front of a 6-foot poinsettia bush.

At night, two of my former students and their parents, who are staying in a nearby cabin, came over for games and desert. I learned a strange, but fun card game called Bohnanza (or, "The Bean Game").

On the 3rd Day of (my) Christmas

MONDAY, DECEMBER 17th

Today, we drove northeast from Conakry (on the coast) past Kindia to Mamou, and northwest from there to Dalaba [DAH-lah-bah] in "upper Guinea" for a 5-day stay in the mountains. We stopped in Mamou to greet the family of my hosts' guard in Conakry. The family was apologetic that they hadn't known we were coming, and didn't have any food prepared for us. We promised to stop again on our return trip. (Map © 2006 Mapquest)











One of the differences between the US and Africa is the approach to tranportation. In the US, people and luggage are usually trasnported inside a vehicle. In Africa, the outside of the vehicle is just as viable as the inside. In the left-hand picture above, the luggage and people on top of the car are taller than the car itself. In the right-hand picture, the man standing on the left bumper has tied himself to the car so he can nap as he rides!

The countryside here is truly beautiful. The panoramas bring to mind parts of Pennsylvania, Maryland, and Georgia, but with a special character all their own. At left is a view of a valley as seen from our cabin. The weather here is idyllic--clear and sunny, breezy and dry, with pleasant temperatures. Surprisingly, though, even this far south, the harmattan wind delivers a hazy layer of Saharan dust which hovers over the countryside.

Another surprise for me is the quality and busy-ness of the roads this far from Conakry (quite different from my experience in Senegal, where roads and traffic both thin within a couple of hours of Dakar). Our cabin home feels like a US National Park, with frequent trucks driving by on the road below us and children laughing in the distance.

On the 2nd Day of (my) Christmas

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 16

Today, I attended two church services and a wake. The first service was in one of the three predominant languages of Guinea. Nine people were in attendance. We sat on mats in a room with a half-wall open to the outside. We sang in two languages (it was interesting to try to read and sing the words to a couple of the songs, originally written in English, in a language unfamiliar to me.) I will not publish photos of this service, since announcing one’s Christian faith in this particular Islamic context is a matter of considerable difficulty and, sometime, persecution. It can be a long process, often starting with trusted friends. It is not my place to publicize these believers’ faith for them.

The wake was for the brother of one of the church members. Her house and yard were full of men coming to pay their respects. As special church guests, we were ushered into her living room and served a meal of bara-bara (BAHda-BAHda)—a delicious rice—and sauce with a little meat.

The second church service was in the evening, conducted in English, and attended by American, Canadian, and African missionaries and personnel from various embassies. Much more in my own tradition, it was a welcomedly* familiar end to the day.

Today's photo is of something I saw many times in Guinea, food laid out on the shoulder of the road to dry. In most cases, as shown here, it's rice, but I also saw a bleached-white root of some sort, perhaps manioc, handled the same way.

*I made that word up. Feel free to use it without asking my permission. Just footnote me in the history books.

On the 1st Day of (my) Christmas

SATURDAY DECEMBER 15

I left Dakar at 4:30 am and arrived in Guinea's capital city of Conakry at 6:00 am. The air was humid but not hot. Not suprisingly, the airport terminal was small. Surprisingly, it had no exterior walls.

To exit the airport, you must present your yellow health card as evidence that you have had malaria shots. I had presented this to the Guinean embassy in Dakar a few days earlier to obtain a visa, but had mistakenly left the card itself in Dakar, perhaps even at the embassy. At first, the airport health representative insisted that I either produce the card or pay 10,000 Guinean francs (about $2.50US) for an inoculation. I didn’t want another vaccination, particularly not one kept in a freezer that doesn’t have power 70% of the week (see below), so I repeatedly explained that I had obviously had an inoculation, or I wouldn’t have been able to get a visa. The woman continued to dismissively insist I purchase a vaccination. Eventually, we reached a compromise: I paid $2.50 for a new yellow health card that said I’d received an inoculation at the airport.

As we drove through the city in the early morning light, I found Conakry quite different from Dakar. It is more spread out—wider streets, more space between buildings, and stretched over a longer peninsula; the ground is rock and dirt instead of sand; slanted roofs outnumber flat ones; trees and grasses abound, as do streams and ponds and hills! It also smells better, lacking the sickly sweet odor of decaying trash mingled with diesel fumes which so often permeates Dakar. With its red clay, pine trees (introduced by the French), and dilapidated buildings, Conakry reminds me of rural Georgia near where my grandparents lived.

Two other ways Conakry is different from Dakar I learned later: city electricity is usually available only at night, and water is available only two days per week. Neither service reaches Jim and Becky's neighborhood, so they have solar panels on their roof and a short water tower in their front yard.