An Update: Somewhat disjointed, but comprehensive nonetheless...

April 4th: My last entry on "Africa @50" was full of optimism and energy, none of which characterize my sentiments during Senegal's 50th Independence Day celebration last weekend. To fully understand my frustration, you must have a sense of the potential that lay within this historic moment - something I touched on in my last blog post. Instead of using this moment for introspection, the celebration was President Abdoulaye Wade's egotistical display of profane, self-congratulatory back-patting. He, with use of public funds, apparently paid for the travel of several heads of state and dignitaries including a delegation from New York featuring none other than Jesse Jackson and the head of the NAACP, to attend the inauguration of his disgusting statue. The statue, by the way, has been lit with what look like disco lights that use up so much energy that we, in Ouakam, had nightly black-outs averaging about 3-5 hours for two weeks leading up to the inauguration. Needless to say I was disappointed to hear about Jesse Jackson and company. It seems that folks have become so caught up with grand gestures, they have forgotten (or don't care) to do their research to insure that the ends justify the means.

 

Set Setal, Take 2: On March 28th my little corner of Ouakam (Cite Assemblee) held its second Set Setal since my arrival. After a couple of months of theoretical planning with the Set Setal crew (Papis, Malang, Mustafa, Tamsir & Vicky), and a couple of weeks of rushed preparation (including a couple of days of absolute mayhem), the big day finally arrived. Like the last time, I woke up after too few hours of sleep unsure of how many of the hundreds of neighbors we had solicited would actually show up. The beginning was slow and after the first hour we had only attracted a group of hard-working kids. Eventually, with the sound system set up and music blazing, the adults joined in. The artists we had invited painted beautiful murals on the 3 walls we targeted and prepared. Overall the set setal was wildly successful. A little fun fact: 2STV, a local news station, showed up and my 15-second interview was shown that evening. A photographer friend was there to capture all of the beautiful images of the day and we plan to collaborate to put together an exhibition of the photos in the neighborhood before I leave. I will have images to share after that!

A note on Love: I have gone through a somewhat rough period recently, but have come out stronger than ever. Today I find myself wondering less and less frequently about whether or not my feelings make sense or whether they are 'possible' at such a fast rate. All of these abstract notions, 'sense' and 'possibility' have been stretched to their modest limits over the past couple of weeks and they no longer serve as my points of reference. I feel like if my life were a graph, its curve is on a steady incline into God's realm where human-constructed obstacles fall away allowing for love to thrive at its purest. I realize, for the first time in my life, that love is less of a state of being, and more of an ongoing series of decisions and actions with blissful, wholly self-gratifying results.

The Countdown: It's official. This coming fall I will be starting a joint MBA-Public Policy degree at Carnegie Mellon University in Pittsburgh! It has been a long, exhausting, but worthwhile process. I have been awarded both a merit scholarship and a full-tuition Fellowship. So many people have been generous with their time and energy in supporting me through this period - thank you so much, I am deeply grateful. I find it fitting that the admitted MBA student website is called "the Countdown." I imagine that this name captures the bittersweet anticipation felt by many of members of the class of 2012. I, for one, feel very torn. Part of me is already there reveling in the new forms of intellectual stimulation, nesting in a new apartment and city, already making plans to bring peers on an MBA trek to Senegal..etc. Part of me wants to stay here and enjoy the fruit of the many rich relationships I have cultivated over the past two years. But there is no stopping or slowing down in this world. I am excited for the change of pace and I look forward to being able to return to Senegal with more to offer than my many ideas and good intentions.

AFRICAN INDEPENDENCE @50: In 1960, referred to by some as "The Year of Africa," 17 African states gained their independence, following the lead of Ghana in 1957. Among them, Senegal is now celebrating its 50th year of independence. It is something to be celebrated, but also an appropriate moment to pause, honestly discuss the state of affairs and envision a path forward. This is not only important in terms of the country and continent's economical development, but also its strategic position in the world, its unity, its role in global affairs (i.e. Haiti crisis), etc. There is much to be decided, much to be acted upon. Here I'd like to share my vision of tomorrow's "Africa", in abstract. My toast to Africa and her brilliant future.

I see a land of unlimited potential. One of the most frustrating things to come to terms with is being without electricity in a country where there is almost always sunshine and wind from the Atlantic. I see future urban and rural landscapes powered by energy expertly harvested (by Africans) from the sun and wind. I envision renewable energy training facilities to prepare for and fill the inevitable plethora of green jobs created by a new sustainability policy adhered to by the public and private sectors and subsidized by the government. 

A more specific example of how this eco-friendly vision could be manifested in Dakar: Every fall Dakar and its poor suburbs flood, displacing thousands of families, disrupting micro-economies, and causing a public health nightmare. This happens every year and yet the government acts like it has been caught completely off guard each time. I see a government, led by innovative leaders who are willing to listen to the needs of the population, hosting an international forum of eco-friendly design, urban planning, and crisis management to come up with a creative and sustainable solution to this problem (and possibly channeling the rainwater in a more productive way). This, in my mind, is the most ideal type of private-public partnership, one in which partners are on equal terms. Should the World Bank or any other traditional creditor wish to fund it, they would be welcomed under a whole new set of equitable terms (and would be less likely to be reincarnated as dung beetles in future lives :-P).

I envision a return to subsistence agriculture, in the sense that national and intra-continental policies focus on developing African agricultural sectors to meet popular needs rather than exporting European-determined cash crops and importing rice from Thailand, cotton products from the U.S., chocolate from Europe...etc. This would mean building up a manufacturing sector to produce finished products instead of exporting raw goods (only to buy them back in plastic wrapping and at higher prices). Whether through "a more perfect" African Union similar to the EU, with its policies of economic fluidity and protectionism, or through loose trade agreements that favor intra-contenental deals above inter-contenental ones. It's about time Africa acted selfishly. 

It is already clear that, ironically, the continent's general lack of communications infrastructure has allowed it to leap frog into the world of wireless tech free from the burden of cables and landlines. I see a future of more mobile banking, wireless public computer terminals,and wireless innovation in the education, public health, good governance (anti-corruption), and local business development sectors. Imagine being able to report, by cell phone, any public servant requesting a bribe with a guarantee of immediate follow up. Public access to information and resources is a pre-requisite for governmental transparency. Here is an example of wireless and mobile technology being used by citizens from Kenya, Ghana, South Africa...etc to respond to situations of social unrest and, more recently, Haiti's earthquake response.

Others have already started building an Africa in which the best and brightest young minds are not shipped overseas to be trained within Euro-centric academic settings. I foresee a rich network of schools like the African Leadership Academy, offering an alternative to secondary education in Europe and the U.S. and promoting leadership, social entrepreneurship, and a do-it-yourself attitude towards problem solving. Beyond the practical skill-set promoted in these new centers of learning, the academic curricula will focus on African histories, languages, arts, scientific discoveries, academics...etc. And for those who cannot afford private education, publicly funded schools that provide both academic and vocational training with an emphasis on homegrown industries including green jobs, tech, manufacturing, and social enterprise.

Lastly, I see an Africa sure of herself and her image abroad. She is not the stereotypical "mama Africa" often cast as overly maternal (always thinking and caring for others, not herself), and a little outdated. She is strong, independent, young and trendy. She does not need to explain herself to others, nor does she need to be revitalized, for she is all that is fresh. I see this in the arts, particularly in the growing fashion scene,  design, and social media. I hope to see more of this in the way Africa presents herself to the world proactively rather than being (mis)represented by others. This does not necessarily mean denying any faults and making grandiose gestures beyond her means (i.e. Wade to Haitians), but portraying a more holistic and up-to-date image of Africa's many realities.

I could go on and there will no doubt be more added in future posts. I'm truly excited by this rich potential and eager to get my MBA and jump into the process of realizing this vision that I believe is shared by many. I know these points are somewhat simply stated, but they are meant to just give a taste of what can and, I'm sure, will be. It is also important to note that I've chosen to only focus on what Africa herself should do - I have plenty of other recommendations to external actors who have, in many ways, set the continent back within the last 50 years. But we are not limited to finger-pointing. We are too fabulous and full of future potential for that.

Whether or not you are African, you've traveled to part of Africa, or are deeply familiar with Senegal or any other countries on this mighty continent, you can still envision some aspect of its future. Perhaps a different representation in the U.S.? Maybe stronger diaspora relations? More African-based opportunities for inter-cultural exchange? What is your 50th "African Independence" celebration wish?

Giving Thanks: It is interesting and telling that I wrote my last blog at the end of Ramadan. Since then many exciting and noteworthy things have happened - all too real to try to relay here in this limited virtual forum. The most significant and yet the hardest to capture in words is the spiritual journey I have awakened to find myself on. I say awakened rather than embarked, because this has been a long journey, perhaps it even began during my childhood, but I have only recognized it consciously within the past couple of months. Suddenly everything in my life revolves around spirit. The steps we teach students to communicate inter-culturally are all about realizing that your reality is constructed based on your cultural values and perspective. This constructivism is at the root of how I see God, life, creation/free will, happiness, change.



Perhaps this awakening began during Ramadan, which I tried to make meaningful by reflecting on religion (notably my Christian background and experiences with Islam) and my beliefs, which often do not align with religion. Nowadays I dwell over concepts read and re-read in Conversations with God, I take my time slowly digesting words by Alice Walker, I try to have meaningful soul-provoking conversations, I ask a lot of questions. My boss, who bears witness to this process, casually used the term "existential crisis" over lunch the other day. That made me smile.



Perhaps it is all of these nosy essay questions in applications for graduate programs. I lay bare my ambitions, strengths, weaknesses, regrets and lessons within a sincere response and then, coming to as if from a trance, wonder if the admissions committee really wants to know who I am. It has been one of the many pleasant surprises in life thus far - applying to business school can indeed be an introspective and even spiritual process.



Perhaps it is the constant questioning we encourage among our students. They come here often having already planned out their lives - first peace corps, then NGO work, and along the adventurous route of a career in development they plan to go. They arrive expecting these ambitions to be unquestioningly supported and instead we force them to question and challenge the concepts upon which they have built their dreams. Development from and towards what? Are we a good model of 'developed'? Who chooses these standards? Does happiness mean the same thing for everyone? Is the concept of universalism just a cover for cultural hegemony? This is the juiciest meat of our program and the most rewarding. Is it such a leap to connect it back to constructivism and the realm of the spiritual?



Perhaps it is, as auntie Alice might suggest, the gardening. Since my return to Dakar from the U.S. this summer I have been caring for the family of plants I inherited on the roof of my apartment. With the help of a more experienced gardener who brought new nutrient-rich soil and advised me on the needs of the different plants, I have been nurturing them and watching them grow. It is a small but nonetheless miraculous thing to witness - after misting (spraying water on the leaves of) my favorite plant, a frangipani tree, I can literally see it perking up.



I know your eyebrows may well be creeping up incredulously and now maybe you are smiling or shaking your head thinking "existential crisis." Again, that makes me smile. Because if it is a crisis I am going through, I never want it to end.



On this day, so ironically earmarked for giving thanks each year, I continue on my present path, more awake than I've ever felt. And for that I am thankful.

Back in NYC! I love living in Senegal, but I must say it does feel good to be home! I arrived on Monday morning and am still pretty jet-lagged so I haven't gotten around to calling and visiting folks yet...but I will! I will be here for a month spending time with family and friends, attending a prep course for the GMAT exam I will take (along with the GRE) before I return, and meeting with grad students, professors and professionals to collect as much information and advice about the grad school as possible. I have a very full month ahead.


When I came into the city in an airport shuttle from JFK, I was overwhelmed by what felt like an onslaught of ruthless advertising: eat this, but don't gain weight, look like this, buy me to loose weight and look like this, wear this, drive this, buy me to make your life shinier, happier, sexier.....believe me, you NEED this.


The other day I was walking back home from a jog in riverside park (glorious! so green and fresh) when I saw a man on a bench dressed up as a twelve year old girl. He was wearing candy striped leggings, a tight top with a Van Gogh print, and a pink scrunchie held back his stringy, gray ponytail. He sat there casually flipping through a newspaper, impervious to my curious gaze. New York City - you gotta love it.

******

On another note, a couple of weeks ago Duma and I went to visit a well known Senegalese artist named Kansi. He and his wife, Musahna Ali (from Philly), are living about 3 hours outside of Dakar in a warehouse turned studio/gallery/living space. They are working with a team of masons and the local community to build a holistic art center using ancient mud brick and sacred arch construction techniques. It is a very ambitious, but necessary project that will not only promote and preserve the traditional arts of the region but will restore a sense of pride and productivity to the local population.


It was really fun to be able to spend time out in the open country side (nothing but baobab trees and shrubs for miles with a few cows thrown into the mix) with Kansi, Musahna and their beautiful kids. Duma and I made our own little mosquito net tent among the tents that the family and their guest friend/architect, Coleman, sleep in. Now looking back, it's incredible to think about how different life is and the world looks from the other side. Air smells different. Stars look farther away. Time has a different rhythm.


Recently one of my students sent me an email describing her transition back to life in America after spending a semester in Senegal. She said she is giving presentations about Senegal to her cousin's 5th grade class as part of her plan to promote cross cultural exploration. She included a list of questions she is frequently asked by adults (relatives, professors, acquaintances) and another list from children (the 5th graders). The questions from adults are proof that there is such thing as a stupid question (e.g. do they eat people?). The questions from the kids are sincere and genuinely curious (e.g. what does the language sound like? what kind of games do they play?).


I found this somewhat comforting. In spite of the ubiquitous ignorance about 'Africa,' there is some hope that in the future Senegal won't seem so far away.

A little Alice.... So today I got to thinking about the fact that my dear friend Fatma is about to give birth to a baby girl. I am already an auntie to Nasozi's son, Rafayando Kalungi, and Leilani's daughter, Xenayana - both as beautiful as their mothers. For me this is not only a sign of the inevitable fact that my friends and I are growing up, it is also a a reflection of the strength and inherent optimism that it takes to bring a life into this world. In this state of mind, I came across a piece of Alice wisdom I hadn't read in a while and thought it fitting to post in honor of all the womanists in my life. To you my loves!

From the preface of In Search of Our Mothers' Gardens: Womanist Prose. Alice Walker's definitions of womanist:

1. From womanish. (Opp. of "girlish," i.e. frivolous, irresponsible, not serious.) A black feminist or feminist of color. From the black folk expression of mothers to female children, "you acting womanish," i.e., like a woman. Usually referring to outrageous, audacious, courageous or willful behavior. Wanting to know more and in greater depth than is considered "good" for one. Interested in grown up doings. Acting grown up. Being grown up. Interchangeable with another black folk expression: "You trying to be grown." Responsible. In charge. Serious.

2. Also: A woman who loves other women, sexually and/or nonsexually. Appreciates and prefers women's culture, women's emotional flexibility (values tears as natural counterbalance of laughter), and women's strength. Sometimes loves individual men, sexually and/or nonsexually. Committed to survival and wholeness of entire people, male and female. Not a separatist, except periodically, for health. Traditionally a universalist, as in: "Mama, why are we brown, pink, and yellow, and our cousins are white, beige and black?" Ans. "Well, you know the colored race is just like a flower garden, with every color flower represented." Traditionally capable, as in: "Mama, I'm walking to Canada and I'm taking you and a bunch of other slaves with me." Reply: "It wouldn't be the first time."

3. Loves music. Loves dance. Loves the moon. Loves the Spirit. Loves love and food and roundness. Loves struggle. Loves the Folk. Loves herself. Regardless.

4. Womanist is to feminist as purple is to lavender.

Le Président oublie/ Oublie le Président! Okay I know it's been a while since the last post, but instead of giving you a laundry list of what I've been up to, I thought I should jump right into what's up and on my mind at the moment. I'm actually coming full circle back to my last post on the FESMAN because the official launch of the nine-month pre-festival events was a free hip hop concert that Duma dragged me to last night. Among the notable performers was our fabulous rapper friend, Moona, the lauryn-esque Njaaya and DJ Awadi (the title of this post is one of his lines, translated as: the President forgets/ forget the President). Our friend Tinari plays drums for both of them - which is why I found myself standing outside in the cold (everything is relative) at 1am on a Monday morning (Duma, you still have to name your first child after me - here's hoping it's a girl). Anyway, I'm glad I did because it was refreshing to hear the bold political commentary in the lyrics and reflected in the audience. I already know how hip hop has influenced politics here, but it's been cast as somewhat of a dead dynamic.

Senegal's local elections are coming up on March 22nd and my neighborhood's walls are graffiti'd with the names of candidates and slurs against their rivals. It is both fascinating and a bit depressing to consider the difference between the U.S. electoral process (local or presidential) and what goes on here. I have not heard one debate, not seen one poster listing goals, not even seen any superficial marketing ploys associating candidates with acts of charity or social programs....Granted I don't have a TV here - something tells me I am not missing any kind of political forum. I have heard mixed reviews about the upcoming local elections. Some people are excited by the fact that, for the first time, the candidates are comprised of some professionals (many from the private sector) instead of the same old career politicians. However, I've also heard that pretty much everyone, including the so-called 'opposition,' has some affiliation with either the current regime or the former regime and is therefore not really fresh blood. Of course the most controversial aspect of the elections is the fact that the president, Abdoulaye Wade's, son, Karim, is running for Mayor of Dakar. Many see this as sign that he is being groomed to 'succeed' his father. This begs the question: what is the real difference, if one exists at all, between monarchy and political dynasties (Kennedy's, Bush's...)? Is one more acceptable than the other?

We had a guest speaker come and talk about democracy in Senegal for one of our courses today. His appraisal of Senegal as a transitional democracy a step above arbitrary rule and a step below actual rule of law was dead on, in my opinion. A student asked about the residual affects of colonial rule and the lecturer made a great point in response. He said that without a sense of national pride a country cannot develop independently. And it is clear that Senegal lacks this sense of pride and autonomy. He said, ministers who send their pregnant wives to France or the U.S. so that their children can be born French or American are doing exactly the same thing that young people boarding pirogues to cross the ocean to Spain are attempting to do. Both demonstrate a total lack of faith in the future of their country. Why, then, are we so shocked when these kids risk their lives to leave Senegal? When Wade retires he will likely move to France with his French wife, just as Senghor and Diouf did before him. If even the political elite don't have a stake in the country's future, then who does? Oh yeah, China!

Ok, ok...enough politicking. On a more begge note (begge, Wolof for fun, happy, everything good in life), I went to a Seun Kuti concert on Friday and got a pic with Fela's son!

More begge to come....

Happy New Year! May 2009 be full of Peace and Love. I have a lot of catching up to do, so here are some snippets of what I've been up to since I last wrote:

11/30/08: On the road to Saint Louis....
In the bus on the way to Saint Louis I continued plowing through Alice Walker's The Temple of My Familiar while listening to Oumou Sangare. We came to a pit stop - not the bus - but Alice, Oumou and me. I looked up out of the window and caught a glimpse of orange light leaping through leaves and branches on the patchy landscape. I had a sudden vision of some lighter version of myself jumping from the bus and running into the Sahara field to sit on the earth facing the setting sun. Of course I didn't actually do this, but in my mind part of me was there. It felt so real, the hard dirt and chill breeze. That sensation of feeling completely content to be connected with the earth made me feel sad for my other states of disconnection. I saw my happy, lighter self looking down at an estranged, burdened self walking through the concrete jungle of New York City. In my mind one tells the other to keep trudging along. It's okay, enchanted places still do exist in the world.

Reflections on the road back home....
Everything about the six hour bus ride home worsened my mood. I was already 'in a funk,' as my mom would say. Students looked at my tattered book cover and asked me what I was reading. Most had never heard of Alice Walker. This disturbed me. Once again I realized that I was on the 'singing bus' and had to suffer through bad pop and commercial hip hop sung by a bunch of college girls. The cries of glee in response to TI and R.Kelly singles made the fact that no one had heard of Alice Walker, who was the first African American woman to win the Pulitzer, even more disturbing.

Earlier in the day we had done a brief walking tour of historical sites on the island of Saint Louis. The first stop was a square, surrounded by busy traffic, in which a full size statue of a French colonialist named Faidherbe resides. Our resident expert on the slave trade and colonial history gave us a good sense of the context for the imposing presence of the statue: a history of conquest, both physical and metaphysical, and a list of so-called 'contributions' the man had made to Senegal (for which the country thanked him on a plaque beneath his booted feet). When our historian asked if we had questions I wanted to blurt out mine: Why is this despicable thing still standing? Serigne beat me to the punch by saying that, as a Senegalese, he finds it extremely offensive. A confused look from the crowd: but hadn't Faidherbe done much to help the country develop, taught useful skills? Does one need to conquer to teach? Skills for what? To what end? Is what was give even slightly comparable to what was taken away? These are the questions many are not comfortable asking themselves. One thing the historian said really did stick with me: the slave trade was not just the transfer of muscle, it was the transfer of skills. Agriculture, textiles, blacksmithing, cattle-raising - all of these skills laid the foundation for the world's largest economy to prosper.

Hours later, looking out the bus window at the billboards of hair products and those ancient Marlboro ads that have long been banned in the U.S., all of these tangential musings seemed to merge into one stream.

Click here to see some pictures of my trip to Saint Louis, which is, in spite of my somber thoughts, a beautiful place.

The Eighth Mouton...
I spent Tabaski with my former host family at the house of the family matriarch, Maambooy (Grandma). Not having sufficiently learned my lesson about the timing and procedure of Senegalese holidays during Korite, I showed up at 10am absurdly overdressed for what was to be a day full of work and lounging. So I replaced my new taille basse with a house-dress borrowed from Moussou and insisted on cutting onions and potatoes with the rest of the women,even though without a cutting board the onions took me twice as long and my french fries looked slightly deformed. When the men returned from the mosque they quickly changed out of their glistening basin robes and prepared to kill the moutons (sheep), a symbolic sacrifice honoring Ibrahim's willingness to obey God and sacrifice his son, Ishmael. The men dug a pit in a corner of the large courtyard where all of the moutons were tethered to tree trunks and posts, skittish at the sight of the assortment of knives on a nearby table. One by one each mouton was brought to the pit, slaughtered and drained of its blood. Every move of the knife was made with purpose and precision so that the animals suffered as little as possible. There were eight moutons in all, and that poor eighth animal, not knowing he would come last, suffered through witnessing the death of each of his friends. I must say though, the moutons, once grilled or stewed, were delicious. I was surprised at how easy it was to eat what I had just been pitying hours earlier. In many ways the killing and consumption of sheep for Tabaski is a much more humane practice than the way we raise and slaughter turkeys in the U.S. Most Americans have probably never even see a live turkey - we act like they are delivered to us by from the heavens. Wouldn't it be great if every family in the States had to buy or catch and then slaughter and pluck their own thanksgiving turkey? Recipe for disaster or step towards a more humane society?

The Nigerian Bureaucrat who almost stole Christmas...
Our quest started months ago.when Duma and I first bought our tickets to Nigeria for the holidays. It all seemed so simple then: we would get a letter of invitation from mom, and armed with our tickets, passports and photos, we would go to the Nigerian consulate and obtain visas. We were on our best and most demure behavior from the beginning, even though we were treated with contempt by a miserable Nigerian bureaucrat who informed us, in a long-winded snarl, that we would need residence permits to obtain Nigerian visas. So we made our way to the police station designated for foreigners to get residence permits. There we learned that such permits required an authorization from one's 'chef de quartiere,' a neighborhood representative. I won't bore you with the details...but needless to say, what ensued was a veritable Dr. Seuss riddle of document chasing. In the end we had spent lots of money for a pile of documents that are obsolete.

When we finally submitted our applications and passports to the miserable Nigerian bureaucrat, he didn't even ask for all of the documents we had collected. We returned two days later, as instructed, and were greeted with even more contempt. What visas? What passports? What money? Get out of my face! Granted, I was in the man's face at that point and my once demure composition had apparently disappeared with our passports and our money. I glared at him and thought I could see his little heart shrinking beneath the official ID he wore on his chest and was so clearly abusing. That's when I knew that he wanted a bribe. Desperate, I called my mom as a last resort. Sounds like you are going to have to cry, she said in a matter-of-fact tone. There was a silence as Duma and I tried to register what Mom had said. Cry? Yes, that seems to work in Nigeria - I've seen it done before. It was the most bizarre recommendation, but worth a try.

We went back. We were again very polite and composed (Duma was, I couldn't even speak to that miserable man). But when he slammed the glass door in Duma's face we knew it was do or die. When he came back into the lobby we cornered him. Why won't you let me go to Nigeriaaaa!, Duma wailed as tears came gushing down her face. I knew then that we were on. I just want to spend Christmas with my familyyyy!, I sobbed. The man began to slowly back away in panic. He was still shouting back, but we could see the fight dying in his eyes and his little heart starting to grow. Finally he reached into his back pocket, yes his back pocket, and pulled out our passports, which had been already stamped with visas.

And that, my friends, is how we were able to spend the holidays with my family in Abuja. The 2008 Oscars for most dramatic performance go to Nomaduma Masilela and Courtney Keene. Thank you, thank you.

Giving Thanks: If you know me well, you know I am a holiday person. Not the kind that goes crazy with Christmas tree earrings and home-baked cookies topped with colored sprinkles...No. I just really like the warmth around holiday-time, the good food, the traditions, and the meanings (no matter how deeply buried under commercialism and ugly histories) behind them. To me, despite the sketchy origins of our all-American holiday, Thanksgiving is a time to slow down, spend time with people you care about, and reflect on the many blessings life has reaped. (and yes, their is the eating of the good food).

This Thanksgiving I had two dinners: one home-made with friends new and old and another one, more hectic, for the students. On Wednesday Duma and I, with the help of our host and family friend Shenita, whipped up a fabulous dinner (if I may say so myself). We had roasted chicken and gravy, homemade stuffing (mom's recipe), mom's famous cheese rolls a la CK, mashed sweet potatoes, creamed corn, sauteed veggies, salad and cranberry sauce. To top it off, Jeanne made some delicious apple crumble pie and pumpkin pie for dessert. It was wonderful. We had our buddies Tinari, Calvin and Gabe over and Shenita invited some of her friends.

Gathering to give thanks and capture the moment before we dove into our TG feast.

The next night we had over 200 guests at a dinner for my students, students from our host institution, faculty and staff. It was pretty stressful for me because I had to MC and literally pick numbers out of a bag to call on tables one by one for an hour so that people would not stampede to the buffet line.

Students enrolled in our Gender and Development course work with an organization called CIPFEM, created by past students in our program. They facilitate after school activities and tutoring sessions for girls aged 5-12 and otherwise help them develop as well-rounded students and confident leaders. In order to add some meaning to the dinner and share an American holiday with the CIPFEM girls, I suggested our students invite them. I was shocked at first by the grumblings I heard, "I don't want to have to worry about them during Thanksgiving....this is our holiday....it's going to be too much work...." Fortunately only a minority felt this way and the girls attended the dinner. I think they really enjoyed it and it was a reminder to everyone that these holidays actually can and do mean something more than a race to the buffet line.

Me, Khaita (Serigne's wife), my colleague Serigne, and Duma at our program's TG dinner

Personally, I am thankful for many things...but most of all I am grateful for family, friends, the opportunities that have brought me here, and for all of the lessons I have yet to learn. I am also grateful for the ability to find these lessons in any and every thing: the Alice Walker book I'm reading, the CIPFEM girls, my students, random discussions with friends and roommates, giant Baobab trees and beautiful sunsets....


Helped are those who find something in Creation to admire each and every hour. Their days will overflow with beauty and the darkest dungeon will offer gifts.

Helped are those who receive only to give; always in their house will be the circular energy of generosity; and in their hearts a beginning of a new age on Earth: when no keys will be needed to unlock the heart and no locks will be needed on the doors.

- Excerpt from The Gospel According to Shug, The Temple of My Familiar by Alice Walker

Journal Entry/Musings on Religion: This week marks the beginning of Ramadan, that holiest of months in Islam, which just happens to coincide with one of the hottest months in Dakar. Islam is so alive and visible here; it will be interesting to be in a city of believers while they collectively practice this challenging ritual. In Dakar Islam has a soothing and rhythmic presence, like the predictable yet subtle change in seasons in New York. Prayer calls boom from mosque speakers reminding the faithful to stop what they are doing, wash up, pull out their mats, and kneel in devout meditations. On Fridays especially, the main mosque in Mermoz overflows with men in their brightly colored robes bowing heads to mats in a wave that covers sidewalks and storefronts. I admire this sense of oneness that is palpable even to me, the spiritual but unreligious onlooker. There is also something that gets to me in the urgency of the call, the rush to the mosque, the ability to keep appointments with God several times a day, every single day regardless of plans, location, and convenience. I recently spoke to Felicia about religion in another long-winded discussion. Something she said stuck with me; something like this "Going to church for me is like a spiritual alarm clock. It is an appointment I keep to meditate and devote time completely to my spiritual health. God doesn't need me to keep this appointment, but I surely do." I think this may be true for many churchgoers and for people who heed the mosque's call to prayer. On the one hand I appreciate (from the outside) Islam's relatively flexible stance on location (wherever you can fit your prayer mat), but on the other hand it seems overly structured and rigid to "set the alarm" for five specific times throughout the day. Shouldn't the goal of all spiritual beings be to never need an "alarm," to be constantly "awake" so to speak? These are the sorts of questions I think about here up on the terrace on the eve of Ramadan. Luckily I chose to sit under the thatched roof with my laptop because it just rained (we've had a ridiculous amount of rain lately....climate change...but that's for another post). This is the first time in a long while that I've seen (or noticed) a rainbow. It's here now spread across the sky like a giant post-it reminding me that not all things beautiful need understanding. I guess we can all use alarm clocks and reminders once in a while.....

Spain or Death - August 18th (posted late due to lack of electricity - C'est la vie): It's a quarter to eleven on this side of the earth. I've just finished a meal of stewed lentils (a la Jeanne) and mango-tomato adjeke (cassava-based couscous, a la my own concoction with the help of Marcus Samuelson - thanks CB!). I'm out on the terrace with a glass of white wine during a pause in one of my long, enlightening discussions with our resident scholar, Felicia Anonyuo. Last night we talked about womanism, race, immigration, Alice Walker (I got just a tad defensive), and how the West views Africa. Tonight we've been talking about her dig through the archives here in Dakar where she found a book, "Une conquête morale," (A Moral Conquest) written in 1917 by French colonial scholar, Georges Hardy. She is going absolutely nuts over this text because it is just what she needs to show the intention behind the psychological colonization she is arguing is at the root of the tragic 'Spain or Death' mentality of many young Africans. The mainstream explanation for suicidal immigration attempts is wholly economic. Felicia's argument is that if one of the principals of economic theory is that we are rational actors who make rational decisions in our own best interest, then why in the world would someone risk death for the chance to join a peripheral work force in a foreign country? The missing piece, the factor the media has failed to recall, is the history of colonial brainwashing through which Africans were unconsciously made to believe that Europe is paradise. I can't wait to hear about what Felicia ultimately finds (after Dakar she spend 4 months in Nigeria too). Now here I am writing about how much I love Senegal (I secretly hope to someday discover that I am from here originally), and yet so many young Senegalese are desperate to escape from what they see as a hopeless situation. The disparity between me and them and their loss of faith in the growth and potential in everything their own is really sad... Sorry to end on such a downer, but it's important to note that even though I do love Senegal and am a natural optimist, every place has it's problems ranging from the mundane (daily power cuts) to the overwhelming.