Gilgamesh or the quest for immortality

Last night, my mother shone her brightest light. When she was eighteen, she acted in France as Anne Langel, in the title-role of "Les Caprices de Marianne", by Marivaux. Since then, she never went back on stage. Until last night.

My mother was the Mother-Godess Ninsouna, mother of Gilgamesh, who is the charismatic and autocratic ruler of the city of Uruk. The play, Gilgamesh, has been written by a French-Canadian author and poet called Michel Garneau. It retells the antic tale of Gilgamesh and his friend Enkidou, and their painful, joyful, sorrowful, poetic quest for the meaning of life.

The directing was admirable, as the 40 people-cast gathered around on stage to act as characters, spectators, singers, and setting. The gipsy inspired costumes were colorful and fun, and everyone gave it their best. When you repeat with your troops 10 to 15 hours a week for 6 months, it pays off !

Here is the summary of this philosophical epic, as told on the ancient tablets of Babylon, and relayed by Richard Hooker :

For cartoon version of the epic : Click here

Tablet 1

This great hero who had all knowledge [nemequ ], Gilgamesh, built the great city of Uruk; the tablet invites us to look around and view the greatness of this city, its high walls, its masonwork, and here at the base of its gates, as the foundation of the city walls, a stone of lapis lazuli on which is carved Gilgamesh's account of his exploits, the story you are about to hear.

The account begins: Gilgamesh, two-thirds god and one-third human, is the greatest king on earth and the strongest super-human that ever existed; however, he is young and oppresses his people harshly.

The people call out to the sky-god Anu, the chief god of the city, to help them. In response, Anu creates a wild man, Enkidu, out in the harsh and wild forests surrounding Gilgamesh's lands. This brute, Enkidu, has the strength of dozens of wild animals; he is to serve as the subhuman rival to the superhuman Gilgamesh.

A trapper's son, while checking on traps in the forest, discovers Enkidu running naked with the wild animals; he rushes to his father with the news. The father advises him to go into the city and take one of the temple harlots, Shamhat, with him to the forest; when she sees Enkidu, she is to offer herself sexually to the wild man. If he submits to her, the trapper says, he will lose his strength and his wildness.

Shamhat meets Enkidu at the watering-hole where all the wild animals gather; she offers herself to him and he submits, instantly losing his strength and wildness, but he gains understanding and knowledge. He laments for his lost state, but the harlot offers to take him into the city where all the joys of civilization shine in their resplendence; she offers to show him Gilgamesh, the only man worthy of Enkidu's friendship.

Gilgamesh meanwhile has two dreams; in the first a meteorite falls to earth which is so great that Gilgamesh can neither lift it nor turn it. The people gather and celebrate around the meteorite, and Gilgamesh embraces it as he would a wife. In the second, Gilgamesh dreams that an axe appears at his door, so great that he can neither lift it nor turn it. The people gather and celebrate around the axe, and Gilgamesh embraces it as he would a wife. Gilgamesh asks his mother, the goddess Rimat-Ninsun, what these dreams might mean; she tells him a man of great force and strength will come into Uruk. Gilgamesh will embrace this man as he would a wife, and this man will help Gilgamesh perform great deeds.


Tablet 2

Enkidu then enters the city of Uruk during a great celebration. Gilgamesh, as the king, claims the right to have sexual intercourse first with every new bride on the day of her wedding; as Enkidu enters the city, Gilgamesh is about to claim that right. Infuriated at this abuse, Enkidu stands in front of the door of the marital chamber and blocks Gilgamesh's way. They fight furiously until Enkidu concedes Gilgamesh's superiority and the two embrace and become devoted friends.

Both Enkidu and Gilgamesh gradually weaken and grow lazy living in the city, so Gilgamesh proposes a great adventure: they are to journey to the great Cedar Forest in southern Iran and cut down all the cedar trees. To do this, they will need to kill the Guardian of the Cedar Forest, the great demon, Humbaba the Terrible. Enkidu knows about Humbaba from his days running wild in the forest; he tries in vain to convince Gilgamesh not to undertake this folly.


Tablet 3

The elders of the city protest Gilgamesh's endeavor, but agree reluctantly. They place the life of the king in the hands of Enkidu, whom they insist shall take the forward position in the battle with Humbaba. Gilgamesh's mother laments her son's fate in a prayer to the sun-god, Shamash, asking that god why he put a restless heart in the breast of her son. Shamash promises her that he will watch out for Gilgamesh's life. Ramat-Ninsun, also commands Enkidu to guard the life of the king and to take the forward position in the battle with Humbaba. In panic, Enkidu again tries to convince Gilgamesh not to undertake this journey, but Gilgamesh is confident of success.


Tablet 4

Tablet four tells the story of the journey to the cedar forest. On each day of the six day journey, Gilgamesh prays to Shamash; in response to these prayers, Shamash sends Gilgamesh oracular dreams during the night.

These dreams are all ominous: The first is not preserved.

In the second, Gilgamesh dreams that he wrestles a great bull that splits the ground with his breath. Enkidu interprets the dream for Gilgamesh; the dream means that Shamash, the bull, will protect Gilgamesh.

In the third, Gilgamesh dreams: The skies roared with thunder and the earth heaved,Then came darkness and a stillness like death. Lightening smashed the ground and fires blazed out;Death flooded from the skies. When the heat died and the fires went out, the plains had turned to ash. Enkidu's interpretation is missing here, but like the other dreams, it is assumed he puts a positive spin on the dream.

The fourth dream is missing, but Enkidu again tells Gilgamesh that the dream portends success in the upcoming battle.

The fifth dream is also missing.

At the entrance to the Cedar Forest, Gilgamesh begins to quake with fear; he prays to Shamash, reminding him that he had promised Ninsun that he would be safe. Shamash calls down from heaven, ordering him to enter the forest because Humbaba is not wearing all his armor. The demon Humbaba wears seven coats of armor, but now he is only wearing one so he is particularly vulnerable. Enkidu loses his courage and turns back; Gilgamesh falls on him and they have a great fight. Hearing the crash of their fighting, Humbaba comes stalking out of the Cedar Forest to challenge the intruders. Gilgamesh convinces Enkidu that they should stand together against the demon.


Tablet 5

Gilgamesh and Enkidu enter the gloriously beautiful Cedar Forest and begin to cut down the trees. Hearing the sound, Humbaba comes roaring up to them and warns them off. Enkidu shouts at Humbaba that the two of them are much stronger than the demon, but Humbaba, who knows Gilgamesh is a king, taunts the king for taking orders from a nobody like Enkidu. Turning his face into a hideous mask, Humbaba begins to threaten the pair, and Gilgamesh runs and hides. Enkidu shouts at Gilgamesh, inspiring him with courage, and Gilgamesh appears from hiding and the two begin their epic battle with Humbaba. Shamash intrudes on the battle, helping the pair, and Humbaba is defeated. On his knees, with Gilgamesh's sword at his throat, Humbaba begs for his life and offers Gilgamesh all the tress in the forest and his eternal servitude. While Gilgamesh is thinking this over, Enkidu intervenes, telling Gilgamesh to kill Humbaba before any of the gods arrive and stop him from doing so. Should he kill Humbaba, he will achieve widespread fame for all the times to come. Gilgamesh, with a great sweep of his sword, removes Humbaba's head. But before he dies, Humbaba screams out a curse on Enkidu: "Of you two, may Enkidu not live the longer, may Enkidu not find any peace in this world!"

Gilgamesh and Enkidu cut down the cedar forest and in particular the tallest of the cedar trees to make a great cedar gate for the city of Uruk. They build a raft out of the cedar and float down the Euphrates river to their city.


Tablet 6

After these events, Gilgamesh, his fame widespread and his frame resplendent in his wealthy clothes, attracts the sexual attention of the goddess Ishtar, who comes to Gilgamesh and offers to become his lover. Gilgamesh refuses with insults, listing all the mortal lovers that Ishtar has had and recounting the dire fates they all met with at her hands. Deeply insulted, Ishtar returns to heaven and begs her father, the sky-god Anu, to let her have the Bull of Heaven to wreak vengeance on Gilgamesh and his city.

Anu reluctantly gives in, and the Bull of Heaven is sent down into Uruk. Each time the bull breathes, its breath is so powerful that enormous abysses are opened up in the earth and hundreds of people fall through to their deaths. Working together again, Gilgamesh and Enkidu slay the mighty bull. Ishtar is enraged.


Tablet 7

Enkidu falls ill after having a set of ominous dreams; he finds out from the priests that he has been singled out for vengeance by the gods. The Chief Gods have met and have decided that someone should be punished for the killing of Humbaba and the killing of the Bull of Heaven, so of the two heroes, they decide Enkidu should pay the penalty.

Enraged at the injustice of the decision, Enkidu curses the great Cedar Gate built from the wood of the Cedar Forest, and he curses the temple harlot, Shamhat, and the trapper, for introducing him to civilization. Shamhat reminds him that, even though his life has been short, he has enjoyed the fruits of civilization and known great happiness. Enkidu then blesses the harlot and the trapper.

In a dream, a great demon comes to take Enkidu and drags him to Hell, a House of Dust where all the dead end up; as he is dying, he describes Hell. Enkidu commends himself to Gilgamesh, and after suffering terribly for twelve days, he finally dies.


Tablet 8

Gilgamesh is torn apart by the death of his friend, and utters a long lament, ordering all of creation to never fall silent in mourning his dead friend.

Tablet 9

Gilgamesh allows his life to fall apart; he does not bathe, does not shave, does not take care of himself, not so much out of grief for his friend, but because he now realizes that he too must die and the thought sends him into a panic. He decides that he can't live unless granted eternal life; he decides to undertake the most perilous journey of all: the journey to Utnapishtim and his wife, the only mortals on whom the gods had granted eternal life. Utnapishtim is the Far-Away, living at the mouth of all rivers, at the ends of the world. Utnapishtim was the great king of the world before the Flood and, with his wife, was the only mortal preserved by the gods during the Flood.

After an ominous dream, Gilgamesh sets out. He arrives at Mount Mashu, which guards the rising and the setting of the sun, and encounters two large scorpions who guard the way past Mount Mashu. They try to convince him that his journey is futile and fraught with danger, but still they allow him to pass. Past Mount Mashu is the land of Night, where no light ever appears. Gilgamesh journeys eleven leagues before the light begins to glimmer, after twelve leagues he has emerged into day. He enters into a brilliant garden of gems, where every tree bears precious stones.


Tablet 10

Gilgamesh comes to a tavern by the ocean shore; the tavern is kept by Siduri. Frightened by Gilgamesh's ragged appearance, Siduri locks the tavern door and refuses to let Gilgamesh in. Gilgamesh proves his identity and asks Siduri how to find Utnapishtim. Like the giant scorpions, she tells him that his journey is futile and fraught with dangers. However, she directs him to Urshanabi, the ferryman, who works for Utnapishtim. Gilgamesh approaches Urshanabi with great arrogance and violence and in the process destroys the "stone things" that are somehow critical for the journey to Utnapishtim. When Gilgamesh demands to be taken to Utnapishtim, the ferryman tells him that it is now impossible, since the "stone things" have been destroyed. Nevertheless, he advises Gilgamesh to cut several trees down to serve as punting poles; the waters they are to cross are the Waters of Death, should any mortal touch the waters, that man will instantly die. With the punting poles, Gilgamesh can push the boat and never touch the dangerous waters.

After a long and dangerous journey, Gilgamesh arrives at a shore and encounters another man. He tells this man that he is looking for Utnapishtim and the secret of eternal life; the old man advises Gilgamesh that death is a necessary fact because of the will of the gods; all human effort is only temporary, not permanent.


Tablet 11

At this point, Gilgamesh realizes that he is talking to Utnapishtim, the Far-Away; he hadn't expected an immortal human to be ordinary and aged. He asks Utnapishtim how he received immortality, and Utnapishtim tells him the great secret hidden from humans: In the time before the Flood, there was a city, Shuruppak, on the banks of the Euphrates. There, the counsel of the gods held a secret meeting; they all resolved to destroy the world in a great flood. All the gods were under oath not to reveal this secret to any living thing, but Ea (one of the gods that created humanity) came to Utnapishtim's house and told the secret to the walls of Utnapishtim's house, thus not technically violating his oath to the rest of the gods. He advised the walls of Utnapishtim's house to build a great boat, its length as great as its breadth, to cover the boat, and to bring all living things into the boat. Utnapishtim gets straight to work and finishes the great boat by the new year. Utnapishtim then loads the boat with gold, silver, and all the living things of the earth, and launches the boat. Ea orders him into the boat and commands him to close the door behind him. The black clouds arrive, with the thunder god Adad rumbling within them; the earth splits like an earthenware pot, and all the light turns to darkness. The Flood is so great that even the gods are frightened.

The Flood lasts for seven days and seven nights, and finally light returns to the earth. Utnapishtim opens a window and the entire earth has been turned into a flat ocean; all humans have been turned to stone. Utnapishtim then falls to his knees and weeps.
Utnapishtim's boat comes to rest on the top of Mount Nimush; the boat lodges firmly on the mountain peak just below the surface of the ocean and remains there for seven days. On the seventh day , Enlil, who had originally proposed to destroy all humans, then arrives, furious that one of the humans had survived, since they had agreed to wipe out all humans. He accuses Ea of treachery, but Ea convinces Enlil to be merciful.

Enlil then seizes Utnapishtim and his wife and blesses them: at one time Utnapishtim was mortal. At this time let him be a god and immortal; Let him live in the far away at the source of all the rivers.

At the end of his story, Utnapishtim offers Gilgamesh a chance at immortality. If Gilgamesh can stay awake for six days and seven nights, he, too, will become immortal. Gilgamesh accepts these conditions and sits down on the shore; the instant he sits down he falls asleep. Utnapishtim tells his wife that all men are liars, that Gilgamesh will deny having fallen asleep, so he asks his wife to bake a loaf of bread every day and lay the loaf at Gilgamesh's feet. Gilgamesh sleeps without ever waking up for six days and seven nights, at which point Utnapishtim wakes him up. Startled, Gilgamesh says, "I only just dozed off for half a second here." Utnapishtim points out the loaves of bread, showing their states of decay from the most recent, fresh bread, to the oldest, moldy, stale bread that had been laid at his feet on the very first day.

Gilgamesh is distraught but Utnapishtim's wife convinces the old man to have mercy on him; he offers Gilgamesh in place of immortality a secret plant that will make Gilgamesh young again. The plant is at the bottom of the ocean surrounding the Far-Away; Gilgamesh ties stones to his feet, sinks to the bottom, and plucks the magic plant.

Several leagues inland, Gilgamesh stops to eat and sleep; while they're sleeping, a snake slithers up and eats the magic plant (which is why snakes shed their skin) and crawls away. Gilgamesh awakens to find the plant gone; he falls to his knees and weeps:

For whom have I labored?
For whom have I journeyed?
For whom have I suffered?
I have gained absolutely nothing for myself,
I have only profited the snake, the ground lion!"

Beaver's guide to the Montreal nightlife

Le Sainte-Elizabeth
(I couldn't find a picture, so go check out their website...)

When you walk in, it looks like your average "Irish-style" pub, nice and dark, lots of wood, an island bar, and some cozy sofas. Uptairs you can find a nice long bar, with plenty of taps, more seating, and a section behind the bar where you can sit near plate-glass windows that give you a bird's eye view of the terrasse in the back.

The terrasse in itself deserves a 5 for atmosphere. In my humble opinion, it's the nicest one in Montreal. Feels homey and secluded, with trees, vines climbing up the brick walls, even propane heaters when it gets chilly.

I went there with Hubby and a couple of friends for a friday evening drink a few weeks ago. Definitely one of the best places to go in Montreal, if you want to have a nice chat with friends in a partying, relaxed environment.

Foufounes Électriques
The punk mecca (aka Fouf) has lost some of its popularity, mainly because.. of too much popularity. It's the kind of place where you'd have seen tourists sitting at one table and spiked hair suburban punk-wannabes at another. After it re-opened last year, it's back on the right track with many live shows. It's interesting from the outside as is from the inside. There's (or use to be) an Internet cafe on the ground floor. P.S. The name means electric buttocks.

I went there to have a drink with my honey a month or so ago and was disappointed in the lack of fauna present. It was still early though, so I'm willing to check it out again...

Ye Olde Orchard
"Ye Olde Orchard, a neighbourhood pub with the flavour of the old country. "

This one is a favorite of my Scout-Leader friend, who inevitably wants to go there where offered to go out for a beer. A very cool place with live music on weekend nights.
A strange mix of 40 year old's and 20something's enjoy the party at the Ye, creating a cool atmosphere to let go. Don't plan to stay after midnight though, the action ends a bit early.



McKibbin's
Your typical Irish Pub, at the heart of Montreal ! The atmosphere is good, and a sense of friendly crowd that combined the people working downtown and university students. The McKibbin's is combined in three spots. Upstairs the Toucan Club(Ladies Night on Wed) and the Shebeen downstairs.Most of the nights there are some bands playing, but the selections of band was better in a recent past, with 139 South splitting to bits and replaced with less irish, more contemporary groups !

I revisited this old hangout spot of mine recently, after a particularly difficult consultation at the Y. I was alone, but not for long, as I actually stroke a conversation with a bunch of engineers of international backgrounds : Brazilian, Polish and Irish. It turned out to really be a nice evening ! Definitely a good place to have a beer on one's own...

The ugly duckling (rant rant rant)

One thing I had completely lost touch with and that I rediscover coming back to North-America also involves meeting again with reality shows. Shunned, yet a growing movement, reality shows are taking over tv everywhere, be it in France, Quebec, the States or the UK. Some are horrifying : remember "THE SWAN" ?

This horrifying series combines the physical makeover aspect of "Extreme Makeover", the lifestyle makeover concept of "Starting Over", and the "beauty pageant" aspect of ABC's embarrassing "Are You Hot"?

Here is the text designed to attract potential contestants :

"Do you have a dream that you haven't achieved because of how you look? Do you believe that if you got the looks you always wanted, you could then go on to achieve your deepest desires -- including winning a beauty pageant?

If so, producers of The Swan might be interested in hearing from you. In the classic Hans Christian Andersen tale, an ugly duckling awakened one day to discover that she had been transformed into a beautiful swan. In the real world, life is a bit more complicated that that -- and that's where The Swan comes on.

The Swan goes beyond where other makeover shows end, offering women the opportunity to undergo complete life transformations, and then follows their journey afterwards as they accomplish their goals and bring their dreams to fruition. The Swan's team of Life Specialists – plastic surgeons, hair stylists, makeup artists, style consultants, speech therapists, and other life coaches – will work on each woman from the outside in so that she can accomplish what she always wanted to achieve but couldn't due to limitations, perceived or otherwise."
(Thanks, RealityTVWorld)

Ouach ! In reality, the contestants went through a painful 3 months that involved extensive plastic surgery, diet and training and "therapy sessions." They went through this whole make-over boot-camp process without ever being allowed to see themselves. When unveiled, little of their original physical identity remains, which, if you ask me, might send quite a few right back in therapy.

At the end of the process, they are evalutated and get to move on (or not) to the next level of the pageant. Criteria invoked ? INTERIOR BEAUTY ! Isn't that ludicrous ?

Some contestants even loose privacy and In december 2004, the SWAN winner, Delisa Stiles, got divorced from her husband throughout the process, the moment where she receives the divorce paper direct on camera. A nice bonus for Fox.

I always looked at reality shows thinking that if one is eager for fame to the point of shedding all pudor, then they someone deserve a bit of pain, ridicule or humiliation. What the SWAN contestants are exposed to, however, is far more disturbing.

Beaver, movie critic at your service !

One of my big time hobbies has always been going to the movies. As a good Trekkie and Marvel/DC Comics fan, some summer flicks just can't be missed... so here are my comments on my recent venues (no spoilers, I promise...)

Star wars 3 : Revenge of the Sith
Defenitely the best movie of the prequel trilogy ! Hayden as Anakin Skywalker is intense, tragic, human. Ewan McGregor (Obi-Wan) is now grown-up but still kixass ! Beautiful visuals, amazing fights, beautiful soundtrack ! Lucas completely redefines the concept of tragedy and provides die-hard fans like me with all the answers. A must-see...

Kingdom of Heaven
I went in to see this one with barely any expectations. Turns out, it was actually very acceptable. Orlando Bloom (Balian d'Ibelin) is actually for once credible and not completely innocent looking. Historically, the level of artistic licence that Ridley Scott allows himself is very acceptable. Contrary to my fears, Saladin, played by Ghassan Massoud, is portrayed as a chevaleresque, honorable warrior. This turned out pretty good, if you accept that the characters will be a bit unidimensionnal. Good entertainment, anyways...

Madagascar
A funny little animation movie about a bunch of not-so-wild animals who somehow (you have to see the movie to find out) end up in THE WILD (on the beautiful island of Madagascar). Voices are done by an all-star cast with Chris Rock, David Schwimmer, Jada Pinkett Smith and Ben Stiller. A very good rental, lots of good laughs.

Mr. and Mrs. Smith
Yet another divorce/murderous couple movie. Pitt and Jolie are of course delicious to watch (come on, they are beautifull people). But the movie is a bit slow to take off, the humor quite doesn't hit the spot, there is no intensity, despite the fact that the cast works very hard at making a bland story acceptable. A good rental, no more, no less.

Batman Begins
Definitely the best Batman movie ever made so far (and God knows there were a lot made). They got it right this time : the atmosphere is dark and somber as it should be, Batman is no angel, the villains are more nuts and less comedy-ish. At last, a director that understands Batman ! A must-see, for all real Comic Fans ! (Not recommended for kids, though).

Blogging...

Last night, I couldn't sleep, and kept on thinking about my present inability to blog as regularly as I did back in Dakar...

Obviously, I feel like I have less to say than before, but somehow, it's not true. Only this time, my journey needs to be inwards, not outwards. When you live abroad, you are so busy trying to understand your surroundings that you get out of yourself all the time. Being back home, and confronted to the "boringness" of local life, you have to ask yourself : is it really boring, or is it me ? Is it my own depression, my own lonelyness and apathy ? 2 months later, the answer is yes... no matter where you are, it's ow you look at your own life that makes the difference.

So I'm taking out my camera and going pic hunting again... There has to be something worth shooting.... worth talking about....

My days.....

Since I've been back home, it's been more and more difficult for me to blog, mostly because I often feel like there is not much to say.

Looking for a job in Montreal at this time of year is close to impossible, so I actually gave up on the concept, to the exception of the Armed Forces, with whom I expect to have a meeting shortly...

So what do I do with my days... For one, I train, at least twice a week, in order to pass the army fitness test...

Second, I volunteer in various places. Last week, I participated in organizing and personnaly animated an alumni reunion for CECI. So that was cool, as I actually was active in a community oriented organization for a whole week.

Regularly, though, I give free consultations at the YWCA Montreal. It's kinda scary actually, because I spend 30 minutes with a client who usually has very little restraint. So it's sortof halfway between counselling and legal advice, with the occassionnal nut head who won't leave the office... Case examples : abused women, divorce cases, people who want to contest/enforce a will, and the occasionnal streetsmart client who just wants to lookout after himself.

All in all, it's very rewarding, and puts everything in perspective. Most of these people don't need legal advice. They just need someone to listen... that would be me...

Tribute

Today, it's been 3 years since my father passed into the light. I don't talk much about it, but I miss him all the time. My father was very close to me. I was his little girl. Since I also was his only child, I think at one point I became also his son. (Don't misinterpret me, I am a woman, but at the moment where I moved out, 5 years ago, I also was a tomboy, which I still am.)

So anyway, I went to Senegal, which was a country that my father had loved very very much in the 80's, when we lived there as a family. I finally completed my studies and got my attorney license, which was something my father had given hope on. I am now living a reality with which he was very well acquainted, which was to come back home after an assignment overseas and be without a job. Bottom line is, I miss my dad, because there is so much I would have to say to him today, and all I can do is say it here.

I miss those late breakfasts with him, cooking eggs and ham, talking, driving. I miss going out on a limb with him, just for the pleasure to drive and to explore an area unknown to me. I miss explaining Star Trek to him. I miss going out on dates with him and watching movies, eating a smoked meat sandwich on St-Laurent Blvd.

My stay in Africa was a break from mourning. On that sunny continent, the reality of his permanent absence was weaker. Sometimes, I even forgot about it. Makes coming back to Canada all the more difficult.

Appelez moi Mêêêêtre ! (Beaver, Attorney at law)

Last monday, I took my oath as an attorney. WOW ! should be my reaction to it, but really, it feels more like "Huh ? Was that it ?"

So let me take you to the secret hall of what it is to take oath in Quebec.

April 1st : I get to Montreal
April 4th : I give in my reports to the Bar association and am advised that my oath will be may 2nd.
April 11th : I file all appropriate paper work and inquire about the time and location of the ceremony. I'm told to expect a phone call.
April 18th : I pay my first Professional association fee - roughly 500$CDN for the year. Ouch. (Remember, I'm jobless for now.) Once again, I ask for the time and location of the ceremony. I'm told to speak to Mrs X downstairs, who tells me to expect a phone call.
April 29th : I get a message on my machine to please call Mrs Y. I call her and find out the time and location of the ceremony. I finally find out what it is I am going to swear to.

May 2nd : I am an attorney.

The ceremony is held at the Montreal Courthouse (Palais de Justice), in a huge room which I assume is usually used for highly mediatized trials, since there actually is a section for journalists. (Just so you know, there were no journalists at the ceremony, guess no one important was there...) The room is large and filled with chairs, with 2 judge benches and a desk. The walls are grey and brown, the neons are dreary. We are told to sit with are guests. The room is soon filled with 28 freshly sworn-in attorneys and theirs 6 guests each. A guest in particular is to be noticed : Mr. Jean Charest, Prime Minister of Quebec, is there, sitting at the front row.

The 28 of us take place and sit IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER (the Bar's bureaucracy always made me laugh) and listen to the Head Barrister's speech. I am relieved that he is actually lively, interesting and short in his speech. We are then asked to stand up and take oath :

"I do swear that I will be loyal and bear true allegiance to the constituted authority and that I will fulfill the duties of the profession of advocate honestly, faithfully and justly.

I will always maintain a respectful attitude in word and in deed towards those charged with the administration of justice.

I will faithfully execute all mandates entrusted to me.

I will preserve inviolate the secrets of my clients unless I am authorized to divulge the same by Law.

I will abide by the provisions of the Code des professions, of the Bar Act, and of the by-laws of the Bar, bearing always in mind my duty not to compromise the honour and dignity of the profession which I enter this day."

I must say that taking the oath was something to me. I always considered myself a person of my word. So it's kinda like getting married or becoming a nun, or a knight. I'm a chevaleresque person, so this means a lot to me.

Once that was done, we all got to shake hands with the Head Barrister and got our envellope, which contained, of course, my licence (It's all nice with a golden seal and all).

Ok, so now I'm an attorney. Now what ?

Ok, so now what ?

I'm 3 weeks down into my return home. So far, what have I done :

• I've seen friends (quite a few of them) with great pleasure ;
• I've got my car back ! Unexpectedly, driving is not really a problem, and I am, once again, the queen of the road !
• I set up my oath taking date : may 2nd, I will be an attorney ;
• I moved back into my appartment and started experimenting with couplehood ;
• I applied to jobs, including the army ;
• I had lunch with our Seb ;

Now what ?

• I wait home for a job to happen and keep a nice living as a housewife.
• I look for work.
• I go train.
• I get bored. Friends are no longer used to having me in their lives, so I'm out of the loop.

Anybody got a job for me ? Anywhere but here !!!

Nobody really cares about Senegal or my experience there. So the hectic socialite that I was in Senegal is no more !!! :(

A surprise party that was a complete success :)

One of my friends did not know I was going home. It was his birthday, there was going to be a birthday party. The whole thing was a surprise, but we thought it would be a bonus if he had a second surprise : me... His girlfriend and i made a big deal out of it. We made sure that he had no clue of our overseas communications. I moved my blog. I lied about my return date. I blocked him on MSN. She made sure he would get the door. It was all worth the trouble when he almost had a heart attack after seeing my face :)

Ahhhh the crazy things we do for friends :)

Surprise, surprise !!! JP and friends on provincial road 329
(c) MGPilon 2005

Sorry I haven't written in a while, guys...

With moving back into my appartment, and starting a common life with my sweet homeboy, I've been more than what you call busy... It's nice to have my old place back, and to have the time to be as domestic as I want. I will need to find a job soon though... at this rate, I'll be housewife of the year way ahead of my own time...
(c) MGPilon 2005

Snow.... at last ! (Enfin la neige...)

I went today to my cottage to get some stuff out and finally saw snow !!! A meter high full area of thewhute stuff is still on our land, despite the warm (if you're Canadian) weather ! I also got my car back. Yeeeee ! But the battery's dead... oh well, now I'm really home !

Snow at last !!!
(c) MGPilon 2005

Shopping and the movies

On my second day, having an afternoon to kill, I went to the local mall next to my mum’s house. The weather was getting better, with all the rain that Africa misplaced pouring on my head in Montreal. My dear African friends, do not look for the water you’re lacking, it’s presently flooding my hometown. Geez, what went wrong with me and why in the world did I go back ?

To make matters worse, the only shoes I had were my faithfull running shoes, so they officially acquired the title of frozen sponge for the occasion. With feet meeting the Ice-cube club requirement, I entered the first Payless Shoe Source and bought some nice (very stylish) boots that contributed greatly to my reconciliation with Canada, along with new jeans and cargo pants that made me feel like a brand new Canadian !

I also treated myself to the new Pixar opus, "Robots" which is, I must say, an amusing piece to watch. It was funny and entertaining, but mostly talked about the importance of accepting oneself, and a plea against mass consumption which I thought was ironic, given that the movie was played in the temple of commerce and marketing.

I was amazed at the cleanliness of the mall, and very happy to buy a baklava from a Lebanese who was quite happy to hear me say "Shoukran" (Thank you in Arabic but also in Hassannya, the dialect used in Mauritania). Still having some issues with the woloff reflex though, with "Dieuredieuf" (thank you), "Niocobok" (welcome) and "Santa yalla" (Thank God) always at the tip of my tongue, no matter who the recipient may be. As I’m typing this from the comfort of my mum’s house, I’m still cold. It feels wrong.

Coffee and Internet

The day of my arrival was spent mostly catching up with my mother and eating, then sleeping. I did go out for coffee in the evening, only to confirm that the weather was definitely not the reason I’d returned home. With my bones chilled to the core, I enjoyed my first Canadian coffee in a Canadian non-smoking coffee house (grrrrr). The company was great though !

On the way home, I spotted a cyber-cafe where one hour of connection costs 4 times the price in Dakar, and took time to email and blog. I was completely useless at figuring out the cyber cafe’s card system, as if my stay out of North America had rendered me completely adverse to technology.

Montreal

I got out the airplane and thought that I was landing in Mirabel Airport, when my flight was scheduled to land at Dorval - P.E. Trudeau Airport. What one may not know about the airports in Montreal is the following : we have 2 airports which have completely different styles, Mirabel and Dorval airports.
Mirabel turned out to be a scandal because people were expropriated, companies were closed and jobs were lost, our taxes were spent on a new and modern airport that is inconveniently remote and that has, by decision of the government, been put out of service some 10 years ago to the benefit of the closer but embarrassingly obsolete Dorval airport.

So you understand my surprise to walk a chrome corridor and enter a wonderful room with modern art hanging from the glass high ceiling. I had very serious doubts as to the location of this room, especially given the fact that I’d fallen asleep during the flight. But indeed I was in Dorval and that proved it self true when I walked one mile to the exit in the temporary corridors of the construction zone.

At the end of my mile long walk my mother and Montreal were waiting, as well as the humid cold weather... but no snow. My new life was about to begin.

Leaving The Big Apple

I arrived at LGA airport with 2 hours to kill so I registered quickly my luggage and made my way to the restaurant area where I splurged and offered myself a complete American breakfast with French toast, broiled eggs, hash brown and BACON !!!

I wandered around uselessly for 30 some minutes until I remembered that I had a letter to put in the mail. It was also strange to no longer be a visible minority. I fought urges to speak woloff to people, which I replaced with my rudiments of Spanish, when asking directions to a member of the airport staff who had troubles with my English.

With some 45 minutes left to hang out at the airport, I made my way to boarding and hopped aboard my second flight. I was amused to note that members of the Judaic faith were onboard, as I hadn’t met any during the 6 months I spent in Dakar.

I was, needless to say, absolutely dead from the 1st flight, so I saw nothing of the 2nd one and landed in Montreal without having been aware at all that we left the ground.

New York

I finally unfolded myself from my seat and got off the airplane. The custom formalities went well (its great to be Canadian, you get in the US citizens line), but for some reason my luggage ended up on the First Class belt so I spent 45 minutes looking at the Economy belt in anguish. I finally took my unique piece of cargo luggage ( a hockey bag ! how Canadian !) and made my way to the washroom were I changed and made myself human again. I then took a cab to La Guardia airport.

Amusingly, I did not speak Woloff to the cab driver. I was delighted to sit in a cab that did not threaten to breakdown imminently, and to not have to haggle over a price. Incidently, I spent on said cab fare all the money I’d saved haggling over cab prices in Dakar over the last 6 months. But anyway, it was nice to be driven around and to feel safe, and to not have to listen to some marabout chanting Al-Koran at maximum volume on the radio. I saw nothing of Manhattan, since both airports are in Queens. I just went through Queens and saw an American highway. Palpitating.

Crossing the Atlantic

Though I’d asked for an aisle seat and apparently had been awarded one (that clerk lied to me !), I consider myself lucky because I was seated between two very nice and very charming gentlemen. They were both South-African (one of Indian, the other of African descent) and on their way to a conference about waste management. That led me to my first innocent stupid remark : "oh ! So you’re the garbage men ?"

They laughed it off and proceeded to explaining to me that we could not push our seats back at all. To this, add the fact that I’m 6 feet tall, that both my neighbors were over 6 feet tall and that the flight was over 8 hours long, and you will understand why I came home with a terrible backache. My companions were wonderful though so we fixed the space issue by removing the armrests and sort of leaning on each other to sleep.

The company does not have a film projection like most airplane companies, but instead provide us with an individual crystal screen and one can watch whatever they want on their own schedule. The concept is great in the absolute, but when the seat ahead of you is laid down, you cant see a thing. So I saw "Bridget Jones : Edge of reason" and half of "The Incredibles" in yellow and green and with only sound in certain scenes. To make matters better, my monthly womanly troubles manifested themselves in the middle of the flight. Oh well. Another passenger was in the same predicament but measured 6 feet 6, so he actually spent pretty much all of the flight standing up. I guess my flight wasn’t all that bad after all.

Leaving Dakar

I took off from Dakar Yoff Airport (officially known as Aeroport Leopold Sedar Senghor) at 1:30 AM on April 1st (read the night through). I was considerably tired and am indeed very grateful to my friends who took me to the airport, despite the ungodly hour.

I barely had to wait to register my luggage, but it was very interesting to see that prior to registration all luggage was opened by airport security. I had to answer questions about whether I had accepted luggage or mail from strangers. I thought hard and decided that the friend who had asked me to mail an envelope from New York was no stranger, and answered no to the question with great sincerity.

Then I had to pass through immigration which involved producing my passport. That was the scary one, given that I’d been illegal in Senegal for 2 months before going out to Mauritania and back in, thus making me the proud holder of a tourist visa for the end of my stay. I was afraid that an over zealous bureaucrat would see through the trick and detain me or worse, claim some baksheesh I could not afford ! So I walked up to the booth, showed off all the Woloff I had and got the customs officer to stare at me and my radiant smile much more than at my passport, which he stamped without even looking.

I then proceeded to getting a hot chocolate at the bar in the waiting room, where I engaged in an animated conversation with a travelling Ivorian and Algerian about African politics. We finally were called in to the shuttle to embark, and once again I was stopped because I was missing some sticker on my boarding pass or something. They checked my hand luggage for the 5th time and finally let me take the shuttle which would drive all the passengers eager to go to the US to the plane. We got off on the tarmac and walked the stairs up to the plane. I was at last seated in a gorgeous South African Airways Boeing 747.

Happy Birthday Bill !

May all your wishes come true (all the realistic ones anyways) on this very special day ! May the breezes of Dakar not be too dusty on this day, may you be blessed with no electricity cuts ! I pray that you will be invisible to the peddlers on the streets, and that none of them will resent you for not buying that irresistable ironing board ! O sun, be gentle on this day and not burn my friend today !

May the partying be wild, the company numerous and joyful ! Wish I were there, have a great great great time !

I'd like to thank you all...

This post is dedicated to the people I met during my stay in Dakar. In the hopes to preserve privacy, names will be left out, but hopefully, you all know who you are !

• thank you for playing father figure and making me feel safe ;
• thank you for the quiet presence, the soothing innocence, the hyperactivity that made us go out ... all the time !
• thank you for infecting me with the love of hashing ;
• thank you for always being cheery, always laughing and making sure everyone felt special ;
• thank you for teaching me the meaning of freedom and friendship ;
• thank you for the gift of autonomy ;
• thank you for showing up, dancing, smiling and just being your clumsy, lovable self ;
• thank you for the wild partying, the crazy behaviour, the loud jokes and salty humour ;
• thank you for your warmth, your smile, your love of fun, and being taller than me ! ;
• thank you for teaching me to be a girl again ;
• thank you for opening your house and welcoming me in ;
• thank you for teaching me to appreciate cynicism ;
• thank you for making me feel special and loved.

The next few days.....

aturday was spent recovering from friday.

Sunday we had a brunch with waffles and maple syrup. Attendance was high. It was a lot of fun, and we ended up doing an egg decorating contest which was very amusing. We then moved on to Ngor and took a long and nice walk on the island. My friend was going to Banjul the next day so I said my goodbyes to him on the beach of Ngor. It was a tid bit sad as you imagine.

That night I had dinner at friends' and spent the following day at their house hanging out and watching movies. Nice and relaxing... I needed that !

We then went to Ile de la Madeleine with A&A. We had a lot of fun. Its so beautiful, I cant beleive I didnt go before ! I then had dinner at another friend's and slept over. I had to say my goodbyes today because she is going to Banjul as well.

Soon I will go home and pack, later to will meet up with another friend who is sick and make her dinner. Another occasion to say goodbye I guess.

J'ai retrouvé mon cable USB (Found my USB cable !)

Clickez sur le titre pour acceder aux photos !
Click on the title to access the pictures !

Hung over... once again ! (J'ai mal aux cheveux...)

FRANCAIS AU BAS DE L'ARTICLE

Yesterday was just another friday evening. But given that my time here is ending, I feel that I need to live like it's the last days of my life. Which they are, when it comes to Dakar...

So I went downtown to hang out with friends, watched a movie, then had a drink at a local "privileged expat club". It was fun and tame, but wild nights always start this way... Ozio was doig a celestial white night, and as it were I was the only black-shirted geek in the room, which, over the familiar odd-ball out feeling, gave me the creepy feeling of having either walked in a sect or in someplace other wolrdly.
1 rhum and coke

After a drink and lively chat with my friends, I made to the underworld, aka the private party to be held at the other end of town. This was a cross dressing party, so I went from celestial oddball to gender freak, being a woman dressed as a woman. That social venue also had its own creepy aspect with the normally very virile dudes I know wearing heavy make-up, fake boobs and high pumps !
2 glasses of wine
1 vodka fanta
1 rhum and coke

So me and my bud ended up going back to Ozio, where the dimmed lights and majority of non-wearing white customers made us feel right at home. We hung out, drank and danced there for another few hours until I felt it was time for me to sleep... at last !
2 vodka orange

This morning : HUGE PAINFUL HANGOVER !

====================================

Hier soir était un vendredi soir comme le autresYesterday. Mais comme mes jours sont comptés à Dakar, je vis comme si c'était les derniers jours de ma vie, avec les conséquences escomptées...

Alors je suis descendue en ville pour sortir avec des amis. On a regardé un film, et on est allé prendre un verre dans un "club pour expatriés privilégiés". C'était agréable et sage, mais les nuits sauvages de ma vie commencent toujour comme ca... Ozio avait organisé une soirée à thème "nuit blanche céleste", et bien entendue j'étais le mouton noir avec ma chemise noire et mon jean bleu, ce qui, en plus de me donner l'impresson familière d'être déplacée, créait aussi l'étrange sentiment d'être dans le hall d'une secte ou dans un lieu d'outre monde.
1 rhum coca

Après un verre et une conversation animée avec mes amis, je me suis rendue dans le monde souterrain, c.a.d. une fête privée qui avait lieu à l'autre bout du monde. Cette fete la avait comme thème le travestisme, et je suis donc passé de "pas rapport céleste" à bizzarerie de genre, étant une femme habillée en femme. Cet évènement avait aussi un aspect un peu "freak" avec les type bien virils que je cotoie qui portaient 3 couches de maquillage, des faux seins et des talons aiguilles !
2 verres de vin
1 vodka fanta
1 rhum coca

Ainsi, mon pote et moi avons fini par retourner chez Ozio, ou les lumières tamisés et le reflux de clients portant des couleurs normals (pas de blanc) nous donnaient enfin l'impression d'être cheu nous. On est resté à boire, parler et danser quelques heures, jusqu'à ce que le sommeil nous ratrappe !
2 vodka orange

Ce matin : J'AI TRES TRES MAL AU CHEVEUX !

Mbaye Dieye Faye et BAM !!!! Vive la percu ! (Drums are cool)

(FRANCAIS AU BAS DE L'ENTREE)
Last night, I went with friends to a drum show. Hm Drums ? I can hear you say, perplexed at the thought of on going percussions for 2 hours or more. I was perplexed too, but it turns out this was a very interesting event.

Picture 15 senegalese guys with different drum types pounding like madmen on complex rythms and in perfect synchronie ! That's what Mbaye Dieye Faye is all about.

Now imagine 3 crazy canuck (french canucks, mind you), give them drums and basic props and tell them to have fun. What do you get ? BAM ! And the stage is converted to a mad house from a cartoon.

Now imagine these 2 very different formations together ! Funky huh !

==================================================
Hier soir, je suis allé avec des amis voir un spectacle de percussion. Hm Percussion? je peux vous entendre d'ici, perplexe à l'idée de subir de la percu pendant 2 heures ou plus. Moi aussi j'étais perplexe, mais il se trouve que le spectacle s'est révélé très intéressant.

Imaginez 15 sénégalais avec différents types de tambours et djembés frappant comme si leur vie en dépendait des rythmes complexes dans une synchronie parfaite ! Je vous présente Mbaye Dieye Faye.

Prenez 3 québécois complètements "mental", donnez leur des tambours et des accessoires de théatre de base et dites leurs de s'amuser. Kessa fait ? BAM ! Et la scène se trouve converti en asile de fous digne d'un dessin animé.

Maintenant imaginez ces 2 groupes très différents ensemble sur scène ! Cool, hein !

Article sur Bam paru dans le Soleil :
http://www.lesoleil.sn/recherche/article.CFM?article__id=48185&article__edition=10443

My Birthday ... and how it was celebrated...

It started nice and slow. I woke up, had coffee. I went up the stairs to my office. I started working.

Then, the phone started ringing. A senegalese friend, a french cool dude, text messages from Canada... When people started making it to their computers, emails started to get in work in Canada, emails came in, from friends, old work colleagues and family.

At 6PM i left home/work and took the "car rapide" heading downtown, where I was to have a drink with a friend before we moved on to my "surpise".

Now, the surprise : a MOROCCAN restaurant straight out of the 1001 nights, and royal couscous !

I was offered a small giraffe, object full of meaning because baught in Burkina Faso by my everlaughing friend, and reminding me of the larger giraffes which welcome us at our common (excellent) friend's place. A sweet voiced buddy offered me a basket full of fruits, superb attention since I really should eat more fruits and actually adore mangos!

The meal was joyful and happy spirited, shared laughs, and, originally enough, a small origami session, yes indeed ! Happy birthday was sung to me in dutch, english, french, japanese, chinese, and wished in german...

I will sorely miss my friends in Dakar, their joy, energy, smiles. I am grateful I got to spend this pre-thirty evening with them !

So how is it to be 28 ? I feel the same as the day before, except I did have an good excuse, to party once again !

Ma journée d'anniversaire

Ca a commencé tout doucement. Je me suis levée, j'ai pris un café. J'ai monté l'escalier du bureau. Je me suis mise au travail.

Le téléphone a commencé à sonner. Une amie sénégalaise, puis un ami francais, puis des textos du Canada... à l'heure à laquelle les gens commencent à atteindre leurs ordinateurs à montreal, les courriels ont commencé à entrer, des amis, des anciens collègues de travail, la famille.

A 6 heures j'ai quitté le bureau/maison pour aller prendre le car rapide en direction du centre-ville, ou je devais rejoindre une copine pour prendre un verre, avant ma "surprise".

Maintenant, la surprise : un resto MAROCAIN dans une ambiance très 1001 nuits, des amis, et un couscous royal !

On m'a donné une petite giraffe,objet très évocateur car achetée au Burkina par mon amie au rire perpétuel, et me rappelant les giraffes, plus grandes, qui nous accueillent chez notre excellent ami commun. Un copain à la voix d'or me donne un panier de fruits, attention superbe car je ne mange pas assez de fruits, et en plus j'adore les mangues !

Repas en ambiance joyeuse, rire échangés, et (original) scéance d'origami oui oui oui... On m'a chanté joyeux anniversaire en néerlandais, anglais, francais, japonais, chinois, et on me l'a souhaité en allemand...

Mes amis de Dakar vont me manquer, leur joie, leur énergie, leur sourire. Je suis reconnaissante d'avoir pu passer cette soirée pré-trentenaire avec eux !

Alors, kessafait, avoir 28 ans ? je me sens la même qu'hier, mais j'ai eu une belle excuse pour faire la fete !

Mon anthologie préférée

Des voeux de 28eme anniversaire tres tres gentils... Merci !

"Que ce 2e jour du printemps t'apporte toute l'énergie nécessaire pour appuyer sur la pompe ci-jointe, mais aussi sur la pompe de la vie qui t'attend au détour de tes oyages..."

"Marie, your energy and joie de vivre are an example to us all. All the best in your future, I know there'll be friends, fun, and laughter in your life."

"Je pense à toi et te redis ma fierté de t'avoir reçue comme cadeau de la vie.... ne doute jamais de mon attachement et de ma solidarité indéfectible......"

"nous te souhaitons un joyeux anniversaire, la réalisation de tes projets, du bonheur chaque jour. Pleins de bisous."

"I hope today brings you simple pleasures. Maybe a good cup of coffee, a special note from your boyfriend, moments where you feel appreciated, a good e-mail and warm sunshine on your back. Sometimes birthday's are hard when you're away from home and family, but I hope you are rejoicing today and making it the best. Right from the begining, I knew you were a pretty darn-cool person. You've got a personality that seems to attract people. Thank you for all the kindness you've shown me. Have a wonderful day!"

"C'est a ton tour de te laisser parler d'amour. Joyeux anniversaire avec tes amis de Dakar".

"DON'T ADD YEARS TO YOUR LIFE....RATHER ADD LIFE TO YOUR YEARS"

"Je crois que c'est demain mais amuse-toi bien et profites-en! Mais j'y pense ton séjour tire à sa fin, bon ben je n'aurais pas connu l'Afrique, une autre fois. Porte-toi bien et encore une fois bonne fête!"

"Si ma mémoire ne me fait pas défaut, c'est ton anniversaire aujourd'hui et je voulais te souhaiter une belle fête, remplie de petits et grands bonheurs, de sourires et de chaleur. Ça commence bien, il doit faire bien beau à Dakkar, ma chanceuse!"

"Je n'oublierai pas ton fabuleux accueil, ton sourire, ta peche, et ta vie simplement !"

"joyeux anniversaire, Petite Castor !"

Merci, tout le monde... a Montreal, Ste-Julie, Sillery, St-Leonard, Dakar !

A little clarification about my living quarters

I got some comments that my last post was unclear as to where I live now.

I live in the same house as before (my housemate runs a business from home). My WORKING location has changed, not the living one. Given that, my housemate has supplied me with an office to work in house where I've been living ever since I have been in Dakar, halfway between downtown and the airport...

Is this better ?

The joy of working from home

I've gotten kicked out. Not that I wasn't nice, they just needed the space. It's cool. I've gone from the painful daily 1 hour commute by hitchhike to going up a flight of stairs to work. I sleep more and get less dusty. I'm still office sharing though. My new officemate is pretty and delicate. She's usually quiet, and we have a lot more space. All together, it works out well. The greatest thing : I'm home before dark. That's cool and helps the good mood.

Nothing's perfect, though : I had gotten hooked on having 2 hours and a half to kill on lunchbreak, which generally involved having lunch with friends and taking long walks downtown on the petite corniche, or just hanging out quietly at the CCF, reading a book. Oh well... more dinners, I guess...

Corneille en Concert ! Africa live !

Le weekend dernier, le festival Africa Live a déchiré Dakar et la Médina :

"Parmi les artistes présents se trouvaient Youssou N'dour, qui organisait l'événement, de même que Tinariwen, Rokia Traoré, Salif Keïta, Didier Awadi, Manu Dibango et Awilo Longomba.
Le festival Africa Live-Roll Back Malaria s'inscrit dans le cadre du Partenariat pour faire reculer le paludisme. Il a été lancé en 1998 par l'Organisation mondiale de la Santé, le Programme des Nations unies pour le développement, le Fonds des Nations unies pour l'enfance, ainsi que la Banque mondiale.
La malaria (ou paludisme) affecte environ 600 millions de personnes dans le monde. il s'agit de la maladie la plus répandue sur le globe; un enfant africain en meurt toutes les 30 secondes." (Source : LCN)

Corneille y était et bien franchement, il était excellent. Les membres du public (majoritairement Sénégalais mais aussi une minorité d'expatriés, de mauritaniens et d'étudiants africains d'autres pays) étaient en délire, particulièrement les jeunes femmes qui me semblaient dans le même état que les fans de Beatles dans les documentaires, exaltées, heureuses, criantes et au bord des larmes tout à la fois.

Quelques remarques tout de même :

1. Youssou N'dour a chanté une chanson sur la nécessité d'enlever les eaux usées et le sérieux de la malaria, mais... en anglais, devant un public majoritairement francophone !
2. Le message sur les aux usées... au stade en tout cas il était pas passé, les toilettes étaient infectes !
3. Fa Coly : l'Afrique en a marre marre marre... scandé avec une joie extraordinaire... paradoxal, non ?
4. Je remarque la quantité de chansons anti-coloniales qui ont été chantées, par les rappeurs entre autres. Si le but du festival est de conscientiser la communauté internationale, je veux bien, mais on était au bord du sentiment anti-étranger.

Je profite de l'occasion pour rendre hommage à toutes les personnes de couleur noire qui sont en Europe ou en Amérique du Nord. Encore une fois, le concept de minorité visible etait tres tres réel pour moi. En même temps, au coeur de la fête, il s'effaçait totalement pour faire place a la joie d'être ensemble et de s'amuser !

The end of an era

One of the realities of being an expat, is that relationships, as good and intense as they are, are limited in time, by our own departure or the others'. We knew each other for a long time : 5 months ! And Friend No 1 left last night. In Québec, 5 months represents nothing, you barely get to know the person. In Dakar, 5 months is an eternity.

This temporal distortion probably exists because as foreigners, we are isolated from family and friends. So instead, the friends abroad become our temporary family, and if we don't live together, there almost a daily contact, be it in person, by phone, by email or by SMS. When we don't see each other for a week, it's been ages since we saw each other.

As if it were a health hazard, the first victim of the Acute Return Home Syndrome epidemic has fallen yesterday and the symptoms are been simmering with Friend No. 2 for already a long time. Her days are numbered. So are mine. Others will fall after me.

What's so sad about all of this is that this era is definitely over, since chances are slim that all the people that have constituted the background of the story would be again reunited. I will miss going out of town with friends, lazy movie nights and spontaneous lunches, outings organized through email.

Thank God, Senegal has a more permanent characteristic ! In the order and disorder, I will miss :

1. The Corniche in the morning, with view of the ocean, the huge waves, the salty smell of sea, the baby palm trees ;
2. The street peddlers, those who know and greet me, my shoemaker, fruit seller, phone card dude, cigarette, coffee, donut retailers ;
3. The young men who suffer from poliomélyte on Place de l'Indépendance, always smiling, never begging. They taught me courage ;
4. Senegalese tea, with my friends in Liberté VI and Yoff, conversations about all and nothing ;
5. Walking home and saying hi to everyone on the way, the Good-Rade personnel, the fruit seller, the pharmacy guy, the watchmen ;
6. Buying food in Woloff at the corner store ;
7. Messing around with my work colleagues, espescially B and A !!! ;
8. My favorite attorney's raving rampages about anythings, always worth a good laught ;
9. My officemate's funny stories ;
10. The Senegalese's wonderful and extravagant fashion ;
11. My friends at the cyber café !

Even if I am happy to go home, today, I want to pay hommage to Senegal and the Senegalese. I love this country !

La fin d'une époque

Une des réalités difficiles de la vie d'expatrié, c'est que les relations, si bonnes et si intenses soient-elles, sont limitées dans le temps, soit par notre propre départ, soit par le départ des autres. Ca faisait lontemps qu'on se connaissait : 5 mois ! Et mon ami No. 1 est parti hier soir. Au Québec, 5 mois, c'est rien, on connait à peine la personne. A Dakar, 5 mois, c'est une éternité.

Cette distortion dans la perception temporelle tient au fait que nous sommes, en tant qu'étrangers, isolés de nos familles, de nos amis. Du coup, les amis à l'étranger deviennent notre famille temporaire, et si on ne vit pas ensemble, il y a un contact quasi quotidien en personne, par telephone, par courriel, par SMS. Quand on ne se voit pas pendant une semaine, ca fait longtemps qu'on ne s'est pas vu.


Comme si c'était un désastre sanitaire, la première victime de l'épidémie de retour aigu est tombée hier, et les symptomes du mal couvent chez l'amie No. 2 depuis déjà longtemps. Ses jours sont comptés. Les miens aussi. D'autres suivront.


Ce qui est triste, dans tout ça, c'est que cette époque est définitivement terminée, puisque les chances que tous les gens qui ont constitué le décor de l'histoire soient réunis à nouveau sont minces. Je vais m'ennuyer des virées en dehors de la ville avec les copains, des movies nights et les lunchs impromptus, des sorties organisées à coup de courriel.

Le Sénégal, lui, a un caractère plus permanent, Dieu merci !

Dans l'ordre et le désordre, je vais m'ennuyer de :

1. La corniche le matin, avec sa vue sur la mer, les rouleaux, l'odeur marine, les bébés palmiers ;
2. Les petits vendeurs dans la rue, ceux qui me connaissent et me saluent, mon cordonnier, mes vendeurs de fruit, de carte téléphonique, de cigarettes, de café, de beignets... ;
3. Les jeunes affectés de poliomélytes Place de l'Indépendance, qui sourient toujours, ne demandent jamais l'aumone. Ils sont, pour moi, un modèle de courage ;
   Le thé sénégalais, avec les amis de Liberté VI et de Yoff, les conversations sur tout et sur rien ;
4. Ma petite marche de retour a la maison et les bonjours au personnel du Good Rade, au marchand de fruit, au gars de la pharmacie, aux gardiens ;
5. Mes scéances d'épicerie en Woloff à la petite boutique du coin ;
6. Les taquineries de mes collègues de travail, particulièrement B et A !!! ;
   Les montées de lait de mon avocate préférée, à mourir de rire ;
7. Les histoires rigolotes de ma voisine de bureau ;
8. Les vêtements extravagants et magnifiques des Sénégalaises ;
9. Les gars du cyber !

Même si je suis contente de rentrer, aujourd'hui, je rends hommage au Sénégal et aux Sénégalais. J'aime ce pays !

S2H3 Run #8 – March 6, 2005

Start and Circle: Good Rade restaurant on the VDN

Present:
*true names have been removed to protect confidentiality*
Allez-les-Anglais
Fungus-face Boogeyman
Green Goddess
Pissing Purple Princess
Too Much Dutch
Elias
Kongo
Alet
André
Chino
Betty
Serigne
Jill
Marie
Jackson

Hares: Allez-les-Anglais, Just Marie and Just Firmin

Hashers met on a beautiful day in front of the Good Rade on the VDN. Because so many of our regular hashers were traveling, it was a small group -- but quality is always better than quantity, eh? After a dubious briefing involving raw eggs that, frankly, no one understood, we had our Father Abraham warm-up to the bemused stares of restaurant personnel, and headed off. This was only after Chino, however, felt it necessary to juggle his eggs. (We’re sure your mom told you not to do that in public, Chino.) The beer stop was under a shady tree about a half hour later. There was some confusion about what to do with these eggs we’d all been carrying around, so they were exchanged, dropped, cracked on people’s heads, thrown, tucked in unmentionable body parts and generally treated the way no rational human would ever treat a respectable egg. Finally, after one of the hares deigned to finish his mobile phone call, we trotted back. Those silly hashers still carrying eggs at the end of the run were, very properly, punished.

The Circle:

This week’s Beer Bitches: Alet and Chino

Virgins:
None

Visitors:
Elias (Dakar H3)
Betty (Syria)
Jackson (Dakar H3)

Sins:

Front Running Bastard: Jill
Dead F*cking Last: Serigne
Latecummer: Elias
5th Anniversary: Jill and Chino
Returnee: Fungus-face Boogeyman
Technology Abuse: Allez-les-Anglais and Jackson
Animal Abuse: Pissing Purple Princess
Get-a-life down-down: Allez-les-Anglais, as always.
Plus: down-downs for the usual tedious inability to hold a down-down cup in the correct hand, private parties, snitching, and the continuing bafflement as to what “head gear” entails. Even the GM was a tad confused this week...

There were quite a few other down-downs, but the GM wrote them on the back of the hash stats which she subsequently gave to Heavy Breather, and, well, in the meantime she’s forgotten what they were. Oh, well.

Baptisms:

Because she has a serious habit, is addicted to the stuff, brushes her teeth with it, has her mommy send it to her special every week, serves it to all her guests, and puts it on her ice cream, Just Jill was this day baptized in the name of the beer and of the hash: Velveeta.
Because he did indeed lose his eggs (and we wonder if he loses them regularly), juggled his eggs, and broke them even, and dared to crack his eggs on women, Just Chino was this day baptized in the name of the beer and of the hash: Huevos Perdidos.
Because she’s only hashed three times but still desperately wanted a name, because she was such an eager beaver that she hared twice out of those three times, and because it really wasn’t much of a leap, Just Marie was this day baptized in the name of the beer and of the hash: Beaver Hare.

Announcements:

We have no hares for the next run. For the run to take place, we need some. Please contact our Hareline, Clubfooted Cheerleader if you’re interested, which of course you are. You want to be baptized, don’t you??

On After:

The On-after was at the Good Rade restaurant where we started. Only eight hardy hashers of the original group stayed for dinner. Among them the newly baptized Huevos Perdidos who insisted in announcing loudly every five seconds to the assembled company that he was hungry. Also chowing down on steak and pizza in companiable and dark intimacy: Beaver Hare, Alet, Allez-les-Anglais, André, Pissing Purple Princess, Too Much Dutch, and Green Goddess. The meat eaters were enjoying their final burp and getting ready to pay before the pizza eaters saw their meals served, but otherwise it was a pleasant end to a good and eggy hash.

Run No. 9: March 20, 2005. Hares: You tell us! Watch this space for location and directions. Maybe a St. Paddy’s Day Hash?!?

Your friendly Mismanagement Committee:

Grand Mattress Green Goddess
Religious Advisor Circle Jerk
Hash Cash/Hash Stats Heavy Breather
Backup Hash Cash Today’s Special
Hareline Clubfooted Cheerleader
Brewmeister Pissing Purple Princess
Hash Flash Just Anna
Back-up Hash Flash Velveeta

You hou .... vous êtes la ?

Étant donné le peu de réaction à mon blog, je commence à me demander si je ne l'écris pas que pour moi-même... (Je sais, D, tu me lis... mon commentaire s'adresse en fait surtout aux gens de Montréal, qui ne m'écrivent plus du tout... DEPUIS DES MOIS !!!!)

Alors voila :
1) moi je m'ennuie de vous, ma thérapie c'est de tout écrire sur ce site pour partager, mémoriser, extérioriser.
2) J'aimerai bien savoir ce qui se passe à Montréal... ne me dites pas qu'il neige, je le sais, mais comment ca va dans vos vies à vous-autres ?

Je tiens à souligner qu'il est maintenant possible de commenter directement mon blog en cliquant sur le lien "comment".

J'ajouterai aussi que j'ai changé le format de mon journal de bord en format heb-dromadaire (ha ha) à la demande de certains qui trouvaient l'édition mensuelle trop longue...

ALLO LA TERRE ICI LA LUNE, M'ENTENDEZ VOUS ????? Je m'ennuie de vous et je veux vous lire !!!

Ceci était mon moment de grommellement de la semaine.. la suite au nouvelles de 20h ! :)

Tuesday depression, or how to go insane...

My cold has now developped into a full blown dust allergy (I think) and I am now the sole reason for the Kleenex company to exist. Don't worry, I won't die. But I must say I get eager to leave this continent. I am getting tired of my living arrangement. I no longer enjoy hitchhiking to work. Work itself is a painfull experience if any, with my 1st assignment since I came back from vacation consisting of translating a Document from Sierra-Leonese English (sort of) to French (urgh ! how stimulating...). I want to leave.

One of my friends is leaving in 3 days, I hadn't realized... I'll miss him, but I know we'll meet again in Montreal, so I'm not worried about loosing sight of him. Friend #2 leaving soon as well, and I don't know when I will meet her again. With my departure in now less then 4 weeks, I am also leaving behind friends, whom I've grown to consider a part of me, and I don't know when I'll see them again. I don't want to leave.

I did my first online application yesterday. I sent my resume to an attorney in Montreal, in response to an add posted in workopolis. I will try to apply to stuff daily til I leave. It helps me feel better about the professionnal aspect of coming home. I don't want to go home.

Though I must say, the prospect of having my appartment and car back and finding mother, boyfriend, old friends, is sufficient to make me want to come back. I want to go home.

Am I going nuts, or what ?

Lover's post-Dakar impressions of Montreal...

A preview of what it is to go back to Montreal after Senegal... Is this what awaits me ?

"I myself seem to have caught a cold. I still have to get used to protecting myself from the winter!

Coming back to montreal was unsettling. I tried the Salamalekum with a black cab driver but was answered by indifference. No negotiation! Everything seems unfamiliar, even tough this is my home town. Can U imagine passing by Montreal sous terrain and its almost infinite number of luxurious stores after having known sandaga? Even my senegalese friend seemed different... all the while I felt like I was morning africa."

Thank you David for sharing.

Des Vacances !!!

Haaaaaa !

2 semaines de reve viennent de s'achever, avec le retour de mon chouchou qui maintenant croule sous la neige montréalaise. De ces deux semaines, un bilan s'impose. Sans pour autant étaler l'objet de ma pudeur, je vous dirai que les retrouvailles furent telles qu'espérées, et que les vacances étaient bien méritées.

Je préfère d'ailleurs me concentrer sur la seconde partie du voyage de David, qui a eu lieu en la très belle ville de Saint Louis. Il faut savoir que Saint-Louis est la seconde grande ville du Sénégal, et que (un peu comme Québec vis à vis Montréal) elle a un cachet de ville historique malgré le calme qui s'en dégage.

Donc, Mardi matin, départ pour Saint-Louis en Taxi avec Diba, le chauffeur recommandé par un ami. Route un peu fatigante surtout pour moi (je découvre avec envie que Dadou dort dans n'importe quelles conditions, ce qui explique surement ses etourderies). Arrivée à Saint Louis et poulet Yassa avec notre chauffeur, c'est le second mets Sénégalais que mon chéri goutera. Puis, la recherche d'un hotel abordable (toujours aussi organisés, j'ai laissé mon portable à Dakar, et nous n'avons pas de réservations). Petit tour dans la ville, repos à l'hotel (moins abordable qu'on l'espérait) et découverte de l'auberge bijou qu'on recherchait - l'Harmattan ! Réservation (chez Sahel Découverte) du voyage en Mauritanie pour le jeudi. Rencontre aussi d'un sympathique et intéressant québécois en vacances, que nous croiserons maintes fois pendant notre séjour. Souper dans un resto qui n'a plus rien à la carte. Dadou boude et fini par manger une merguez dans un fast food (brrrrrrr).

Mercredi, petit dej' décevant à l'hotel, déménagement à l'auberge. Longue marche dans Saint-Louis, visite du seul musée qu'il y a en ville. David est fasciné par les cours d'histoire qui y sont dispensé via l'exposition. J'y retrouve l'essentiel de ce qu'on voit à Gorée. Ensuite, longue marche sur la langue de terre qui encercle l'ile et qui est habitée par les pêcheurs : Get N'Dar. Les enfants nous interpellent "Toubab ! Toubab !" mais l'ambiance est sympathique, en fait beaucoup plus agréable que sur l'île Saint-Louis même ou on est assailli sans cesse par des "attrape-touristes". Le soir, souper en amoureux au bord de l'eau, on boit beacoup de vin, on se laisse aller. On fini la soirée dans un petit bar "Chez Marco", tenu par 2 fanatiques de jazz et de whiski. On rit au larmes, et on va se coucher.

Jeudi matin, réveil à 8h ! Pour nous, c'est tout un exploit ! On se rend au lieu de rendez-vous pour l'excursion mauritanienne. Nous voyagerons avec une allemande et deux autrichiennes, tout ce beau monde est fort sympathique. En car jusqu'à la frontière, puis passage de la frontière à pied et rencontre avec le guide mauritanien, Boukoum (c'est un Peulh) qui nous escortera au village et au Désert. On traverse la suite de la réserve du Djoudj et c'est l'occasion de prendre des phacochères en photos (pourquoi y-en-a-t-il tant en Mauritanie, d'ailleurs?) On arrive dans un village nomade ou nous prendrons le thé avec les villageois. Le thé mauritanien, comme le thé sénégalais, se sert en 3 services :
- le 1er, amer comme la mort ;
- le 2nd, doux comme la vie ;
- le 3eme, sucré comme "golo golo dans la case" dit le guide.
Contrairement au thé sénégalais, par contre, il est beaucoup moins fort et plus facile à digérer. Puis on repart pour le désert, ou nous déjeunerons sous la tente du poisson sauté agrémenté de "kara kara boum boum", et aurons l'opportunité de marcher dans le sable et de contempler la mer. La transition entre la savane et le désert est brutale, la chaleur est écrasante, et le sable, aveuglant. Des dunes nous entourent, presque à perte de vue. Après le déjeuner, nous nous retrouvons à deux, marchant dans ces dunes lunaires, martiennes ? en tout cas, très extraterrestes, pour finalement aboutir devant ces merveilleux rouleaux d'eau salée, ce bleu infini qui se confond avec celui du ciel. Puis, retour direct sur la frontière, on récupère (non sans un certain soulagement) nos passeports et on rentre à Saint-Louis. Le soir, nous soupons avec notre copain québécois, qui nous raconte avec enthousiasme ses expériences locales et sa vie en Thailande.

Le lendemain, réveil à 5h du matin (aîe ouille c'est pénible) pour rentrer sur Dakar en taxi, que nous partagerons avec notre nouvel ami et une charmante dame sénégalaise. Arrivés à Dakar, on fonce chez une amie sénégalaise qui nous attendait pour le déjeuner, et on file se reposer un peu, David part... le soir même, on a failli ne pas s'en rendre compte !

Me revoila renvoyée à mon célibat forcé, à mon travail est mes angoisses familières... l'atterrissage est dur, mais temporaire, puisque mon séjour au Sénégal s'achève lui aussi, je suis à 4 semaines de mon départ...

Pig family crossing ! 

Impressions d'un vacancier... rafraichissant, n'est-ce pas ?

Parfois, c'est vraiment rafraichissant de voir les réactions d'un toubab fraichement débarqué. Merci à David pour sa contribution à ce journal de bord....

"Marie est un hote parfait pour l occasion. Elle connait juste assez le wolof pour pouvoir converser avec les vrais senegalais ce qui me permet d etre admis en leur compagnie. J essaye d apprendre quelques mots de la langue pour mieux m integrer. Je connais quelques mots, ce n est pas grand chose mais c est assez pour ne pas passer pour un toubabe dedaigneux de la culture locale. Assez pour partager un thé senegalais en presence de Tassi et de ses amis sur la magnifique plage de Yoff.

J ai vu l isle de Gorée, le centre ville de Dakar; la plage. J ai négocié le prix d un collier avec une grosse femme noire. J ai pris un autobus dakarois. J ai meme fait du cheval sur la plage au coucher du soleil (magnifique).

La seule mauvaise nouvelle est que je semble avoir ete vole a l areoport: je n ai pas retrouve dans ma valise le telephone et le cadeau que j avais amenes pour Marie. A moins que je les ais laisses a Montreal?

Ici il fait 22 degre et ils ont froid!"

Hash Trash - S2H3 Run #7

Below is the Hash Trash for the Sunday Dakar Hash, which I joined 2 weeks ago...

It's more innocent that it looks !

========================================
Hash Trash
S2H3 Run #7 – February 20, 2005
(Attached photos provided by our Hash Flash, Just Anna)

Start and Circle: Ebbett’s Field

Present:
*last names have been removed for confidentiality purposes*
Allez-les-Anglais
All Wet One
British Biker Bitch
First Sinner
Gabe-the-Babe
Green Goddess
Matterhorny
D. Buonadonna (great name!)
Anna
Therman
Suzanne
Alexis
Neil
Katie
Jeff
Kongo
Ivan
Keith
Andi
Dave
Christine
Chino
Brandon
Sarah
Cailin
Serigne
Jill
Marie
Carey
Lisa
Jared
Katie
André
Arlette

Hares: Just Chino & Just Lisa; Dragged-in-at-the-last-minute-hare: Just Marie (see below, under Baptisms, for why)

This run was S2H3’s very first night-time hash. Beer-soaked kudos to Chino for providing glow-in-the-dark accessories to help track the hashers and make them look really cool. Looking back on trail and seeing long lines of colored circles bobbing in the dark was awesome! Pity he couldn’t keep a handle on the rain....

This special WAIST hash led to an outstanding turnout for our very young hash! Similar beery kudos to Just Lisa for having the idea in the first place. Our numbers swelled with the many Peace Corps Volunteers who joined us, clueless as to what the hash really is, but enthusiastic for beer. The majority of our virgins were WAIST PCVs. However, we had other virgins, a visitor from Mauritania, and new friends from South Africa who promise to come again. Keep spreading the word, folks!

The Circle:

This week’s Beer Bitch: Kongo and (Chino? Who were they?)

Virgins:

Suzanne
Alexis
Neil
Katie
Jeff
Ivan
Keith
Andi
Christine
Cailin
Carey
Jared
Katie


Visitors:
D. Buonadonna, Nouakchott H3
Alette , Abidjan H3
André , Abidjan H3

Sins:

Front Running Bastards: Allez les Anglais, Chino, Brandon
Dead F*cking Last: Ivan and Katy W.
Latecummer: Dave (who did not, in fact, actually do the trail)
Language Abuse: Allez-les-Anglais, Virgin Christine & Alexis
Abruptly abandoning the runners’ trail for the walkers’ trail: Jen & Matterhorny
Shortcutting bastard: Matterhorny
Runners getting passed by walkers: Ivan & Sarah
Perceived (but not witnessed) Sex on Trail: Anna & Therman (again!)
Fashion Abuse: Too numerous to mention. Jeez, just buy a f*cking tee-shirt! We have lots...
Peeing on Trail: Neil & Ivan (virginity is no excuse!)
5th Anniversary: Matterhorny, All Wet One, Jen & Lisa
Returnee: Gabe-the-Babe
Get-a-life down-down: Allez-les-Anglais, as usual.
Unhashlike behaviour (excessive discretion): Marie and a series of others who had, in fact, been in the circle before, but who were willing to lie, cheat and steal just to get more beer.
Plus: down-downs for the usual tedious inability to hold a down-down cup in the correct hand, purposely holding it the incorrect hand to drink again, endless private parties, snitching, and the continuing bafflement as to what “head gear” entails.

Baptism:

In an extra-special extravaganza of baptisms, we named THREE hashers this evening. Just Lisa was baptized Clubfooted Cheerleader. What kind of spaz falls off a four-inch curb and fractures her leg – the same week she is setting a trail?!? (Rhetorical question, no answer expected.) Just Jen was baptized Today’s Special, for obvious reasons having solely to do with food (right?!). It was clear to the circle that Today’s Special was feeling zero pain as she staggered in to be named. Finally, Just Dave, the RA, was baptized Circle Jerk. (Again, for obvious reasons.) There was heavy competition between that name and “Delusions of Grandeur (DOG)”, so much so that the standard scream method of voting did not work and we had to actually count raised hands. The fact that many hashers attempted to vote twice, vote with both hands, and generally tried to mess up the procedure did not stop an efficient and clean vote from taking place. A warm hash welcome to the newly-named!

Announcements:

If you have spam filters in place on your email, please be sure to add Green Goddess to your address book (under her civilian name, Sharon ) in order to keep receiving these fascinating missives and any other messages relating to the hash, and not have them blocked by your filter. In the fullness of time, we hope to get a newsgroup going so hashers can post news, questions, stupid jokes, etc. (Oh, Armchair, where aaaare you?)

Remember, if you have a common domain such as sentoo, aol, yahoo or hotmail, be sure to check your mail frequently so your mailbox doesn’t fill up. Many people’s hash trashes and other hash mails are being bounced back because the mailboxes are full.

On After:

There was no On-after as such because this was a night run. However, many hashers stayed to party on at the “bonfire”.

Run No. 8: March 6, 2005. Hares: Allez-les-Anglais & Just Marie. Watch this space for location and directions.

Your friendly Mismanagement Committee:

Grand Mattress Green Goddess
Religious Advisor Circle Jerk
Hash Cash/Hash Stats Heavy Breather
Backup Hash Cash Today’s Special
Hareline Clubfooted Cheerleader
Brewmeister Pissing Purple Princess
Hash Flash Just Anna

Mon talon a cassé ! (grr Encore une fois).. mais c'est pour la bonne cause !

Cette semaine, je suis allé dîner avec des amis un midi. Jusqu'ici, rien d'extraodinaire, à part le fait que le menu impliquait UN CLUB SANDWICH, ce qui, pour les Nord-Americains qui me lisent, n'a l'air de rien, mais si je vous dis qu'il n'y a pas de club sandwich au Sénégal, mon dîner devient tout un évènement !

Le seul endroit que je connaisse ou on peut manger un Club Sandwich à Dakar est l'ambassade américaine. Alors si on connait les bonnes personnes, et qu'on accepte de passer à travers la haute sécurité, on peut manger un club sandwich. Voila comment je me suis retrouvé en train de faire partir le détecteur de métal, alors que je n'avait littéralement sur moi que mes vêtements (et pas de poches). Il parait que c'était mon soutien-gorge... enfin, j'ai quand même fini par me rendre à la cafétéria... et au plus délicieux (et seul) club sandwich que j'ai mangé depuis des mois !

Sur le chemin du retour, j'ai cassé mon talon de chaussure (HUMF ! ENCORE !!!) alors me voila, boitant avec le peu de dignité qu'il me reste quand un gars me fait : psssst. Ça, c'est la manière sénégalaise de dire "Excusez-moi madame, pourrais-je avoir un moment de votre attention?". Même si cette habitude semble impolie, elle a ses avantages : psssst psssst est beaucoup plus rapide.

Alors je me retourne vers le gars, prête à mordre, je déteste qu'on me psssst, mais c'est un petit cordonnier qui m'offre de me rendre ma dignité ! Bien évidemment, j'accepte, et là, sur le trottoir, il se met au travail sur ma chaussure, pendant que je l'attend, assise sur une marche. Pendant que j'attend, un autre gars arrive et offre de me vendre... des souliers ! (En fait, ce sont des tapettes, mais celles qui sont plus élégantes, avec des lanières de cuir et un petit talon). C'est merveilleux de se promener, et de se faire offrir les services dont on a besoin, au bon moment ! Je suis donc maintenant la fière propriétaire d'une nouvelle paire de flip-flop et de sandales à talons hauts nouvellement réparées (jusqu'à ce qu'elles cassent encore !)

My Hell Broke ! Again ! (but it was worth it...)

This week I met with friends for lunch. Nothing special so far, except it involved HAVING A CLUB SANDWICH, which to all the North-Americans reading this means nothing, but if you know that there are no club sandwiches in Senegal, then it definitely is an event!

The only place that I know of where you can get a club sandwich in Dakar is the American Embassy. So you have to know the right person, and go through the motions of the high security. So I found myself still beeping the metal detector, though all I had on me were my clothes (and they had no pockets). Apparently, my bra set the detector off... anyways, I did finally make it to the Cafeteria... and the yummiest (and only) club sandwich I'd eaten in months !

On my way back to work, I broke my (shoe) heel (HUMF ! AGAIN !!!) so here I am, limping away as proudly and with as much dignity as I can, when this guy psssst's me. That's the senegalese regular way of saying "Excuse-me madam, may I have a moment of your attention?". Though it comes on as rude, it has its advantages : psssst psssst is much faster.

So I turn around to the guy (ready to bite, I abhorre being psssst'd), but turn out he's offering to dix my shoes. I agree, and right there, on the sidewalk, he proceeds to fixing the shoe, while I sit on a nearby starcase. As I'm waiting, another guy comes and offers to sell me... shoes ! (flip flops actually, but the nice ones, with leather straps and small heel). It's wonderful to just be walking around and have the service taken to you... when you need it ! So I now am the proud owner of a new pair of flip-flops and of newly repaires high-heel sandals (until they break again !)

Pin Pon ! Station Pompier ou le top des problèmes de transports dakarois (En Français)

Samedi dernier, sortie entre filles prévue pour Toubab Dialao. Au programme : plage, dodo, réserve de Bandia le dimanche matin.

J'étais particulièrement excitée à l'idée de ce weekend entre filles parce qu'il me semblait que ça faisait longtemps qu'on avait pas "reconnecté" entre copines, parceque j'avais envie, aussi, de sortir de Dakar.

Malgré un lendemain de veille un peu douloureux, je me rend en ville avec les autres, ou une délégation, dont j'étais, avait pour mission de louer une voiture avec chauffeur (un 7 place style corbillard) et de le ramener chercher le reste du groupe et les bagages. La station Pompier se situe à la sortie de l'autoroute, entre le plateau et la Médina. On s'y rend en taxi. Du moment que le taxi amorce son entrée sur le terrain de voitures, des gars, aux vêtements crados et en tapettes éculés se mettent à lui courir après, en nous criant à travers les fenêtres "vous allez ou ? vous allez ou ? Saint-Louis ? Ziguinchor ? Mbour ?"

Ces types à la mine inquiétante sont en fait des "courtiers" dont le boulot consiste, en fait, à trouver des clients et négocier des voitures. Le terrain est dégoutant, et je suis en sandales. Quelque chose de mouillé, de brun, de glissant et de non-identifiable frôle mes orteils. Copine n°1 et moi nous regardons avec un peu d'anxiété, alors que copine n°2 , très décidée, se met à arpenter le pavé à la recherche d'une bagnole à louer.

Si vous trouvez que négocier un taxi est épuisant, n'allez jamais à la station Pompier, vous allez en mourir ! Le prix dit acceptable se situait autour de 7.000Fcfa aller, mais nous ne trouvions personne pour nous offrir un tarif de moins de 13.000Fcfa pour l'aller seulement. En pleine scéance de pourparlers, comble du comble, une pluie diluvienne (Oui, vous avez bien lu !) s'abbat sur nous !

Grrrr ! Ça fait 5 mois qu'il n'a pas plu, et il faut que la première pluie nous tombe dessus un samedi matin en pleines négociations ! On s'est carapaté dare-dare sous un petit auvent, avec une cinquantaine de sénégalais qui semblaient trouver bien droles les toubabesses qui fuiyaient l'averse ! Finalement, on est rentrée bredouilles, pour trouver que copine n°3 avait négocié un taxi conventionnel pour l'aller-retour. La dépense de transport s'en trouvait doublée... par rapport au prix proposé à Pompier, et quadruplée par rapport au prix original !

Ça n'a fait ni une, ni deux dans ma tête : il pleut, j'ai mal au cheveux, ca coute cher, et si je me désiste, elles pourront retourner à leur budget initial en ne prenant qu'un seul taxi. Alors j'ai embrassé les filles, je leur ai souhaité une excellente fin de semaine, et je suis allée me coucher, sans l'ombre d'un regret !

Pin Pon ! Station Pompier, or the Ultimate Transport Issues (English version)

Last saturday, girls weekend out was planned. Program : beach, sleep, hanging out at the Bandia reserve on sunday morning.

I was particularly excited to go on this girly weekend because I felt it had been some time since I'd connected with my girl posse, and also because I felt the need to go out of Dakar.

Despite a slightly painful hangover, i made it downtown with the others, where a delegation (which I took part in) was dispatched to rent a car (funeral hearse-type) and driver, and to bring it back to pick up the rest of the group and the luggage.

Pompier station is at the highway's exit, between Downtown Dakar and what is known as the Medina. We make it there by cab. The moment the cab proceeds to the hearse parking lot, guys, wearing crappy dirty looking clothes and destroyed flip-flops start running after it, yelling to us "Where are you going ? Where are you going ? Saint-Louis ? Ziguinchor ? Mbour ?"

These scary looking dudes are actually "brokers", and their job is in fact to find customers and negociate cars. The parking lot is gross, and I'm wearing sandals. Something wet, brown, slippery and unidentified edges my toes. Friend n°1 and I look at each other with anxiety, while Friend n°2 strides decidedly on the turf on quest for a rentable car.

If your opinion is that cab negociation in Dakar is dreadful, never go to Station Pompier, you will simply die on the spot ! The fare considered acceptable would have been around 7.000Fcfa one-way trip, but nobody would go any lower than 13.000Fcfa. To make things more interesting, in the middle of the talks, Monsoon type rain (yes, you read right !) floods onto us.

Grrrrr.... It's been 5 months without rain, and the first rain we get has to be on a saturday morning, in the heart of price discussions ! We fled like our lives depended on it (more likely it was our health, that water was freakin cold) and hid under the tiniest shelter you'd ever seen with about 50 senegalese people who seemed to find quite amusing the 3 toubab girls fleeing the water ! Finally, we went back unsuccessful, to find Friend n°3 had managed to find and negociate some conventionnal cabs for the round trip. The transportation expense was double what we had been proposed at Pompier, and 4 times the original budget !

I didn't even think about it twice : it's raining, I have the hang-over from hell, it's expensive, and if i give up, they can resume their original budget by taking only one cab. So I kissed and hugged the girls, wished them an amazing weekend, and went to bed, without even an atom of regret !

Nakodje... faut lacher quoi !

Nous avons, encore une fois, assisté à un concert de musique africaine. Le groupe Nakodjé est un ensemble éclectique comprenant, outre le chanteur-guitariste et les trois choriste, une flute traditionnelle, une basse, une batterie, une clarinette, une kora, un balafon et deux djembés. Ça en fait du monde sur la scène ça !

Le chanteur était, définitivement, en train de s'éclater comme un malade sur la scène alors que les toubabs, majoritaires dans l'assemblée, le regardaient l'air de se dire "hmmm j'aime ou j'aime pas ? Est-ce que je dois danser ? Comment je réagis à ce truc ?" Bien sur, la gang de filles, bien ancrée sur leurs siège était aussi perplexe que le reste du monde... sauf que vient un moment d'épiphanie, ou serais-ce de folie, ou on commence à se dandiner, à danser, à rire, à taper des mains. Quelques courageux se mettent sur la piste de danse, la majorité vibre assise, et quelques récalcitrants restent la, les bras croisés, à se dire ("Je veux rentrer à la maison, qu'est-ce que je fais ici ?")

Le spectacle a duré 2 heures, et à la fin, on était quand même prêtes à danser. En bout de ligne, on apprécie tout autant que les autres, seulement, on est plus lents à la détente !

Mardi Gras et Cool Graoul !

Samedi dernier, nous avons eu droit à une fête costumée, organisée par Bill et Christine. En fait, la proportion de costumes était réduite, mais ça n'a pas empêché votre humble servante de trouver moyen (malgré tout) de se déguiser...

Comment se déguiser en Gambler Gone Wrong :
-Prenez un pantalon et une veste noire
-Attachez-y le contenu d'un paquet de cartes a jouer
-empruntez un chapeau de cow-boy
Et le tour est joué !

Bon, j'ai peu être pas eu le prix du meilleur costume, mais au moins, j'ai fait l'effort !!! (Photos à suivre...)

Il y avait énormément de gens, et on a tous eu beaucoup de plaisir. Les plus courageux (dont celle qui vous parle) ont quand même été se pointer au Cool Graoul à 2 h du matin, pour continuer sur les rythmes endiablés du Sénégal et du reste...

Mais vous vous demanderez : qu-est-ce que le cool graoul ?

Le cool graoul est une chose merveilleuse. Si elle n'existait pas, il faudrait l'inventer ! Le concept est le suivant : une fois par mois (tous les 1er samedis du mois en fait), les organisateurs investissent l'Océanium (un club de loisir sur la petite corniche en ville) et le transforme en night club pour la nuit. Je dis bien pour la nuit, car la fête se termine, pour les plus courageux, au lever du soleil... Le tout se passe dehors, sous les étoiles, et vient qui veut. Est admis, en fait, toute personne qui a la capacité de payer le prix d'entrée de 2500Fcfa, c'est à dire 6$ canadiens. C'est le rendez-vous de tous les expatriés et sénégalais qui aiment faire la fiesta ! L'humeur est à la fête et à la camaraderie, le tout dans une ambiance bonne enfant !

Inutile de vous dire que le lendemain... j'étais pas fraîche ! Mais c'est le prix à payer, quand on danse toute la nuit !

Ba Cissokho

I just came back from a musicalconcert with friends at the CCF, which was absolutely great. The groupwas from Guinea Conakry, another west-African country. It was interesting because it involved a mix of traditional music andinstruments, with modern rhythms and pop instruments (in theoccurrence, it was the base). It was, I’d say, like African Jazz. Butthen again, didn’t jazz originate from this continent ? It took ustime to warm up to the music, but by the time the concert was over wewere on fire ! I can’t help but think that the Africans are such anexuberant people. I mean, in what other place would you have members of the public come up and dance on stage freely during the show ? This evening was a great lesson in the art of partying : it’s all about letting go, letting itall hang out, and the people there certainly taught me that tonight !

What an exciting life ! Don't you find ?

On Saturday, I made it back home and got ready to go to a play at Club Atlantic, the American Rec Center. It was short, and funny, and lively. The plot, based on the concept of creating a universal language, included lines such as : “Velcro !” (Welcome) and other puns based on similarity of language. It did include some German, Dutch, Spanish, Italian, and in that respect, was very “International”. We ended up all going for drinks at a local Jazz club called “Just 4 U” and a few of us even made it to a night club called “La Dolce Vita” (which was horribly expensive and full of prostitutes, irk !).

On Sunday, I joined friends to take part in the Hash, an afternoon activity which consists of running (or walking, in my case), for a few hours in an area of Dakar. It also involves games, a mild amount of drinking, and a dinner at a restaurant afterwards. It was immature, but a lot of fun !

On Monday, I had Dinner at a friend's. It was really nice to get to know her better and to have a quieter evening, although we did have a lot of wine and gin tonic, and I had a considerable headache the next morning…

Yesterday, dead as I was after all these social activities, I went home and ended up grabbing a beer on the way with C.K.(an American, whom I’d met at previous cocktails) and a friend of his. Now that one was totally unplanned, but my colleague dropped me off on the road and I bumped into them as I was making my way to my regular hitchhiking spot, and they stopped me to have a drink with them, which was nice, and not only because it actually got me a lift home. Then I finally arrived home just in time to have dinner offered to me by my housemate.

What an exciting life ! Don't you find ?

Week-end à Palmarin

Le week-end du 21 janvier, Dorothée, Antje, Christine et moi avons profite de l’opportunité des congés de la Tabaski pour passer un weekend de relaxation à Palmarin, au campement de Djijack.

La route

Nous avons du faire, pour y parvenir, un total de 4h de route. La route lorsque nous sortons de Dakar est relativement bonne, mais passée la zone hyper-touristique (style Club Med) de Saly et Mbour, elle devient de plus en plus mauvaise, trouée comme un gruyère, puis éventuellement, ressemble à de la taule.

Par contre, nous avons le plaisir de nous émerveiller devant les baobabs, la savane et les petits villages que nous croisons. Je me retrouve... en enfance... en brousse avec papa et maman, les enfants qui envoient la main aux voitures des blancs, les zébus qui paissent paisiblement l’herbe sèche.


Joal-Fadiouth

Nous faisons une étape à Joal-Fadiouth, agglomération composée des villages jumeaux de Joal, sur la terre ferme, et de Fadiouth, sur l’île. Alors que Joal est traversé d’une route goudronnée et dispose des infrastructures requises pour accueillir les touristes (hôtels et restaurants), Fadiouth est restée l’île franchement sénégalaise, le petit village de coquillage transformé en attraction touristique malgré lui. L’île est reliée au village par un pont, et on peut y circuler librement. Une fois passés les enquiquineurs de services du rivage, la population de Fadiouth se montre contrairement à eux très tolérante, et laisse les promeneurs déambuler sur l’île sous son regard indifférent.

Fadiouth recèle une église et une mosquée et les deux groupes religieux cohabitent en harmonie. Nous avons pris le temps de nous recueillir en l’Église Saint – François – Xavier de Fadiouth, et j’ai été émerveillé d’entendre les petits oiseaux chanter sous le toit de ce lieu de culte, comme pour confirmer mon intuition que nous étions dans un endroit sacré. Je ne suis pourtant pas une personne bien religieuse, mais je ne peux m’empêcher de me rappeler un sincère sentiment de recueillement en ce lieu.
La péninsule du cimetière de Fadiouth est, quant à elle, tout aussi digne de respect : le sol en entier couvert de coquillages blancs qui réverbèrent la lumière du soleil fait de ce lieu de repos définitif un endroit hors du temps et de tout. Quelques baobabs, probablement centenaires, projettent timidement leur ombres sur les tombes nimbées de lumière, alors que sur les pirogues passent silencieusement sur la mangrove.


Le campement

Arrivées à Djijack, nous rencontrons nos hôtes, Jean-Paul, Katziella et leurs enfants, Gary et Mickaella. Immédiatement, nous avons l’impression d’arriver en visite chez des cousins. Le campement consiste en un groupe de cases, grandes ou petites selon le groupe. Nous sommes conduites à nos pénates, une grande case de terre, où 2 chambres contenant chacune 2 lits nous attendent. Nous avons même un petit salon, et une salle de bain à partager. Malgré le climat qui est très sec, le jardin est fleuri de bougainvilliers, de lauriers roses, d’orgueil de Chine... Le campement dispose d’une piscine, et se trouve en bordure de mer. De la plage, je contemple le soleil qui se couche, qui embrase les flots et inonde le bateau non loin naufragé d’une lueur étrange.

Mais ce qui est frappant est la case commune, dénommé Impluvium. Le toit de cette très grande case ronde a en son centre une cavité qui permet de recueillir l’eau de pluie pour alimenter la nappe phréatique, notre source d’eau pour notre séjour. (La Sénégalaise des Eaux et la Sénégalaise de l’Électricité ne se rendent pas encore à Djijack.) L’électricité, pour le moment, vient de panneaux solaires, complimentés par un groupe électrogène le soir. Ce lieu est aussi le bar, le salon commun, et la bibliothèque ! Fans de BD, voici une adresse à retenir !
Les repas se prennent à l’Impluvium, en groupe à la grande table avec les autres invités ou seuls. Nous optons pour la première solution, et rencontrons ainsi nos futurs compagnons de route du lendemain. L’ambiance est joyeuse, enjouée, détendue. On se croirait, vraiment, en famille.

La suite.... au prochain numero, la balade en pirogue dans la mangrove !

Today, in history...

Djouj : Le peuple migrateur

Le lendemain, nous partons dès potron minet pour le Parc des oiseaux de Djouj. La route, jusqu’ici relativement bonne, devient ce qu’on appelle communément de la taule. Beuh... estomacs fragiles et colonnes vertébrales sensibles, s’abstenir. Mais Yakou, notre chauffeur, est expert dans la conduite des routes de terre, et nous arrivons sans encombre. Déjà, en arrivant prés du parc, nous apercevons des groupes d’oiseaux, en vol ou au sol...

Nous allons en pirogue (notons bien, cette pirogue la n’a rien à voir avec celle de Ngor, elle est très large, très stable, et très rassurante. Sur cette longue ballade de quelques heures, nous avons tous le loisir d’observer, de très près, des pélicans, cormorans, et autres oiseaux aquatiques et migrateurs.

Nous sommes informées qu’il y a à peu près 15 000 pélicans au parc en ce moment. Ils sont là, paisiblement en train de voguer dans la mangrove, ou en train de s’adonner à la pêche collective. C’est fascinant de voir ces oiseaux, tous bien synchronisés, se pencher dans l’eau à la recherche de poisson, et d’observer les quelques chanceux qui ont attrapé quelque chose le retourner, avant de l’engloutir d’un seul coup. Puis, d’un coup, les pélicans abandonnent leurs rôles de gros canards pour prendre leur envol, toujours en harmonie parfaite les uns avec les autres, et se transforment en oiseaux de grande prestance, pour entamer un cours vol gracieux, un ballet aérien qui que pour nous.

L’autre espèce bien représentée dans l’étendue aquatique de Djouj est le cormoran. Lorsqu’il pêche, contrairement au gras pélican, il s’immerge jusqu’à ce que seul sa tête et son coup soient hors de l’eau, ce qui lui donne l’allure d’un serpent. Moins ordonnés, les cormorans restent ensemble mais sans synchronie, certains dans l’eau et d’autres perchés dans les arbres, où ils étendent leurs ailes pour se sécher, dans une posture béate qui n’est pas sans rappeler la prière au soleil. Lorsque nous passons trop proche, les cormorans s’envolent en pagaille mais à fleur d’eau, et pendant un court instant nous volons avec eux, sur les eaux de la mangrove de Djouj.

D’autres habitants de Djouj, qui m’ont moi, moins intéressés, ont fasciné nos compagnons de voyage Français : tous les croco, tous les croco, tous les crocodiles, sur le bords du Nil ont disparu n’en parlons plus ! Nous avons vue les petits, les jeunes et la maman (1 m de long à peu près). J’ai trouvé peu rassurant que les touristes se penchent par dessus la barque pour prendre des photos quand le guide m’a mentionné que le papa aimait bien rester sous l’eau, et se trouvait vraisemblablement... sous notre barque !

De façon anecdotique, il y avait aussi des phacochères au parc de Djouj, mais nous les avons a peine entrevus... de toutes façons ils sont moins jolis que les oiseaux.

Le Lac Rose

Le week-end suivant (les 7 et 8 janvier) nous quittons tôt Dakar, car une excursion a été prévue : Lac rose le samedi, St-Louis et le parc des oiseaux de Djouj le dimanche.

Le Lac Rose tire sa couleur particulière de plusieurs facteurs, soit :
· la très haute teneur en sel du lac (il est tapissé d’une couche de sel d’1m50 d’épaisseur) ;
· la présence de bactéries dans l’eau ;
· le reflet de la terre rouge.

Les abords du Lac sont le lieu de la libre entreprise. Chacun est libre de venir s’installer sur le rivage et de récolter le sel, lequel sera ensaché et revendu partout en Afrique de l’Ouest. Comme c’est toujours le cas, les tâches sont réparties selon le sexe : alors que les hommes cassent le sel au fond du lac (il n’a qu’un mètre de profondeur), les femmes transportent le sel vers de rivage dans de grosses bassines qu’elles portent sur leur tête. Non loin de la rive, on peut observer de pauvres huttes de pailles qui servent d’abris aux travailleurs.

Il y a non loin du Lac Rose, un village peulh qui est de toutes évidences, conçu pour les touristes : où que l’on se tourne, une femme ou un enfant sera en train de poser des actes stéréotypés de la vie au village : on puise de l’eau, on prépare le plat traditionnel, on joue avec les chèvres. Le scénario est le suivant : attendri, le touriste ne résiste pas à la tentation de prendre une photo. S’en suit un séance de « Cadeau, cadeau ! Donne moi cadeau ! » qui rend la vie du touriste très difficile, d’autant plus qu’il vient de se taper une rencontre avec le chef du village qui lui a expressément demandé de ne pas donner d’argent aux villageois... La visite du village, qui reste intéressante tout de même, se termine par une visite à la boutique où l’on peut acheter des souvenirs qui n’ont rien de particulièrement remarquable, avec des prix... affichés en Euros ! Vive l’authenticité !

Nous avons droit par la suite à une très mémorable balade en Jeep dans les dunes de sable. Ça brasse en masse, Maman s’accroche à moi comme à une bouée de sauvetage, tout en riant aux éclats ! Ce qui est extraordinaire, c’est que l’étendue de la zone de dunes de sable est suffisante pour qu’on se croit en plein désert. Et le ravissement, lorsque nous atteignons la mer, la plage sauvage de la Grande Côte, dont les rouleaux sont suffisants pour engloutir un homme...

Yoff : La grande et belle plage de mes souvenirs

Le dimanche suivant, nous allons à la plage de Yoff, ma plage préférée. Petit après-midi tranquille à écouter le chant de la mer, se gorger de soleil, marcher sur le sable... Un petit garçon tente timidement de nous vendre un cheval et cavalier de fil de fer. Il l’a fait lui-même, je n'achète jamais sur la plage mais cette fois-ci, je ne peux résister à l’envie de l’encourager. Il y a quelque chose de touchant dans la naïveté de son travail.

Nous avons convenu de souper à la pointe des Almadies. Loin de moi d’imaginer le choc culturel de Maman ! Paraît-il que la pointe est beaucoup plus occupée qu’elle ne l’était à l'époque de notre séjour, plus sale aussi. Maman commande des moules... Elle s’attend à des moules marinières et reçoit à la place un plat de moules géantes, à moitié crues et pleines de barbes !!!

Après plusieurs tentatives, nous obtenons au moins que la taille des moules soit réduite, et maman attaque avec un mélange de courage et de scepticisme une plâtrée de moules qu’elle finit tout de même par avaler héroïquement ! (Après avoir très goulûment fini MES frites !)

Entre-temps, une armée de chinois s'était installée aux tables adjacentes, et commandaient des plats gargantuesques de coques qu’ils dégustaient avec appétit en regardant le sublime spectacle de l’océan. Tout ce beau monde noyait les fruits de mer dans la bière, qu’ils buvaient au goulot ! De temps en temps, un volontaire se levait pour redresser le sapin de Noël du restaurant qui périodiquement piquait du nez, faute d'avoir bien été équilibré...

Un nouvel an à l’Espagnole, à Dakar !

Le nouvel an se passe avec beaucoup de plaisir chez Carlos !

On fête en petit comité, il y a beaucoup de bouffe, quiche, bouchées au saumon fume, poulet yassa, calamar frit. On boit du champagne et du mousseux. A minuit, Carlos sonne les 12 coups et nous prenons un morceau de pomme par coup. Ça sonne vite, on a du mal à suivre, mais c’est drôle.

Toute la semaine, j’avais vu des petits vendeurs se promener avec des pétards. À minuit, tous les individus à Dakar qui en avaient acheté se sont mis de la partie ! Un grand feu d’artifice, organisé par l’État sur la Place de l’Indépendance, a été complété par les dakarois.

Imaginez-vous au 11ème étage d’un immeuble surplombant la ville, sur un balcon dont la vue embrasse tout Dakar ! Il y avait quelque chose d’irréel dans le fait d’assister à cette célébration, comme si toute la ville, les immeubles, les rues, la mer autour se mettaient de la partie pour accueillir la nouvelle année !

Nous avons dansé jusqu’au petit matin, et sommes rentrées épuisées et ravies !