Lovely Farafina (Africa)

Well folks at home, what can I say? Africa is remarkably beautiful. I was truly unprepared. Dakar is a city by the ocean like my own gorgeous Seattle. Brilliant green trees and plants pop out of every nook and cranny, as Black folks here seems love to decorate with flowers and greenery. In Dakar the greens splash across sandy streets and alleyways, contrasting against its yellow tan. In Bamako a slightly darker and brighter green strikes out against the purple-red earthen streets and against the blue sky snatching ones breath away for just a moment. The streets in neighborhoods are narrow sometimes without sidewalks and always peopled by Black folk going somewhere, busy doing something. The architecture is cement block in Dakar, with building painted in different colored pastels. I think of pictures I’ve seen of Morocco, Spain and some places in Mexico but on dim. In Mali the houses are cement block, but have been painted earth tones, with the brightest crops I’ve ever seen growing where regular plants grew in Dakar. The business sections of both towns are busy. Bamako is more dirty and quite creatively put together, with Dakar truly looking like everyone moved out of San Francisco and Africans from all over West Africa moved in. The weaving patterns of traffic just make you smile at our people because no one is coloring, or driving for that matter, in the lines, everyone is one their own rhythm, but it all fits together seamlessly without a crash, bump or disturbance. In Dakar it’s the Karabit and the taxis, the former painted with rainbow colored praises to Allah, streamers and several young boys standing, hanging out of the back. The taxis are all yellow and black, each with some sort of magic charm hanging from the back. In Bamako young men and some women all ride these little scooters everywhere. The flow of it all is Amazing, I’ll record it for you all, but you’ll have to wait till I get back to see that one. Technical difficulties.

Everywhere Black people are employed and busy. No one is idle. Funny enough though, many people look idle, just chillin’ somewhere, but you better believe they are working to. I am in love with the approach. Everyone is up earlier getting it, working, but everyone is moving at their own pace, and everyone is cool with it. People jump on a bus and don’t pay. You might go several blocks before the young teenager in charge asks quite off handedly for your money. Some people still don’t pay it, just chillin. But it gets done, there no hustling there, people pay their money. Everything is like that. So things have this interesting rhythm, I might sing the call part of the song, and you might say nothing back, moments later you sing out a beautiful response and I call immediately again. You respond, then I hang out for a second, and sing back. The feeling generated is total ease, so people are working all day, but many look like they are having a grand ole time. The educated people get better jobs working for larger businesses. The rest of society is in the streets, every street, selling, buying, making something. Innovation is as rich as the colors in African clothes. People are making every type of tool, ventilated shutters for doors, ironwork to protect windows, keeping and slaughtering goats and selling barbeque all day long, millions of taxis, an endless sea called suguba (Bambara for the market), finishing wood and making furniture and so on. Random horses, herds of cattle, and goats stand, make their way, or are herded through city streets amidst cellphones, laptops, past internet cafes, banks, and Black people in every manner of fly African clothes, Western clothes, and stylish blend of the two, dirt covered or otherwise. Dirt is everywhere but so are the water pots used for washing off and cooling down and people do so frequently.

Everyone is Muslim it seems, but that is saying nothing. You have Peul and Fula Muslims likely a more traditional type, amongst Maurits, Tijan people, the Bifal(forgive my likely incorrect spelling). Some people are strictly Muslim while others will tell you about every manner of traditional African society, tradition you name it. The magical charms or fetish can be seen here an there, amidst people wearing village clothing, and then quite modern western people who may or may not pray any of the five times a day depending on their schedule. Yet I’ve seen most everyone wash themselves and center themselves, face the east and pray to God. On friday, it seems to be their sunday. People will go to the mosque, but I’ve seen them line the streets with beautiful prayer rugs, all men at certain times, all women at others. You can see all these different people from different walks of life with beliefs different enough to be called different religions stopping their busy day to pray together on sidewalks, in stores, wherever there is space. Some families pray together, maybe on their rooftops which are often set up for people walk use, becoming a mosque for twenty minutes of quite family prayer. I’m not Muslim of course. But I love it, it’s a perfect example of the fact that no religion owns God, and God will be okay, what is important is that people find a common ground upon with to find peace and be human.

I stayed in Dakar for a few days and then traveled to Bamako by bus. Considering the all day plane ride and the two day bus ride I feel a bit like a world traveling wind. They say there is a wind, it’s called a trade wind to be precise, that lifts sand up off the ground in the Sahara desert and drops it the United States. It is always blowing. If I remember correctly there is a storm that happens in the Pacific ocean for months of the year every year that gives Seattle its clouds. I feel something like these huge winds. Certainly those huge winds have stolen my every refinement of speaking reducing me to little more sophistication than that of my sweetheart Tuka tuk (Kiara’s 7 month old). While there are ups and downs the world is filled with beauty and its only been a week. I came to Africa to study, learn things we had lost I could take back to my folk back home as we try to build community and family from ashes. I also came as an artist and student and all those things I’ve spoken of. I’ve found though, a surprising subtle sweetness, more pure fresh cool water on a hot day than honey and wide as a river.