Making Up For Lost Time

Since January, we've been living, really living here. Maybe that's what has kept me from writing. We went from being observers, outsiders looking in, to becoming a part of life. Blending in more and more each day into the neighborhood, the lifestyle, the language, the friendships and the fabric of this frustrating and magical land. Not to say that it was any easier. Living in this country is a constant challenge, always dodging between the rains in the Fall, which are just starting again now, the dust storms in the winter and the heat hanging thick once again in the air, it's as though we are always battling against the elements. There was a brief period of beautiful Bay Area weather-crisp, sunny days and cool clear nights-and all I could think of was home!

Here is life through Noah's eyes:

Sandy bright sun.
Eat meat everyday.
Nice neat kids.
Energetic kids playing soccer,
Getting better everyday.
All awake early in the morning.
Living a very hard life.

As we prepare for our departure in just 10 days from now, we are filled with excitement, sadness and a bit of trepidation for what will meet us as we return to the same life, but as different people. We can't wait to see all of our friends back home!

Feet on the Ground (most of the time)

Part of my personal mission in coming to Africa was to finally study dance in Guinea, the home of the dance that I have been studying for over ten years. It was a long wait and two weeks there was barely enough to get my feet wet, although in that short time we did an incredible amount of dancing and visiting.
All of my expectations were fulfilled there and the experience went far beyond what I ever imagined. I was able to dance in private classes with an incredible woman dancer named Sali. We had 6 drummers and the most beautiful balaphone player. We danced for a week in the city at my friend Shelly's house, her backyard over looking the Atlantic Ocean. Then a week out in the village, camping on the beach at Fullayah with the same group of artists, Shelly, Noah and I. It was like our own private dance camp with dance twice a day and Noah had drum classes once or twice a day.

Shelly and Sidos' camp in Fulliyah

Our musicians and dance space at the beach



One of our drummers, Seny

Singing under the Stars

Village Chores

Guinea is a much poorer and less developed country than Senegal, which was hard for me to imagine before I got there. I see Dakar through a very different lens since I've returned. It is much more organized, calm and well-off than I thought before I visited Guinea. Although the poverty is striking in Guinea, the people are so incredibly warm and receptive in a gentler way than here in Dakar. Although they have much "less," from a Westerner's perspective, the music and dance is so incredibly rich, that to me, it is worth far more than the comforts of home.

Second to the dance was making new friends and seeing many old ones. During the last few days of our trip, many friends and teachers were arriving in Guinea to study and visit family. Seeing everyone at the doundounba and sabar party that Youssouf gave was so gratifying! It was like being home for a moment, but even better to see all my Guinea teachers for once in their home!

Alseny and Naby (my dance teachers in California) at Youssouf's Sabar Party

Noah dancing at the Sabar

"Multi-tasking"
My dance teacher, Sali

Shelly, Sali, Maya, Fode (#2) Bangoura, Noah

My dance teacher in the States, Moustapha Bangoura

Youssouf Koumbassa-My dance teacher in New York

It is so difficult to put into words the totality of this trip for us, but I know that it touched Noah and I deeply in some simliar and very different ways.It is a difficult transition now being back in Dakar and although my body is here, my heart is still in Guinea.

In Search of Lost Flip-Flops and Family-Part Two

A Calabash Tree

Still in Cassamance, we headed from the river back towards the coast to Cap Skirring, a town noted for "the most beautiful beaches in Senegal" and a richness in the traditional ways of life. Cassamance is incredibly tropical and lush, a far cry from the dry, sandy streets of Dakar.

Our first day on the beach, which was indeed gorgeous, we met a guy who said he could take us a traditional drum and dance circle that evening. As always, I was in search of traditional music and a place to dance. So, at 10:30 that night we met him under the archway of the campment where we were staying. It was myself, Libby and Amy (2 teacher friends) and Noah. Before we ventured out into the wilderness, the owner of the campment checked out our new friend and gave us the a-okay that we were safe in his company.

The sky was velvet black with no moon, a blanket of stars and only the bright orange hue of Mars to guide our way. Our guide led us through a maze of giant plants down a narrow, dirt path that seemed to go on forever. At one point we all stopped talking and noticed how silent and dark the night was, and we became more and more dependent on our sense of touch to guide our way.

Just as I began to wonder why we were not hearing drumming in the distance, our feet landed on a somewhat smooth, paved road. We learned that because of Korite, the holiday to celebrate the ending of Ramadan, all of the artists had gone home to their villages and there wouldn't be any drumming after all.
None of us were terribly disappointed, as we were exhausted from our long day. We had especially enjoyed the unexpected night hike and turned around to retrace our steps, this time with a little more confidence.

At one point, Noah took the lead and began to run, but managed to take one wrong turn and ended up in a hole full of sticky, wet mud. Once he pulled his feet out, he realized that he was missing his shoes. After feeling around in the mud a bit, he retrieved his left flip-flop but, once again, his right flip-flop has gotten away. We decided that between now and the morning, no one would be interested in stealing one left flip-flop caked in thick, brown mud, so we left the shoe and he walked home wearing his new mud boots.

He was terribly distraught and again, the suggestion of buying brand new flip-flops was out of the question. He just wanted to go to sleep so that morning would come more quickly and he coul return to find "righty."

Up as early as possible, we headed out in the blinding sun, in search of the mud puddle and ultimately, the shoe. Although there hadn't been rain in a few weeks, the puddle was still there and it was impossible to tell how deep it was. "Lefty" was nice and dry by now, with an extra pound of mud caked on the bottom, top and between the straps. But "Righty" was nowhere to be seen. Since there were no strong branches around, I grabbed a piece of orange plastic pipe lying on the side of the trail and started to feel my way into the depths of the mud pit. It wasn't looking to hopeful. Suddenly, deep down, I hit on something hard and thought it was a rock or a piece of metal. I tried to move it but the weight of the mud made it almost impossible to lift. I continued to dig and finally, I was able to pull it out. I handed the pipe to Noah, with his flip-flop hanging off the end, covered toe to heel in pasty brown sludge and completely brown. He was so shocked and a huge, surprised smile came over his face. "Thank you, thank you!" he yelled!

On our way back to the camp, carrying one dry and one wet muddy flip-flop, a man working at a house near-by suddenly appeared in front of us and motioned for us to give him the shoes. Noah looked at me with concern, not sure that he wanted to let go of them again. If there was any chance that this man (George) would wash these shoes for us, I was willing to take the risk. A few minutes later George returned with the most beautiful, worn-down, blue flip-flops. Unfortunately, we had no coins to give George as a thank you, but he didn't seem to mind.


Later that day we headed into the small "downtown" vilage of Cap Skirring and bravely entered the artisan village, better known as the 'tourist trap.' It was completely empty, except for the shop owners and a kora player, playing one of the most beautiful koras I had ever seen.

I knew that Noah had a lot of family in Cassamance, but didn't have any contact information to find them. It wasn't too difficult. Noah picked up an extra kora and started quietly playing the songs he has learned. The man playing the kora starting singing to Noah's song and within minutes we were invited to come and meet the rest of the family.

The next morning, I bought a couple bags of bons-bons (candies) to give to the children and a big can of Nescafe for the family and we went back to the market where Keba and Famara Cissokho were waiting for us. We were led through a maze of dirt roads crowded with chilren playing, women washing and preparing food and men doing their usual hanging out, until we reached a small cement porch with a curtain hanging as a door to the family room. There were a couple of other rooms across the way that also belonged to the family. We met Maty, the sister of someone's brother's uncle and the rest of the extended family. It's practically impossible to understand all of the branches on the family tree and really all that mattered was that Noah's last name was Sissoko.

Can you find Noah in this picture?

Noah quickly became the star of the show and everyone was impressed with his kora playing and singing. After we spent some time hanging out with all the neighborhood kids and the family, Famara took us to his room and played kora with Noah for a couple of hours. It was so beautiful to listen to and watch! This was the last day of our trip and a perfect ending to an amazing vacation!

In Search of Lost Flip-Flops and Family-Part One

As most of you know, there was much information and advice I tried to gather from friends and folks around the globe before departing on this year's adventure. And now that I am in the midst of it all, it is amusing to think back on what has become the most useful and important of all. One of the most important questions I asked was, "What kinds of shoes should we bring with us?" Obviously, there are many reasons why this is such an important question, so I won't go into it further here. But I will say that without my black flip-flops, (with absolutely no tread left on the bottom, so dangerous that I save myself from slipping 2 out of every 3 times I am in the shower) and Noah without his blue, rubber, worn into the ground flip-flops, our lives here would not be the same.

On our recent trip to the Cassamance (southern Senegal, bordering Guinea-Bissau), with some friends from school, Noah's blue, right flip-flop tried desperately to get away...twice! We swore that if we couldn't retrieve it after the second escape, we would write a story about how it wanted desperately to live a new and more authentic Senegalese existence. Although it ended up back in the family, we couldn't help but make up its story anyway. Perhaps Noah will share it sometime in another entry.

The first time it tried to get away, we were in a small motorized pirogue, (traditional boat carved out of wood) riding on the Cassamance River through the mangroves, looking at the astounding variety of birds who were on their migration route. Noah decided to wash his flip-flop off by leaning over the side and dragging it through the water. Before any of the 6 of us knew what had happened, the captain had seen the shoe release into the water, intent on floating away. He quickly shifted the boat into reverse, keeping his eyes glued to the blue rubber, while the rest of us looked for the unique bird we assumed he had stopped for us to see. Only when he broke a branch from a nearby bush and slid it through the strap, did the rest of us realize why Noah was so panicked. I quickly assured him that if we couldn't retrieve it, we could easily by new flip-flops at the boutique next door to our house (I had seen them hanging in between the peanuts and the salt, just above Nescafe).
No, he clearly wanted blue rubber shoe numero uno back safe and sound and no replacement pair would do. "Don't you see how the kids' flip-flops always fall apart here?" he explained. After a grand applause for the risky but successful rescue, our day continued and Noah put many kilometers on those shoes by sunset.
We visited a traditional animist island and were invited to tour the simple huts of the locals as they prepared their meal for the day. We learned about the many ways plants and found objects are used to accomplish many of the simple, everyday jobs, for which we have an abundance of unnecessary but cleverly designed gadgets and contraptions. Finally, after hunger had set in, we were riding to the second island for lunch. Once we arrived and saw the length of the dirt road we had to walk, we readjusted our energy output and our water intake, not sure we would make it to our destination. But Noah's shoes weren't going to let him down and they keep moving him in the direction of our next meal.
When we arrived at the campment where our meal was awaiting us, we walked inside and admired the simple design of the round structure with an open courtyard in the center and a thatched roof designed to drain the water into the center courtyard where it could be stored and collected for future use. Our minds were distracted by the tour until our stomachs took over and we suddenly realized that the usual wafting smells associated with delicious home-cooked Senegalese rice and sauce were nowhere to be smelled. We completed our tour around the circular camp, hoping to happen upon the kitchen, but once we saw the unplugged open refrigerator with rotting vegetables inside, we began to lose hope.

We heard our guide speaking in Wolof to the woman, who was melting into her seat from the heat of the day as well as her lack of activity, and began to realize that their raised voices were not the usual sound of communication in this foreign language. It was clear. There was no food for us. "Peanuts?" we asked, hoping for a bit of protein from the most common food available. But all they could offer us was mildly chilled beer and sodas. We weren't about to turn down what was about to become our lunch and we had a long boat ride back to Ziginchor.

After out semi-satisfying lunch, I walked over to the little boutique to see what I could scrounge up to feed Noah. There was bread, but no cheese. There was mayonnaise, but no chocolate spread. There were anchovies in a can. No luck. As I walked away, I smelled something grilling and around the corner we found a woman roasting peanuts, the crunchiest, freshest peanuts with salt that we had tasted yet (and it wasn't just because we were starving!).
With satisfied stomachs full of peanuts and more in our backpacks for later, we set off for continued adventures. We came to the local school, which was closed, but being a group of teachers (and one student) we wanted to see more. We tried to stick our noses through the wooden slates on the locked doors to see what we could but was easier to look through the metal barred windows. The kids playing football (soccer) on the sandy field were confused by our fascination by the simple, barren classrooms. When we suddenly found a room that hadn't been locked, we quickly went inside to absorb every detail we could. I sat at the teacher's desk and imagined what it would be like to teach a room full of forty or more students with little paper and less pencils. The maps of Senegal and surrounding countries, which were hand drawn on the chalkboard, were exquisite and the numbers written in various colored chalk with their French spelling in cursive where eye-catching.

The children had interrupted their game to come stand in the doorway and watch as the Toubabs explored the school. As we left, we tried to close the door, hoping that we didn't give the kids any ideas about ransacking the schoolroom. The children ran back to the field, kicking the ball with their flip-flops and yelled to Noah, "Hey, little Bob Marley!"

The ride back was cooler and relaxing. The spotting of a group of pink flamingos in the distance revived us as we made our way back to shore in time for sunset and a delicious dinner of fresh grilled fish with kora music playing in the background by one of Noah's distant, yet instant, family members.

Friends, Family and Fun on Goree Island

This was by far our best weekend yet! On Saturday we went to the American ambassador's house, which is presently unoccupied because a new ambassador has yet to be assigned here, so the house is being used by the American embassy for various events. It was a potluck, which was so great because we got a taste of familiar food from home! The Senegalese don't really understand the concept of "potluck," so it was funny to them when I explained that the guests were bringing the food and it was not offered by the hosts.

At the end of the party a couple of break dancers who were hired showed up as we were leaving and we went back in. Noah ended up dancing with them and has decided that he wants to start taking classes with one of the guys.

On Saturday night I attempted to go out dancing to a salsa club downtown, but at 2:30 am when the owner kept telling us that it was still early and the people would be coming, we decided to head home. There was a great live band playing Senegalese style salsa, but not many folks with whom to dance. We'll try again next week! It's great having a roommate because I can leave Noah with someone he knows and likes and don't need a babysitter, plus places don't get started until 1 or 2 in the morning, so he is sound asleep by that time (the problem is I usually am, too!). I found out that there is a French guy here who teaches Cuban salsa and even Rueda, maybe I'll give it a try!

On Sunday we headed to Goree Island with our friend, Almamy. I found out about a capoeira (Brazilian martial arts done to singing and drumming) group on the island that practices Sunday afternoons, so we wanted to check it out for Noah. Also, it was my first time to the island. Noah had been there a few weeks earlier with his dad.

We took a taxi downtown to the port (about 1/2 hour from our house). We thought there may be extra ferries running because it was the day of the Dakar to Goree swim, but when we got there, we were early and had to wait an hour or so for the 4:00 boat.

Once we got on the boat, we saw one Senegalese with a bidimbou (a Brazilian instrument played for capoeira). Our friend asked if he was going to the class and he said that he was and he would show us where to go. The boat ride was great, but the sun was beating down hard!

It took about 20 minutes to get to the island. It is beautiful when you first see it. All of the building are painted in earth tones of reds and yellows.

As the boat was docking, our friend, who we were with, saw one of his spiritual leaders, from the Bifal sect of Islam, standing on the dock. He quickly got some coins to give him and asked me to take a picture of him with this man. As I took the picture, all of the people around started yelling at me to stop. I felt terrible that perhaps I had violated something sacred to these people. When Almamy (our friend) got up and came toward us, the people around me suddenly started apologizing (all of this is happening in French and Wolof) to me. They said that they thought I was just a tourist and did not realize that I was taking a picture for Almamy and now it was no problem at all! I felt much better!

From left-Tarang, 18, the youngest son of Fode's parents, Bifal, a drummer and dancer and our friend, Almamy

As we left the dock and started walking down towards the beach where everyone was swimming, we heard someone shouting, "Buba, Buba!" (Noah's middle name that he uses here-pronounced Booba) Noah followed the voice and spotted his father's youngest brother, Tarang, waving at him. Noah took off running!

We knew that three or four of Noah's uncles and many of his dad's friends live and perform on the island, but we didn't think it would be this easy to find them! They were so happy to see us (especially Noah) and they took us on a speed tour of the island, as we made our way to the top for the capoeira class.

A bunch of adorable kids teasing and playing with us as we passed.

This is the area where the artists stay and where Noah's dad lived when he was young. There are both visual artists (sculptors and painters) as well as musicians and dancers. The man in the picture has the same name as Noah's dad, Fode, and they played kora together on Goree when they were young boys.

There are many old remnants and reminders of the tumultuous history of Goree's past. It's other name is "The Door of No Return," because this is where many slaves passed through or were held on their way to the New World.

The exciting and hot moment of discovering capoeira in Africa!

Noah playing with the teacher. He studied with one Brazilian master who spent time on the island and then traveled to Brazil to refine his craft.

Another unexpected success of the day was the arrangement of kora lessons for Noah. His uncle, Tarang, will come to our house every Saturday and spend the weekend with us in order to give Noah kora lessons. His uncles gifted him with this kora to take home in preparation for his first lesson this coming Saturday. (Noah is also taking jazz piano lessons twice a week and African drumming lessons once a week at school)
This picture was taken after a great Senegalese meal of Yassa Poulet (grilled chicken and onion sauce) at a restaurant on the beach at sunset. We were waiting in line to get on the ferry home. The moon was almost full and shining on the water behind us.

The ferry ride home was packed! We had to stand the whole way. The capoeira group happened to be on the ferry as well and sang Brazilian songs the whole ride back. Of course, everyone joined in! Noah entertained the crowd on the top deck with his dancing and "kora playing."
When we arrived, the group made a rhoda (a circle) and started playing. Noah eagerly joined in, but this was no class, this was the real deal!!

Noah getting his nose checked and massaged after getting a slight kick. It's all fun and games...

He was back in the circle for more after no time and a powerful ending to an amazing day!