Sometimes little things say the most about one place.
Ok, there are not many trees in Senegal (“many” is a relative term, I guess) – and Sweden has a lot of them, so I guess it makes sense to import matches. But why using this particular picture on the box??
Rule of thumb for the international traveller: there are three topics that should be avoided when talking to strangers. These are religion, politics, and sex. Homo/bi/inter/transexual issues touch on all three anywhere -- and I mean, anywhere. So, it would be safer to avoid them whenever possible. However, I think, rules such as this one need to be broken under critical circumstances even if that means exposing one’s ignorance and Westernized thoughts about the three untouchables. But just to be clear, my point here is not that the abuses that are happening in Senegal against the GLBT community are exclusive or Africa, Muslim countries or the "developing world" (geez, do I ever hate that expression). My point is that wherever they happen, they need to stop. Period.
Homosexuality is illegal in Senegal, and reading around this seems to be one of the harshest countries in Africa for GLTB people. Article 319.3 of the Penal Code says that “Whoever commits an improper or unnatural act with a person of the same sex will be punished by imprisonment of between one and five years” and, apparently, a fine to be determined by the judge, who can also increase the time in prison if (s)he considers that those involved belong to a criminal organization (such as a pro-GLTB one). According to BBC coverage that's what happened to a gay couple who married in Dakar last year. The couple decided to celebrate their wedding and do it properly: they even hired a photographer. But maybe they didn't hire the right person, for the next thing they knew their pictures, as well as those of the people who attended the ceremony, were on the front page on every single one of the country's newspapers: they remained there for about two months. Guess who sold them. Following Afrol News, many of the people who appeared in the pictures, or who were in one way or the other related to those who did were attacked, evicted from their homes, fired from their jobs, harassed, or shunned. One man jumped out of a third floor when running away from the police and was arrested and interrogated before receiving treatment for his broken leg; another fled to Gambia, and then to the US when the President of the country threatened to kill any homosexual found within the Gambian territory; the mother of one of the people involved lost her job.
In a different but related series of events, currently 9 gay activists are trying to avoid an 8 year-long prison sentence for unnatural behaviour and belonging to a criminal organisation. They've just presented their appeal before the Dakar Court with the support of several international organizations, including Amnesty International, the UN and the International Gay & Lesbian Human Rights Commission, who are pushing the Senegalese government to relax its grip on the GLTB community. According to the International Organization for the legal protection of Human Rights, probably the international organization most heavily involved in the issue, AI recently submitted a report asking for the country's government to “end incitement to discrimination, hostility or violence against individuals on the basis of their real or perceived engagement in consensual same sex practices and/or gender identity.”
Despite the pressure of the international community, national politics remain ... well, national, and the Senegalese government doesn't seem to be anywhere near willing or able to leave room for the rights of GLTB people. Or maybe it is, and I'm just an ignorant international troublemaker who should show a greater respect for certain rules of thumb. Insha'Allah!!
We’re more or less settled here, and now I have the time and energy to look around and try to understand a trillion things – some of them absolutely stupid, that’s for sure. For example, what’s the best way to get from point A to point B: the city bus, taxi, car rapide o ndiage ndiaye? What can I bargain for, and what can’t I? Why is there trash everywhere? Is there too much current here to swim in the sea? Why is it that the only women on the beach are white women? How do I get to Casamance? Why do bugs bite me so much? Why is rice here “broken”? Who can give me permission to enter the camp that the Red Cross runs in Rosso? What’s the name of the bird that comes to my window every morning? Why do people invite me over to their places at dinner time in Canada, I leave by Spanish dinner time, and nobody has mentioned the possibility of eating? Have I broken a basic curtsy rule – which ones are they, anyways? Where can I find dental floss or whole wheat bread?
And today in the bus: why are people looking at me? Which made me remember something that a very intelligent dude told me a few weeks ago: “sometimes I feel sooooo black, and then I realize: I’m no longer in my neighbourhood.” Oh, yes. I’m no longer in mapped territory, and often remember my grandma’s favourite saying: a stupid (wo)man knows more at her place than a smart one at another’s.
So I’m still settling in. Every sunset happens at the beach listening to the djembe players in front of Teresa ’s office, which makes everything much easier :o)
We’ve found a place to call home in Dakar after 3 days of home hunting. It’s been a real adventure!! Although to tell you the truth, the hunt has helped us see the city from a different perspective, get to know its neighbourhoods and close by cities (Plateau, Sacre Coeur, Guedawaye, Ouakam…) and learn a few things:
1. That Dakar only resembles Andalusian towns if we’re talking about the Plateau in a weekday. The rest of Dakar the rest of the time is simply … Dakar.
2. That renting for the short term in this city is as expensive as renting in any large city in Canada or Spain. C’est cher!!!!!!!
3. That hear one has to bargain for EVERYTHING. For example: cabs don’t have a meter, so one always has to negotiate the price before hand. A typical scene would be this one: you stand in Dakar downtown and flag one of the ten million cabs that pass you by. You insert half your body into the car through the window, and say to the driver: “I’m going to Ouakam, how much is the ride?” And he says: “5,000” – which is enough to take you to the border with Gambia. You raise your eyebrows and say: “are you serious, that’s waaaaaay to much!! That ride’s worth 1,500”. He gets angry and so do you, and while waving your arms you tell your friend: “have you heard that!?!?! 5,000 for that ride!!! (then you turn to the driver and say) I give you 2,000 and that’s it”. He snarks something at you and drives away, but while you’re still talking to your friend about his outrageous price, he switches to reverse and tells you to get into the cab. At that point, both of you are even: you’ve danced the same music together. So, on the one hand, the driver respects you, and on the other, you’ve saved some money. Because a shy toubab is both silly and broke.
(Crossposted in Lunática Canadensis)
A caption reads: some drops come from the same spring. The photo shows Mbene and me, forehead to forehead; it was taken last weekend. That short sentence captures the relationship that I have with this woman, whom I met while doing my research in Granada. We’re the same age, share interests and yearnings, but her projects were truncated by the opportunities that she never had. I look into her eyes and see myself in a different life. Since I’ve met her, I no longer care about scientific objectivity in this project (as if it had ever been possible to be objective in the social sciences).
Mbene is special, but she’s just one of the wonderful people that I’ve met since I landed “on the field” (that’s how anthropologists call the sites where they carry out their research). One of the droplets that have converged to transform into a bay what started as the tiniest of ponds a few months ago. As I walk down this road of interviews and pictures I am meeting people whose paths cross mine in quite a natural way (“hey, mate, how’s life? Got time for a walk?”). People of different age, religion, and country / continent of residence, but with a common goal: to change the world. I know it sounds tacky, but it’s true, that’s what brings us together.
And thus, following the example of one of the people involved in this project who recently dedicated a Gassho to all those around him, today I wanted to thank all of you that have decided to join me in this photographic and personal adventure. Thanks to my tireless companion, Alex, who always supports my crazy projects and forces me to follow my instinct. To my very recent yet very good friend, Rafa Manzano, who embraced this project without hesitating and still believes that one day I will be a good photographer. To Javier Acebal, whom I haven’t even met in person but loved the project from the beginning. To Juanca, who made me feel at home upon my return to Granada, 10 years later. To Elia, for inspiring me. To Juan Mata for his support and encouragement. To the journalists who have talked about this project in the media, for believing it was worth their effort. And to Codou, Mamma Li, Aminata, Mbene, Thioro, Spitou, Agustín, Pintu, August, Khady, Anne, Vivian, Louis 1, Louis 2, Doudou, Amadou, Mamadou, Fatu, Waly, Pape, Back, Maxime, Elisabeth and many more who have opened the doors of their houses and their lives to give me a hand.
Jërëjëf!!!
(crossposted on Lunatica Canadensis)
Ten days left.
I still have no plane tickets, because the university has to get them for me and after two months they keep saying they'll do it tomorrow (which now means on Monday). That doesn't worry me though: the worst that can happen is that I buy the tickets and they give me the money back. I am more worried about the malaria medication that I have started taking today, and with the pill on my stomack am waiting to see if I show any of the potential side effects: allucinations, severe diarrhoea, headaches, etc. Doesn't it sound like a great weekend plan?
Although I haven't left yet, after these last couple of weeks I feel part of me is there already. It may be because of all the time I am spending with Senegalese migrants here in Spain: listening to their stories about Senegal, taking pictures of them that I will then take to their friends and relatives, listening to their music and eating their wonderful rice with fish (thie boudienne). All that is left is to take off and do that which I have been planning for the last couple of years. And, of course, see Alex again :o)
Ten days, Insha' Allah!
(Crossposted on Lunatica Canadensis)
