savagebeasts

A Belgian Farewell at the Sorano Theatre

A few weeks before our summer departure from Dakar, my fashion designer friend Jo Lacour called.  Phone calls in French are always difficult for me to understand, and, as David Sedaris has described in a brilliant New Yorker essay, sometimes you just say, "d'accord," or o.k., even if you haven't gotten all the details (in his essay, he ends up in his underwear in the wrong waiting room).  Jo is a rapid-fire speaker anyway (read:  it's not just my inadequate French), so what I got was that she wanted me to be in a fashion show, she said the words "haute couture," "Sorano Theatre," and told me to go for a fitting at, what I swore was 18 "Clinique de la Madeline," a local clinic downtown where our friend's baby was born.  I got the dates and agreed to help.

Then, of course, I had to ask Michael to call back to get the place for the fitting.  My French aside, I wasn't totally off base. There was a big fashion show, with a haute couture designer who lives in Brussels and has stores in Istanbul and Rome.  She teaches fashion at a design school in Dakar and was putting on a show for a going away party being hosted by a Belgian couple at the Sorano Theatre (this is the big national theater).  I was to go for a fitting at the Belgian embassy, number 18 on the street just down the block from Clinique de la Madeline.  Ah, those details.

The designer's name was Feridee (I don't know if I've spelled it correctly, pronounced fair- ee- day), and she is quite professional. I was one of two white women asked to participate because of our skin color -- Caucasians could see that they, too, could wear bright African fabrics -- and because we'd modeled before   The other model whom I knew, Nathalie, is a tall, thin blond French woman who is in the military but not serving in Dakar because only her husband has a job.  She had been in fashion shows before.  We each showed up for the fitting, tried on dresses and hats and were told to arrive on the morning of the show for a rehearsal.  All the other models for Feridee were strikingly beautiful, young Senegalese women (I could have been their mother, in that culture, their grandmother).

The show was to begin with the students showing their collections.  Feridee's models were the finale.  So, we rehearsed and were told to arrive at 5:30 p.m. for a show scheduled to start at 8 that night.

This was the big time.  There was a waiting area off the stage with a t.v. monitor.  Small rooms in the back held the models.  An excellent Senegalese musician -- who did rap in Wolof, funk, African-influenced rock and roll -- followed us.  The halls were filled with the students, admiring and tugging on each others' clothes, touching up make-up, waiting nervously.

So, we waited and waited.  It was hot, no AC.  The young Senegalese women, who were professional models,spent hours applying make up.  A t.v. camera filmed (I was interviewed and had to explain -- in French! -- that I wasn't a designer, just a lawyer).  There were designs by men and women.  Most of them brightly colored, some using traditional fabrics.  They were daring, bold, sexy, beautiful.  And we paraded for our five minutes.  Of course, we started late, 45 minutes late.  And we stood on stage while I think 45 minutes of good-byes were said by the couple leaving (I hadn't eaten, was hot under the lights, and eventually sneaked off the stage because I thought I would faint).

As I had arrived early, I got to watch the band rehearse.  I called Michael and told him it was worth coming just to listen to the music, and he eventually came with a friend who is a teacher at the school.

So, here is a taste of the fashions.

End of School, Back in the U.S.

The school year ended in such a flurry of activity that I haven't written on the blog.  And now Rachel and I are in Austin, Texas, seeing friends, but more on that later.

First, a summary of the big events at the end of the school year.  

I decided it was time to serve on the school board of the International School of Dakar (ISD) and was elected as a new member.  Not only am I now on the board, but I am also the chair.  So, I've been getting emails about the leaky roof on the music building, someone signing the check for the new car for the director.  I've started a column in the newsletter and since I've been traveling, have been reading handbooks about being on a school board (I am already in my word-parsing mindset, trying to explain to people the difference between confidentiality and discretion).  

As this was happening, Salif's ACT scores arrived.  Not good enough.  I talked to coaches in the U.S. about junior colleges.  I learned that Senegalese basketball players go to prep schools in the U.S. but in the two weeks I had couldn't find a prep school for tennis.  A friend introduced me a wonderful U.S. Army colonel, the defense attache, who is a Morehouse graduate, one place where Salif is looking.  One Saturday, he met with Salif and told him all about being a "Morehouse man" -- what an opportunity.  (By the way, this man, Col. Dennis, graciously agreed to be the keynote speaker at our high school graduation with one day's notice, when there were problems with the speaker, and he thoughtfully addressed the seniors using a letter he's written to his daughter who is graduating in the U.S.)  Col. Dennis has connections all over the world from Morehouse, and he told Salif that he simple needs to get better scores.

So, Salif is still studying.  He'll finish his baccalaureate July 10. I've posted notices all over Dakar asking for tutoring help (I'm particularly hoping that some teachers at our school or Dakar Academy (a private English-based Christian school) will help).  Salif's dad is offering free tennis lessons in exchange for tutoring.  I'm going to beg for his chance to audit classes at ISD or DA.  And he'll get another shot at the ACT. At this point, I don't know if I'm dangling a promise in front of him, just far enough away that he'll never reach it.  But it still seems like he can grab the golden ring.  

Meanwhile, a website design firm from San Fransisco, Firefly, has volunteered to help 10,000 Girls redesign its website, and I'm the intermediary.  I've already learned a great deal about why websites look a certain way, links to outside sources.  Are we trying to raise money?  Tell a story?  Show videos?  We've developed a 10,000 Girls advisory committee and are working to help the organization run more smoothly. We've filled out a questionnaire; I've learned about "collaborative tools," and we're on our way.

All at the same time, I was in a big fashion show (that for another posting because I've got great photos) and a small one.

Finally, Rachel finished the school year in brilliance, and here I will brag a bit. My sixth grader is definitely a tweenager, playing sports, the piano, but also now chatting with her friends on the computer.  She won a Presidential Award for academic excellence (one of, I think, four in middle school).  She finished 8th grade math inspired by a brilliant teacher who encouraged her how to find different ways to solve problems.  She drafted creative and, according to her teacher, "macabre" works of fiction.   She produced a video for the high school girls basketball team.  

And she once again played elegantly and passionately in a piano concert.  This year, I asked if we could have the concert at the American ambassador's house (finding good venues with good pianos is a challenge, and as we don't have an ambassador these days, it seemed like a way for the Americans to share their riches). Graciously, they moved the baby grand piano back onto the terrace, and we financed setting up chairs and an extra security guard.  Rachel played a jazz piece and Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata." In all the concerts before, she's always composed a piece, but she said that she now doesn't have the skill to compose at the level that she can play.  She had learned the "Moonlight Sonata" on her own to surprise her teacher; it's amazingly challenging for small hands.  One friend gushed that Rachel seems to "channel" the music, and that word seems apt.  Her body caresses the piano, not just the keyboard.  She plays softly, gently and moves gracefully toward the piano.  She sways.  When she is forceful, her forearms and fingers powerfully strike the keys, and you can see definition in her muscles. There is an intensity and connection in her playing that captures the audience.  As I imagine her future, I only hope that she never loses her love for the piano.

Finally, there were endings.  People leaving.  All of which is part of this international life.  We had weeks where we were invited to parties almost every night.  Good friends have gone to Russia, Sweden, Burkina Fasso, Lebanon, the U.S.  Rachel's class is losing two boys and one girl:  one boy returns to Sweden; one boy (who has been in her class all the time we've been in Dakar) is going to the French school, Mermoz (a true loss for the school); and one girl is going to Uganda.  Most of these children have said good-bye before, and the students in Rachel's class wrote speeches about their parting friends.  Rachel and her friend wrote a tribute to their friend Nadia.  

The last week was full of tears.  And the fact that there is so much love and tenderness at ISD is one thing that makes it special.  As I arrived at noon on the final day of school, I saw Pauline Sow, a tiny third grader standing alone wiping the tears from her face.  Pauline is a beautiful girl with a big heart (I've know her ebullient older sisters and mother throughout our years here).  They are Senegalese who've lived in the U.S. and are moving back to America.  When I saw her holding in the tears, I squatted to eye level and gave her a hug.  Pauline folded into my body and started sobbing, her body quivering, then finally shaking.  This tiny girl's emotions overwhelmed me; her sadness was palpable.  I knelt to talk to her.  She'd already heard it all:  that it was alright to cry, that she could stay in touch with people, that these people would always love her.  I kissed her tiny head and asked if she wanted just to sit next to me under a tree, and we sat closely, my arm around her small body, while she wept, then sniffled.  Eventually, she walked away to talk to friends.

As I sat next to Pauline, a teary-eyed father emerged, our friend Lars.  Ana and Lars are returning to Sweden after only two years in Dakar.  (They've been such kind people that there are now a set of Senegalese twins named Ana and Lars who were just baptized last month!)  They'd been in their daughter Alice's going away ceremony, and Lars had come outside to escape the weight of the emotions, he told me with tears in his bright blue eyes.  When Alice emerged, in a colorful dress identical to her mother's, she clung to her mother's skirt, crying.

Eventually, Rachel showed up, hugging good-bye to friends.  We shook the left hands of the Senegalese we know -- the improper way to shake, something that must be corrected on the return with a right-handed shake.  And that night, we flew to New York and Dallas. 

At the moment, it all seems so far away.

William Charles Conquest Arrives!

Just as Barak Obama won his final delegates to secure the Democratic nomination, on the other side of the Atlantic, tiny William Charles Conquest was pushing his way into the world.  A  big, strong little boy, with a full head of black hair, he was born in Clinique de la Madeline, a beautiful clinic with extraordinary views of the ocean (where ex-pats have their babies.) His parents, our friends Will and Evelyn Fatou, were exhausted, happy, and proud. 

Fatou is from Senegal, and Will hails from New Hampshire.  He was a Peace Corps volunteer who fell in love with the country and, in particular, with his language teacher.  William Charles will be like many children here -- someonewho understands and speaks different languages, knows and lives tolerance, and is a citizen of the world. 

A Surprise Visit from a Texan

Last week, an email arrived from Pat Love, a friend of my parents who jets worldwide to give seminars on successful relationships.  She had landed in Senegal to visit friends living in Saly, the beach resort.  She would visit town Monday or Tuesday  After a series of unsuccessful emails,.we eventually made a plan for her visit. 

Her friends from Austin drove her the two hours to Dakar.  When they got out of the 4x4, the Texan in Ted was oozing.  He had on Roper boots with a white starched shirt bearing an orange embroidered longhorn tucked tightly into his jeans.  He looked just like guys I went to college with, albeit a bit older.  Yes, he could have been those UT guys, but he had the sophisticated experience of a world traveler who knows the ropes.  He's here working on a gas drilling project.  He and his wife, a warm Italian who grew up in Geneva, were old hands at living abroad.  Pat flowed out of the car in new exotic clothes she'd bought here, beaming.

We went to lunch with us at a favorite place on the beach -- N'Gor restaurant on Almadies -- and on the way home, dropped by Rachel's school for a visit.  Pat enthusiastically asked questions, astutely observed Dakar and our life (like the therapist she is), and flitted away.  And we made new friends in Saly who we hope to see again.   

High School Students Talk Across the Continents about the Environment

Friday afternoon a group of about 20 Senegalese high school students sat in the American Cultural Center of Dakar, waiting for the proper connection to Tukwila, Washington.  This was the 7th annual teleconference, arranged initially by General Mamadou Seck (formerly the Senegalese ambassador to the U.S.) and a former Peace Corps volunteer to Senegal who  is now on the school board of Tukwila Schools (I think her name is Mary Fertakis).  In advance, students from each high school had sent each other questions about environmental issues, and they came prepared to give answers.  (I tagged along with General Seck, with whom I play tennis now and then.)

The connection never solidified, so we stared at two television screens of ourselves, and the students talked into the microphones and listened over the speakers, imagining what their counterparts looked like.  Questions and answers were given in English and French.

The session began with the students in Washington greeting the Senegalese in Wolof, which delighted the crowd in Dakar -- they were visibly happy to hear their local language.  The Senegalese asked the Americans the causes and consequences of global warming, what can be done about overfishing, how to protect endangered species, how to prevent deforestation.  The Americans asked the Senegalese whether they are affected by  desertification, how their living conditions have changed due to environmental problems, whether President Wade's self sufficiency plan would work.  The Senegalese told the Americans that the biggest environmental problem here is over-fishing since the people here eat a lot of fish. 

At the end of the program, the Seattle students described a work of art they made that depicts American qualities, and a student recited a rap song about cooperation between Africa and America.  Then, after beig encouraged by her fellow students, a Senegalese young woman beautifully sang a pop song in English to bravos on the other line. 

The greetings were warm, sincere and heartfelt.  I only wish the students could have seen each other.  So, for the students in Tukwila, here are some photos of the Senegalese students they greeted (the last photo of the lovely young woman is the one who serenaded the Americans!).  Salut from Dakar! 

Sports: Womens' Tennis Tournaments and Junior Basketball

Last week, we competed.  I played in a women's doubles and singles tennis tournament, and Rachel played basketball.

A good friend Mindy put together the group of women, and we met for coffee at Club Olympique (a club where I play tennis, lift weights and take dance classes) and drew names of our partners.  My partner was Wilma Subra, a delightful American journalist here -- and a strong player!  We made it to the semi-finals but lost to the team that eventually won.  Most of us watched the finals last Friday when Cynthia and Sara played excellent tennis and won.  Meanwhile, Mindy got sick in the midst of this and another player hurt her shoulder, so substitutes came in.

The winners were American Cynthia Bertollini (yellow shirt) and Sara Nuttal (white shirt).  They held their painted plates high above their heads.  We had line judges, ball boys, and the club coaches dropped by to watch.  (Gaby, the father of Salif, the tennis player I'm helping, is in the front row of the group photo far left.



At the same time, a singles tournament organized by our club was scheduled.  A lot of us entered the "non-classee" ranks.  (If you make it to the semis in a non-classee tournament, you become "classee," which has nothing to do with your sense of style!)  My first match was against a tall, strong, young Senegalese teenager, whose mere appearance was intimidating.  I think she was about 5'10", sculpted with muscles and with a deadpan expression.  She jogged around the court while I wondered why I had signed up.  She served first.  I broke her serve, and then won, 6-2, 6-4 (I think).  It is amazing how much of a psychological component there is to competition.  I figured out that she didn't have confidence in her backhand, and I just hit to it.

Next, I was supposed to play Mindy, but as she was sick, she had to pass to me, and I faced a 14-year-old with great control and a strong cross-court.  I lost 6-2, 6-0.  The finals of the tournament are this week-end, so I'll try to watch.

During the same week, Rachel played a basketball game against a group of kids who take lessons at Club Atlantique (the American club).  Both teams were boys and girls.  The ISD handily won the match.  Everyone got to play, and almost everyone made a basket.   Rachel's coach, Gaucher (meaning  "leftie") played professional basketball in Italy, so the kids knew zone defense, could dribble and did some graceful lay-ups. 

It was a week of sports.  And this week begins the good-byes.  We had one dinner party at our house as well as three good-bye cocktails just this week. The good-byes begin.

Beached Pilot Whales at Yoff

Tuesday morning a group of pilot whales were beached on Yoff Beach, a beach we frequent often.  Expert divers arrived from downtown from a diving center called the Oceanium.  Fishermen and children helped.  They poured water over the whales and helped pull them back to the sea.  They worked hard.  And they went to bed content after a long day's work.

Unfortunately, the next day, 34 dead whales were found on the beach.  No one knows why they died. 

The photos of the rescue are from a website called Au Senegal.  (Here's the link:  http://www.au-senegal.com/Les-enfants-de-Yoff-au-secours-des.html)


   

Travel to U.S.

School is out in three weeks, and we're just finalizing travel plans.  So, for our friends to know... Rachel and I will be in Austin June 18-28 and July 5-14.  Then, I'll be back in Austin July 30- August 3. 

Michael will be in Silver Spring, Maryland the week of July 4th, and Rachel and I will join him there.

Rachel gets a month of summer camp in Vermont this year, and while she's there, I'll traverse the country:  New York, New Hampshire, Colorado, Texas, and Massachusetts!

By the way, to our D.C. friends, Michael will be in D.C. this week-end.  He's medi-vaccing a Peace Corps volunteer to a D.C. (no, it's not malaria; it's suicidal issues). 

Dak'Art: Pirogues become Masterpieces

Pirogues are the long wooden fishing boats used off the coast of Senegal.  The boats are usually painted blue, white and orange with elaborate decoration and words. 

A Spanish artist took those pirogues, sanded them down to smooth, warm colored wood, and made book shelves, sofas, chairs.  As pictured, they are functional and beautiful.

 

ISD Talent Show 2008

  Each year, the talented students and teachers -- and this year our new director! -- put on a spectacle of dancing, singing, piano playing, and acting.  This year, the girls in Rachel's class danced (she practiced with them but decided only to play the piano).  Teachers sang.  First graders did a rap version of math rock.  The director sang rock music accompanied by a teacher and good friend on guitar.  Some teachers danced African dances accompanied by a djembe (bongo drum) corps. 

Rachel played Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata marvelously (I don't have photos, only a video).

As usual, it was a fun opportunity for people to show their remarkable talents!