Dibiterie

For about a month now I have been spending a lot of time at a bar/restaurant/butcher place called Pinky's. It's our spot for every champions league game and a popular destination for some low-key fun any night of the week. As we became friendly with the staff there I ask one of the "dibiterie-ers" (butchers/cooks), named Gas, how he would feel about taking an apprentice. He was excited about it as I was and now, a couple nights a week, I spend a few hours there learning and doing all that is behind a dibiterie operation.



The way it works is we start with a few whole, skinned, lambs with everything else still intact. In the afternoon we clean break down the lamb into quarters and selections of the other lamb parts (liver, heart, head, intestines, lungs etc.) all of which is cooked, bought, and eaten. The tools of Dibiterie are a machete for breaking down the whole lamb, a smaller knife to slice onions, a large metal spoon to pull the meat off the grill and a piece of concrete framing steel used like a spatula. The quarters are stored in a freezer with whole chickens, pigeons, and the livers and hearts. All of these are cut up and cooked upon ordering over an open flame with sliced onions.

The other organs, heads and innards are wrapped up in paper concrete bags with oil and put on the grill, away from the direct heat of the fire, left to cook and steam slowly in their own juices within the bags. Meat is bought and cooked (with onions) by the kilo and served with Senegalese mustard (similar to Dijon, but better) and the house hot sauce (the same mustard mixed with crushed, dried red pepper). Special orders include a whole lamb which is first charred on the grill, then rubbed with oil and seasoning mixture, wrapped in paper and put back on the fire to cook for hours in the bag. This was probably the most delicious meat I've had here in Senegal, it was really moist and flavorful and pulled easily off of the carcass.

Senegal vs. Cameroon

March 26 was the most highly anticipated day of my semester in Dakar. It was the day of the African Cup of Nations qualifier between Senegal and Cameroon. For Senegal, being arguably the best team in Africa at the moment, a victory would could establish themselves as such while a loss would perpetuate the recent trend of disappoint and short-comings that have plagued the side since their successful 2002 World Cup campaign.

10h30: I went to the nearby Radisson Blu hotel, where I had a hunch the Cameroon team was staying. (Watching the near endless news coverage of the teams and the match, I managed to recognize the interior of the hotel where they showed the Cameroon team hanging out.) On my way a couple of my soccer buds from the neighborhood tagged along to see if I was right.

10h50: Indeed I was correct. I saw the team bus and confirmed my theory with one of many security guards on the premise, though I was unsuccessful in buttering him up enough to let me into the hotel. After a walk around the gated hotel, we snuck onto the roof of the nearby shopping complex to catch a view at the backside of the hotel where the pool and dining are is. I like to think I saw Samuel Eto’o eating breakfast, though it could have been anybody wearing a green shirt and a hat (that was somewhat Eto’o-esque from what I’ve seen, so who knows).

11h45: I convinced my brother, Munir (17) to eat lunch early and we soon headed off to the stadium. I bought him a ticket so he was my companion for the day (and night).

12h20: Waiting for the 23 bus to Parcelles (a neighborhood near the stadium named, like many other significant Dakar landmarks, after the first president of Senegal).

12h45: On the bus en route to the stadium. Munir has informed me he has no idea where were going so I am now the navigator in charge of determining when we get off.

13h30: Trying to remember from my last visit to the stadium, I make the call. We get off, cross the street and voila! Stade Leopold Sedhar Senghor, we had arrived.

13h50: The area around the stadium is already packed with people trying to get in. Senegalese inefficiency at its finest ensured us a 2 hour wait before we could get into the stadium, which was already half full, two and half hours before kickoff. The wait was made somewhat easier by the characteristic music that follows every sporting event here and a coffee promotion where they were giving away packets of spiced Nescafe.

15h30: We finally wrestle our way to an open spot in the concrete stands and begin the long wait until game time, entertained by the supporters groups already in full swing, dancing, clapping, drumming and singing.

17h10: The teams take the field for warm-ups, the roar of the crowd upon Samuel Eto’o’s entrance actually rivaled the one for the whole Senegalese team, however there was no doubt where their loyalties lay.

18h00: Kickoff was on time and the game was finally underway. The stadium was completely full and under the hot African sun the supporters were giving their Lions of Teranga (the nickname of the Senegalese national team) their all. The first half was somewhat disappointing as neither team was able to find a rhythm and really scoring chances were few. The few moments of excitement came whenever Samuel Eto’o was on the ball and when the ball was passed back to the Senegalese keeper, who had a dangerous habit of dribbling around on coming Cameroonian forwards. The second half was much better, with each team having their own spells, although Senegal was showing why they were the better team (except for some typically Senegalese defensive blunders that almost cost them dearly). Eto’o continued to shine, though without much help, chances were few and far between with most of his impressive work being done away from goal, with one exception that nearly opened the scoring. As the game went on, Senegal’s pressure increased, but the breakthrough was still absent, much to the frustration of the home crowd (which was growing as the minutes drained). Due to a large number of stoppages during the second half, there must have been at least five minutes of extra time (though there is no way of knowing for sure without a clock, scoreboard, announcer, or jumbotron).  It seemed as if this were going to be another disappointment for Senegal as they were unable to make good with their opportunities.

All that was forgotten, however, once Demba Ba hammered in a low cross from the left flank to surely give Senegal the three points. The entire stadium, the stands, everyone on the field went nuts. I can’t really describe much more because the entire place was in a state of chaos, which lasted the last minute of added time and was reignited by the final whistle.  Everyone was screaming, hugging, jumping, singing, just about every celebratory action was being carried out in one way or another in that stadium. We noticed people jumping on to the field so Munir and I battered our way to the front row and without a second thought I pushed the people in front of me aside and jumped the 5-meter drop onto the field, finishing with a not-so graceful roll. 

Munir had no choice but to follow suite and within seconds we were racing across the field yelling and celebrating with the other brave fans who made the jump and bypassed the security and various members of the armed forces. We soon found ourselves in a mob that was shepherded out of the stadium and into the streets where the celebration continued. It was so crowded cars couldn’t move, instead they mounted as dancefloors, booming music, along with every shop that had speakers. We ran, danced, sang, and cheered our way from the stadium, as gradually the group got smaller and smaller. We were then passed by the familiar Cameroon team bus, full of sad faces, before hopping on a kaar rapide (public van transportation) and heading home to share the story with the fam.

Village Lutte

One of the nights of our weekend excursion to Toubacouta featured a traditional wrestling tournament in a nearby village. After having seen a big time lutte live in Dakar and watching them every weekend on tv it was really neat to see where it all comes from. There are some, not many, who claim that traditional wrestling in Dakar has become distastefully corporatized and has lost its “traditional sense”. That having been said, nearly all the same elements that I see in the stadiums of Dakar were present in the ring of this village (the name of which I’ve forgotten). The non-stop drumming and singing and the wrestler’s dancing, acts of intimidation, pre-fight rituals, and charms were all there, though to an understandably more modest extent. The dramatic showmanship of the wrestlers was also a testament to one way in which today’s more popular, “modern” form of lutte has influenced the traditional version.

From what I’ve gathered, lutte was originally a competition between villages in which each would select their best wrestlers to fight for the honor of the village or to settle disputes. The venue in this village consisted of a bunch of sticks connected with rope in a circle that designated the fighting arena.  All around the circle were spectators, drummers, and singers making it a really entertaining atmosphere for the event. It was really hard to follow the format of the tournament due to fact that there were always two fights going on at one time. We eventually gathered that it was the pretty typical knockout format with the winner advancing and the loser, often times, having an emotional meltdown as he had to be dragged out of the arena by companions or supporters. On this night the victor  (being interviewed here) took back to his village a 50-kilo bag of rice.

All in all it is pretty remarkable how similar my two live lutte experiences have been. In spite of the absence of a packed stadium, endorsements, hummers, and prizes equivalent to tens of thousands of dollars, the excitement and passion is still very much a part of the experience. Regardless of venue lutte is something I will watch whenever I get the chance, and something I will certainly miss every weekend when I leave.

Toubacouta

For our first overnight excursion as a group, three of the American programs at our school went to Toubacouta for two nights and to a rural village about an hour from there for one night. Toubacouta is south of Dakar, on the coast in the Sine Saloum delta region of Senegal’s Petite Côte. During our two day stay in Toubacouta we explored the town, visited the local fish and oyster operations and took a pirogue ride through the mangroves.

The brackish, tidal, mangrove environment around Toubacouta makes it an ideal place for fish and oysters to thrive, along with the exploitative practices associated with such bountiful natural resources.  Most of the fishing is done with nets, though I also saw one boat fitted with multiple hook-and-line set-ups. For me, the process of harvesting the oysters from the mangroves (and, recently lines set up for oyster farming), smoking and drying them, and then grinding up the shells to be mixed with water and used as a less expensive alternative to concrete for houses and other local buildings.

Touba

Even though I visited Touba as a part of my religious retreat to Khelkom to celebrate the birthday of the Prophet Mohammad, I feel it deserves a sperate post because I didn’t want it to get lost in my dense report of the Gamou. For me in my attempt to get back to Dakar Touba was both a welcomed beacon of hope that meant I was finally on my way, while also yet another setback in getting back. I am, however, very glad to have seen some of the town and the incredible Mosque. Touba is the spiritual hub for Senegal’s largest Muslim brotherhood, the Mourides. It is home to the Marabouts, who are the spiritual guides within the brotherhood whose status follows a patrilineal line of inheritance. 

Islam is everywhere in this town. Prayer beads were in nearly everyone’s hands, we walked by about 5 Koranic schools and no “normal” ones, and it was the only place thus far where I did not see any soccer fields or anyone playing. Whether that meant everyone was too preoccupied with their religious practices or that that kind of recreation is not permitted I don’t know. It was also hard to ignore the fact that everyone actually seemed to be noticeably well-off, generally and relatively speaking (presumably because of the large concentration of wealth here that is a result of the Mouride-controlled industries all over Senegal including transportation and groundnuts). In addition to being the religious capital of the Mouride brotherhood, it is also the economic epicenter.

The most remarkable manifestation of this wealth is the Grand Mosque of Touba. After having seen countless mosques around Dakar and elsewhere in the world, this huge construction was in a class all by itself. I could not compare to anything I’ve ever seen before, except for the Disney castle at the beginning of the animated films.  The majority of it, including four out of the five towers, is made from some pink marble-ish stone that was imported from Italy I think. The fifth tower (five towers, five pillars of Islam, every part of the construction of this mosque has some meaning) might easily be the tallest single structure I have seen in Senegal and can be seen throughout the city.

If the construction is impressive, the artwork may be even more so. A bunch of domes that make up the ceiling are intricately painted with striking colors and unique designs that are changed on a yearly basis by a collaboration of Moroccan and Senegalese artists.

After a full tour of the entire Mosque, which includes multiple Marabout resting places and a huge courtyard-type open space, we walked around the town a bit, seemingly yet another tactic used by my older brother to waste time because he knew it would be a while until we were finally on the road again bound for Dakar. Sure enough that was the case, and my chaotic and frustrating travel experience picked up right where it left off.

Senegal vs. Guinea

I found out about this game within a week of arriving in Dakar thanks to a chance purchase of a local sports daily paper called Stades, which has become my lifeline in terms of finding out when and where games are being played. Still, however, the amount of information available is still very frustrating coming from America, where there are numerous reliable sources (online, in print, etc.) for finding out information about matches. Here it seems to be very much up to word of mouth or chance. For instance, we only found out the time of the game when we got our tickets, which ended up being the day before because the places listed in the paper never received there share of tickets to sell. Unreliable, unpredictable, and inconvenient are three words that have come up a lot when trying navigate Dakar, especially in terms of sports, transportation and the local university, which is another story all together.

Since we didn’t know exactly how to get to the stadium we had to ask around and eventually got a bus that took us 45 minutes North were the conductor told us to get off and walk the last bit. To my surprise and delight, the stadium soon came in to view; we had made it and were still early enough to catch some of the warm-up. Even though we were about 40 minutes early, our side of the stadium was packed and we had to settle for seats up higher than I would have like. But, we were at midfield and had a great view of the action, much of which was in the stands. There was a healthy Guinean contingent that started off louder than the local Senegalese supports but gradually got silenced as the game went on. For both sides, though, every clap, fist pump or form of acknowledgement from one of the players sent the respective supporters into an episode of dancing, singing, drumming and clapping. We (seven other American students and I) were having a fantastic time along with everyone else, and the game hadn’t even begun yet.

The game took a while to get into any kind of rhythm because of the usual injuries and stoppages that I’ve become accustomed to here in Senegal. We saw the best of Guinea early when they were pressing hardest and riding whatever momentum they could get. They threatened the Senegal goal on occasion but were never able to put one away. Senegal accepted this initial surge and soon took control of the game with their superior passing, skill, and speed almost all across the field, led by three of their international stars: Mamadou Niang, Moussa Sow, and Papiss Cisse (who, like the whole Senegalese team play in Europe with the exception of one keeper who plays domestically and one who plays in the MLS).

Senegal ended up scoring three nice goals, though they could have added more, and hit the crossbar one occasion from a free kick. The first two were pretty good individual efforts from Cisse and Sow and the third was one of the nicest goals I have ever seen live. I’m debating whether to even try and describe it or not because I’m sure I will not do it justice but I will give it a shot because I’d love to try and relive it myself. It started with a mistake from the Guinea right-back, which gave Senegal the ball on the touch-line about a quarter of the way from the end-line. After some nifty footwork and close one-touch passing the ball was lifted into the air, passed with heads, chest, and a heal before it was crossed to a completely open far post where the right winger buried it on the volley into the roof of the net from about 15 yards out. Even though it was a late third goal in a 3-0 victory, the whole Senegal bench cleared and assembled in the corner for a celebration. It truly was a beautiful goal (dare I say Barcelona-esque). After the game I was in a state of euphoria, despite the somewhat daunting task of trying to find my way back home. All I could think about was Senegal vs. Cameroon in an African Cup of Nations qualifying game on March 26^th. Counting the days.

Keur Moussa and Lac Rose

The two highlights of our first group excursion outside of Dakar were Keur Moussa and Lac Rose. Dakar, like probably any African capital, is an incredibly busy place and to call the roads chaotic would in no way be an overstatement. For this reason, if you intend to leave the city, it is imperative that you leave early before Dakar becomes a frustrating gridlock for any form of transportation. We were out of the city by nine and en route to Keur Moussa. It was great to get a little break from the city and gain some perspective by seeing what lies inland of the Cap Vert peninsula.  I have yet to see what rural Senegal is like and this trip was my first taste of that. The notion that Senegal is indeed mostly desert is hard to grasp on the coast and within the city limits but you soon get a feel for it once you head East. There is plenty of land but much of it is, presumably and unfortunately, not fit for any kind of agricultural activity because of the dryness and lack of arability.

Keur Moussa was a stark contrast to the surrounding desert. They have figured out an irrigation system, which is capable of supporting all sorts of plants, most notably fruit. We got an abbreviated tour of the many acres that the monestary owns and uses and the basis for their fruit harvesting and processing program. They make everything from jelly and syrup to juice wine, all made on the premise. In addition to getting a bag of grapefruits I bought a bottle of mandarin-ginger juice and three types of preservative/jelly (orange-papaya, bisaap, and lemon-mandarine-cashew). So far everything I’ve tried from that place has been unreal and I wish there was some way to get it elsewhere, but as far as I know they only sell it at the monastery. The also have a number of goats and pigs, which I assume are there to be eaten or in the case of the goats, milked for cheese (sorry pigs, as far as I know they only produce bacon). Keur Moussa is an inspiring example of how a little ingenuity and dedication can lead to a really special, self-sustaining commune, even in a relatively inhospitable land of Senegal, environmentally speaking. Then there was the mass.

After doing my homework in the Lonely Planet travel book, I was under the impression that the Mass was to be the main feature of a visit to Keur Moussa and, while it was certainly impressive, I found what I have described above to be more noteworthy. The Mass, however, was definitely worth seeing. It was an interesting mixture of traditional and Western traditions (brought by the missionary activity that is behind this whole establishment). There were 3 old white guys and the rest were younger, African monks. The Mass featured singing that one could here in any Western church, however, it was paired with traditional African instruments such as the Djembe drum and Kora (another one of Keur Moussa’s claims to fame). It almost seemed contradictory to me because here was the result of a once oppressive missionary/colonial venture that had morphed into a collaboration of traditional African musical and spiritual expression and Western religious practice. I couldn’t help but think about the story behind this place and whether this was just a remarkable example of such collaboration or whether the history of this religious mission was a little more tainted than what one is led to believe.

On our way to stop number two we really got to see some of rural Senegal. The thing that struck me the most was the number of people not doing anything, presumably because there was nothing to do. While there was a subtle feeling of hopeless despair, most people did seem happy, and I thought that instead of pitying them maybe I should envy or perhaps try to emulate the simplicity of their lives because there is something beautiful in that.

Lac Rose (=Pink Lake) is allegedly one of the chic getaway destination for Dakar’s bourgeoisie, however when we go there I was not sure why or even how that could be the case. It is essentially a long, thin, shallow lake that has about 10 times the salinity of the ocean, so when the light is right it looks pink, apparently (you tell me). 




I thought the most valuable aspect of the trip was seeing a grassroots industry in operation. Much like a fish market, there are men who go out on boats, scrape the mud off the bottom, bring it to shore where they unload their haul into women’s buckets, who take them on to shore where the salt is somehow dried and extracted, and then bagged for distribution. Just down the road our final stop was at an isolated desert where some reckless white people were cruising around on 4x4s.