Platanos

• Tired of dealing with the Windows 98 computers at the internet place by my house I decided to venture out to one of the handful of places that the Lonely Planet guide claimed had wireless. My professor and I went to Penn Art, a jazz club and restaurant in Point E a wealthy neighborhood here. Things started off poorly. The bus was detoured because of a student demonstration (there were truckloads—literally—of police in the area), and dropped us off far from the restaurant. We then had to walk to through the streets in the late afternoon sun and by the time we got there were soaked in sweat and thirsty, only to find that there was no electricity meaning we couldn’t go online. I figured I may as well have a beer as I wait. I was disappointed because the beer was only mild. I have many criticisms of the “Land of the Most Self-Hating Black People on the Planet” but no matter how awful the blackouts become there you can always get a freezing cold beer. The government can’t guarantee you a job, a home, health care or education, but anyone with 50 pesos has the right to a beer so cold it will make your teeth chatter. Senegal, however, has been unable to deliver on cold beers; the beer is never as cold as it should be. It has also dropped the ball on plantains. I thought I was going to be eating plantains often here, instead I get teased every time I walk through the market and see mounds of platanos only to find out that Senegalese never eat them. Platanos, they say, are for the ñaks. We met some cool people and had dinner with them. It turned out to be my lucky night. I didn’t know but the restaurant serves platanos. After ordering we got into a discussion about platanos here, and one of my new friends was gracious enough to give me the platanos he ordered in return for my sandwich. The platanos made such sweet love to my stomach. I need to make tostones soon.
• After dinner we went next door, to the jazz club section and heard Suleymane Faye perform. He is an eccentric Senegalese folk/blues musician known for his storytelling ability. The jazz club is great, a much more intimate place than the others I have been to in Dakar. The music was awesome, although I wish I could understand the lyrics. Faye would periodically stop and set-up the story or tell jokes and the small crowd would chuckle at his witticisms. I was glad the day ended better than it started.