Poor, but not Cheap

• OK, so scratch that, apparently US$4 doesn’t get you a coke in Dakar either. This city may be poor but it ain’t cheap. I went out on Friday to Club Alexandra in downtown Dakar, and saw a very good live Cape Verdean band play. I played myself while I was in Boston, I had no idea that Cape Verde—as small as the archipelago is—has such a rich and diverse musical heritage, I should have gone out and heard more Cape Verdean music while I was there. The lounge was crazy expensive though. A cup of coke was more than $4. I don’t want to say how much I spent cause it’s embarrassing, but let’s just say that I have gone out and had a good time in NYC for less dough.
• But it’s not just the club, everything else here is super-expensive compared to other peripheral countries. I am starting to wonder just how the poor majority of Dakarois are able to survive. Shit, if tourists feel the pinch I can only imagine how desperate the people who are actually struggling must feel. After all if I can’t afford to buy as much street food and beer as I planned it isn’t the end of the world, if you can’t pay your rent or afford dinner then you really are fucked.
• Saturday night I went to another bourgeois club, The Casino de Cap-Vert. The cover alone was US$12. It’s near the airport in the richest part of Dakar, so I figured I was partying with the elite. I thought I may even run into the president’s daughter, only to find out that there are even bougier clubs. Shit it’s not bad enough that I was spending someone’s monthly salary in a night, apparently I am not spending real dough until I am spending someone’s yearly salary on cover and drinks. Count me out, though, after this weekend I am done seeing how the rich party. My curiosity is satisfied.
• What did I learn? Like bourgeois people all over the Third World, Senegalese love them some damn European culture. I was forced to endure a set of techno by a French DJ to start off the night. After we were done with our, “Let’s pretend to be in Paris, Milan or Brussels” part of the evening, we moved on to the real shit. The DJ hit up that coupe decale, that mbalax, followed by Cape Verdean funana and zouk, more coupe decale and ended with a set of remixes of the biggest club hits in reggaeton and hip hop of the last two years. So I learned that 5o Cent is truly ubiquitous, and that they will never stop playing Daddy Yankee’s “Gasolina.” In addition, I am astonished by the cosmopolitan and worldly nature of the club culture here. In the course of one evening we heard several genres from several diverse parts of the world in different languages. How often do you get that in a club in NYC, ostensibly a world-class cultural center?
• And yes, they really do love themselves here. I saw more people dancing in front of the mirrors again on Saturday. It hasn’t stopped being funny.
  Cats here really know how to party. They go out mad late. Friday night when I asked at what time we were going out, my host sister replied that not until after midnight. She was serious; we left the house at 1 AM, and didn’t get back until 5 AM. I can’t hang. I spent too many years in Cambridge where by 2 AM you are already walking home after a night out, where you shower at 9:30 PM to make sure you can be at the bar/club/lounge by 11 pm. I was still getting used to NYC time when you start getting ready at 11 pm. Here they told me to take a nap until midnight and then get ready to go. Saturday we didn’t leave the house until 1:30 AM, to return at 6 AM. The club doesn’t even open until midnight. The craziest shit was that as we were leaving the club at 5:30 AM there were people walking in!
• I think my host sisters have set a new record for how long it takes a group of women to get ready to go out. I thought no one could beat my actual sisters, but they have raised the art of “getting ready” to another level. I was completely expecting them to come out as transformed human beings, and was disappointed when they just looked like themselves in make-up and heels. It was cool though, cause while waiting for them I watched a bunch of music videos on Senegalese TV. First there were a bunch of low-budget mbalax music videos, which are just hilarious. They look like they are made with someone’s camcorder in their living room and backyard, but the dancing in so ridiculous that they are great in a kitschy way. They remind me of merengue music videos. Then I watched “Made in USA” which is basically BET’s 106 & Park. They play the latest hits in hip hop and R&B, so that I was able to see the video for the new Rihanna song, the new Mya song, the latest Akon song, etc. Here I thought that I would not be able to hear 50 Cent’s latest remix of “In da Club” but no, you can all rest easy in knowing that I will be kept abreast of all of the latest developments in 50’s career, and that I can see R. Kelly every night tell me how he’s a flirt. Felt just like home. Then the worse part was when they started playing French hip hop videos and I could see how hip hop has spread ignorance world-wide. I saw a video where some French 50 clone, was doing some drug deal and then goes to Rio de Janeiro and has a party with a bunch of women and crystal and then gets arrested by the police (the Feds? Interpol? The French? James Bond? Whose jurisdiction?) sent to jail where he writes his girlfriend a letter. I was horrified.