Charity

Since being in Senegal I have had to learn to rudely and unmistakably ignore everyone who comes up to me. I hate being like that, but if you pay any attention you will soon learn that your nice new friend sells overpriced statuettes or can arrange your tour of a nearby national park or can help you find a cab or good hotel. In other words, it’s never sincere. Actually, I am sure it sometimes it’s a genuine greeting but it’s so often just a sales pitch that I don’t have the chance to find out (kinda like how most women have to set-up the surface-to-air missile defenses whenever any dude approaches them, even if he just wants to know what time it is). Sometimes it gets murky though. For example, when walking around the island in St. Louis we were approached by a nice, middle-aged Senegalese man who asked us how we found St. Louis. Immediately, I doubted his intentions but he seemed nice enough. He took us around and broke down mad shit about the city and its fishing industry since he was born and raised there and works as a fisherman. After about 25 minutes, though, the truth came out. He confessed that he had come back from asking a friend to borrow money and that he had been unsuccessful and really didn’t want to go home empty-handed, could we buy him some food? Since I fear that my heart is turning to steel here in Senegal since I have to say no to begging children, handicapped people and old folks on the daily I decided to buy him some milk and coffee for his family. But that’s the problem with charity, it depends on the mood of the rich individual. Sometimes I give, sometimes I don’t, depending on how guilty I feel for being a toubab on that given day. Still, charity is not justice and is not the solution to the world’s poverty because few give people give us as much as they should and then it depends on mood, personality and chance. I have tried being consistent with to whom, when, and where I give, but it’s hard to decide who is “worthy” and who isn’t when everyone has a human right to food, housing, education and healthcare, and when really it shouldn’t be up to me or anyone person to decide whether someone gets to eat today or not. Furthermore, I have found that the richer people are the greedier and more tight-fisted they are (duh, like my dad used to always remind me, you don’t get rich by spending) making any “more philanthropy is all the world needs” solutions laughable. I have been impressed by how even the poorest people in Senegal give regularly to others poorer than them. Although that also has a lot to do with the religion with alms to the poor or Zakah being one of the five pillars of Islam (does anyone else think it’s fucked up that Islam assumes that there will always be beggars to receive alms?) it’s still admirable.
Our fisherman friend.

Could have Used Pork and Beer

• Last Sunday I went to a wedding here. In general I think it is condescending and trivializing when tourists try to “go native” and buy “traditional attire” cause they think it is cute or quaint, but I had to buy the boo-boo in order to attend the wedding. The picture is above.
  I ain’t trying to hate, especially cause I think that whole “Clash of Civilizations” ideology and the “War on Terror” are utterly racist and imperialistic nonsense, but Catholic weddings are much better than Muslim weddings. First of all, there is no ceremony. Say what you want about Catholicism—and I have my criticisms—but we know how to do rituals. Meanwhile for Muslim weddings the ritual is a very matter-of-fact legal proceeding at the mosque between the men of both of the families. That’s right; the bride isn’t even there for it. She is represented by her father or brother, no romantic and weepy “I do’s” before the priest. I don’t think you could film 90% of romantic comedies in Muslim countries, where would they climax? I guess her true love can kidnap her while her husband-to-be and father are at the mosque.


• The other problem is that there is no alcohol. Again I don’t defend drinking of alcohol, but a dry wedding? Are they serious? No one danced. In fact, no one did anything. The party was at the groom’s family home and the proceedings were the following: the couple did a formal entrance, we had lunch, the men left for the mosque as the bride changed, when the men returned the couple took pictures and then we all went home. All of that took approximately 10 hours, in the meantime we sat around and waited while hearing the latest in coupe decale, mbalax, zouk and Akon (he is his own genre here, I have come to realize) and then the same big hit singles in reggaeton and hip hop from 2005 and 2006.


• Afterward, I definitely needed a drink so we went to a cool bar nearby. The bar is located at the top of a hostel, Keppaar, owned by a Senegalese man who teaches African history at Howard. He suggested that the quickest way to learn Wolof was to get a dictionary to sleep with. Talk about objectification.