Teranga ! Why Senegal is super, and sadly not for me #renowned-she-warrior

A side street on the isle of Gorée, just off the coast of Dakar

For those of you who’ve never logged on here before (Welcome 😎 ) I’m a conflict nerd, by which I mean a professional humanitarian peacebuilder. I’m sort of based in the UK, and have spent the last six years working in Central and West Africa, specialising in managing complex peacebuilding projects for international Non-Government Organisations (NGOs). After all, my name originates from Latin, meaning famous fighter, or renowned warrior. So no pressure…… 😆

A few months ago, I received an offer for a post I hadn’t actually applied for – and Shaka Boom – quickly found myself back in West Africa, more precisely in Senegal. I’ve done a number of aid missions in different countries – and stayed in some funky residences: rickety Catholic missions, houses with dodgy wiring, a villa with a swimming pool……This time I moved into an apartment in a courtyard of flowers and palm trees, lit up with fairy lights. This apartment was my temporary new home, just a few minutes from the edge of the ocean. I’d really landed on my feet.

When people – friends, extended family, or drunken acquaintances at parties, ask me “what’s it like, living in Africa?” I struggle to give them a brief answer. Africa is 54 countries (56 if you include the disputed territories of Somaliland and Western Sahara) with crazily different realities. I have lived in just 2 of these countries – the Central African Republic (CAR) and Mali – both sadly better known for conflicts than anything else (Mali does have the magical town of Timbuktu, and her equally enigmatic twin, Djenne, but I’m digressing……).

When I lived in CAR and went to Nairobi on holiday, I felt like I’d arrived in the United States. Kenya does tourists. CAR on the other hand has zero tourists (apart from a few intrepids who make it to the ravishing Dzanga-Sangha National Park to see Western Lowland gorillas and forest elephants, plus the elusive pangolin). My point is that “living in Africa” can mean wildly different experiences: I know just two different contexts, and little else – except Senegal: which brings me back to Dakar.

My new office was on a sandy street in the outskirts of Dakar. The team, expats and Senegalese, were friendly, wise, and quickly introduced me to Thiebou dieune, literally fish (thieb) and rice (dieune), the national plate, served with tamarind sauce.  I liked the Senegalese, a lot: the Wolof word Teranga means hospitality, or welcoming generosity, and it suits these friendly, direct people. They made direct eye contact, said hello, and I was invited to meet families. When not munching fish and rice, visiting, or sat in front of my computer, I began to get my bearings: I was living near a small beach cum fishing village, called Ngor, with its own tiny island of the same name, where you could eat fried fish and chips in a friendly local resto, washed down with a cold Gazelle beer.

The rather larger isle of Gorée, lies 3 kms off the coast of Dhaka, a bewitching UNESCO World Heritage site of pastoral coloured colonial era buildings dripping in bougainvillea, seafront restaurants, and an artisan market where Senegalese women of charm half bully you into buying overpriced trinkets. There are two reasons to come to Gorée: first, the small community of artists who live in concrete bunkers at the top of the (only) hill, and sell brilliant metalwork handmade from recycled materials, plus beautiful handmade bags and screen-prints. The second reason is the Slave House Museum: as the UNESCO website puts it, “until the abolition of the (slave) trade in the French colonies, the island was a warehouse consisting of over a dozen slave houses…… Gorée was at the centre of the rivalry between European nations for control of the slave trade.” I confess that I didn’t go to the museum the first time I visited Gorée – having seen other slave-trade museums and archways of non-retour, I knew it would haunt me for weeks, and merited its own reflective visit. I was also put off by the mainly Senegalese tourists taking selfies at the entrance.

Gorée is just twenty minutes by ferry from mainland Dakar, and has light and clean air, fragrant gardens and small friendly eateries. Dakar has its own charms – the sea, international restaurants, wonderful bakeries, great music and superb dance clubs – alongside some of the worst air quality of any city in Africa. 70% of the cars in Senegal are in Dakar, hacking up stinky fumes from “Africa grade fuel” often sold by European companies dumping toxic products they can’t sell in European markets. The infamous Saharan Harmattan winds also blow in layers of dust and other pollutants, adding to the mix. There are few green spaces in Dakar, except the diplomatic quarter, far from our office. If you like cities buzzing with traffic and late night-life, this place is for you.

But I realised that it wasn’t so much about Dakar: I was really missing ‘the field’: Senegal is relatively stable, Dakar’s crime rate for instance is way below that of, say London. I’m used to working in more chaotic environments, and areas where there’s open conflict. I felt strangely restless in Dakar, unused to being so removed from what I was working on. After working in CAR, then Mali, I know that, for better or worse, I’m at my best when the environment around me is unpredictable and challenging.

I was invited to a strategic workshop in CAR, and flew out to the small capital, Bangui, delighted to be back in situ. We aid workers do a lot of strategic workshops, and ‘capacity building’ and empowering of women. Of course. When I arrived, Bangui was – well, she looked a bit tattier than last time I was here, but the security situation wasn’t too bad. One evening I met up with a young Central African woman called Emma who I had worked with when I lived in Bangui, back in 2013. She is eloquent, informed and opinionated, and still peacebuilding. CAR has been screwed over, then largely abandoned, by the so-called “international community”, yet it is not quite a failed state. Because of people like Emma.

After my week in Central Africa, I flew back to Senegal feeling strangely out of my body: for all its frustrations, long hours, nightmare logistics, and bloody awful Internet, I didn’t want to leave the field. I had a sinking realisation that working in a regional office probably wasn’t for me, which was a bloody shame because the team was great, it was an interesting job and there’s a lot to see in Senegal. As I was mulling this over, the week I got back to Dakar, a vicious headache and aching exhaustion suddenly floored me. Overnight I deteriorated, and instinctively knew I was in real danger: the headache was unbearable, my brain began to boil. I was lucky to be admitted to a good private clinic in Dakar, where a kind Lebanese doctor saved my life. “You have the worst kind of cerebral malaria possible” he said. “If you had arrived any later, you would have been in intensive care. Another two days, and you would have died.”

After five days and nights on a drip, I was discharged and came home to England to recover my strength. And yes, being this ill really clarified my need to make a decision. During those ten quiet days at home, I worked it out: I love peacebuilding because of its potential for change, and despite the risks (or if I’m honest, maybe because of them), I’m at my best working directly with communities, because I passionately believe in the power of community dialogue. I returned to Dakar, and quit my job. Just before leaving my post, I was invited back to Bangui, to deliver a training. I flew back there for another week (with a lot of Malaria meds) prophylaxis), spent a week in northern CAR with a great team, and knew I had made absolutely the right decision.

I’m now back in England, looking for a new field post, and feeling strangely uplifted by the whole experience: my employer has been very understanding, and it is so good to know what you want, and to have the freedom to pursue it. I have fully embraced my conflict nerd-ness, and am going back to the field very soon to try to live up to my #renowned-she-warrior origin: which is quite a challenge, but as you also say in Latin, “Fluctuat nec mergitur”……

So what would you do with €700 million?

I love cathedrals: the spaciousness, the stone flag floors and rising columns, archways and sensual stained glass. The echoes of history, walls soaked in hymns and chanting, the overall aura of something sacred that often makes me want to kneel and pray in gratitude for everything I have. Whenever I go to a new city, if there’s a cathedral to be visited, I’ll be there. Notre Dame is (was, will be again) a glorious and exceptional, icon-filled national icon, constructed back in the mid 12th century, and completed by King Louis V11 in 1345.

But, I confess I shed no tears as it burnt. Because like every other cathedral in the world, it is a beautiful shell, and though I don’t doubt it’s deep religious symbolism to many Christians, and non-Christians, people are far more important than any structure however beautiful or awe-insipring.

Or are they?

According to hot-off-the-press news sources, €700 million has already been pledged towards reconstructing Notre Dame by some very rich and famous businessman, including Patrick Poyanne, CEO of French oil company Total, who’s pledged €100 million. This hefty donation follows on from Paris mayor Anne Hidalgo’s €50 million donation, whilst L’Oréal and the Bettencourt-Schueller Foundation has committed €200 million. The whiff of irony here is two-fold: first of all, this list of those with deep pockets full of readies makes no reference to any forthcoming dosh from the Catholic Church itself, which given the Church is worth an estimated $10-$15 billion (its Italian stock holdings alone run to some $1.6 billion says Time Magazine), does make you wonder why it isn’t coughing up for these repairs.

Secondly, these donations could be doing a hell of a lot more than paying for the reconstruction of a mediaeval Catholic cathedral owned by the French Ministry of Culture. Such as supporting some of the 68.5 million estimated refugees across the world, including some 4.39 million displaced across Europe. Having recently spent several months working in a refugee camp on the Greek isle of Samos, I know what conditions are like for some refugee communities in Europe: it is shocking and haunting to see people surviving in squalor (wet tents, no toilets, no access to showers, vital psychological support services, nor any vision of a future) in Greece. A fraction of €700 million would utterly transform the lives of thousands of displaced individuals, including unaccompanied children, some of whom were sleeping under trees outside the camp in Samos, without even a tent to shelter them.

And then there is climate change, or rather climate catastrophe. According to the Climate Disclosure Standards Board (CDSB) the costs of adapting to climate change in ‘developing countries’ could rise to between US$280 – 500 billion. That’s a fair whack more than it costs to repair a cathedral, and would be of a lot more benefit to most people in this world. We are all contributing to climate degradation, though some much more than others. At the end of 2015, Total (now donating €100 million to Notre Dame) was fined more just £1 million for safety breaches that led to a potentially catastrophic leak at the Elgin Gas Platform in the North Sea. According to the Guardian newspaper, between 2000 and late 2012, at least 4,123 North Sea oil leaks were reported, and just seven fines were issued to oil companies during the same period. Which really scrapes the barrel in terms of corporate deterrence.

The World Economic Forum, in its recent Global Risk Report says that for the third year in a row environmental risks represent the greatest threat facing the world, ranking three out of five in terms of (impact) likelihood. Climate mitigation strategies cost money, and as Extinction Rebellion are showing us, we cannot afford to ignore the catastrophe towering in front of us that is of our own making.

So, what would you do with €700 million? Support refugees, build climate adaptation mechanisms for all our futures, or rebuild a mediaeval cathedral despite the awesomely rich Catholic church? Jesus himself was a fierce iconoclast who lambasted the temple rulers for hoarding wealth: in terms of Notre Dame’s potent religiosity, the most symbolic act of all would be to give these donations to those who need them the most.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Better Story, and why Samos Volunteers needs people like you

A refugee camp, especially if you've never been to one, probably sounds like hell on earth: crammed with unwashed, desperate people living in flimsy, flapping tents, surrounded by insufficient, filthy toilets, human waste, mounds of stinking rubbish, … [Continue reading]

Self-build for refugees, a sobering tale of desperate innovation

I'm in touch with a young man in prison: he has been living in the refugee camp on the Isle of Samos (see photo). He took part, in fact led, some of the recent demonstrations by camp residents against the appalling conditions in the camp. At the same … [Continue reading]

Shreds of human sense: refugees and us on the Greek isle of Samos

I love my family, but most of the best Christmases I've ever spent have been without them, usually overseas, doing something I never expected to be doing. You get my drift. Right now I'm working with Samos Volunteers, on the island of Samos, that … [Continue reading]

Why Samos is still the real story of 2018

After a funky few months based in Cambridge (for those who've never been it's very middle England, full of bicycles  and wealthy looking students) I am off on my travels again: this time to Samos, an Aegean island in southern Greece, separated from … [Continue reading]

Five more years in Mali……and why I’m proud to self-identify as a sheepdog

Recently, Ibrahim Boubacar Keïta won his second term as President of Mali, apparently: I say apparently as the opposition, led by ex-finance Minister Soumaila Cisse, refused to accept the results, alleging serious fraud and intimidation of voters. … [Continue reading]

Au Revoir Mali, and why empty rhetoric is fueling vicious conflicts across the Sahel

After almost two years based in Bamako (hot, dirty, compelling, terrible traffic) I have just left Mali and am temporarily based in the most English city that ever was...... answers on a tacky email postcard please as I haven't had the time nor the … [Continue reading]

55 shades of heat….. in Mali

Heat does amazing things to your body and brain. As Bamako basks (or boils) at over 41°c degrees (that's 106 fahrenheit for the rest of us) I now think of cold liquids (water, beer, water, water, gin, water) all the time. Sweat pearls down my neck … [Continue reading]

Plastic paradise: why recycling and clean fuel can raise the stakes in Mali

Hello again, from sunny Bamako, where the temperature is going up just as mangos are tumbling from the trees.  It's getting hot here and the temperature is going to keep climbing, till it busts 50 degrees Celsius: that, ladies and gentlemen who are … [Continue reading]