The lesser things

I spend my afternoons at the gas station at the end of the street, a mini-mart where you can buy corn flakes and imported beer. The store has plastic tables where customers sip café au laits and eat pizza ordered from the counter. There is wifi and a generator, which means a way to charge computers whose batteries have run dry in our days without power. Needless to say, the place draws quite a crowd.

Outside, too, there is a multitude. Young children who carry begging bowls made from tomato tins. They ask you for cent francs—100 CFA, which doesn’t buy much in Dakar. A few spoonfuls of yogurt. Four pieces of candy. With 300 CFA you can buy a mayonnaise and French fry sandwich. With 500 CFA, the man at the sandwich stand will add a fried egg. He leaves his empty ketchup containers in a tree beside the stand at night. The begging children fish down the plastic jars and pass them around. They scrape their hands against the inside walls and lick the residue from their fingers.

When I leave the mini-mart, I hand out my change until I am depleted of 100 CFA coins. It’s never enough. Each week there are new faces demanding cent francs. Lifetime staff in the international aid community talk of “compassion fatigue,” the way working in ceaseless poverty wears on them over many years. I’m not there, but my own reservoirs have run dry by the end of each day. I’m sorry for the children I see outside the gas station; I watch them watching the man next to meet eat a slice of pizza. My heart breaks for the woman who sings to her baby beside the road, displaced people who have no place to go. I’m sad for the teenager who sells cell phone cards outside the ice cream store. I can’t imagine he makes enough coins in a day to buy a cone. I pity, too, the lesser things, the new litter of kittens who lived in the trash pile on the corner. I watched them die, one by one, until there were none left. My roommate and I fed a kitten from an earlier litter for a while. We debated bringing her home, but we know we are both leaving within the year. Then what would we do with her? Now when we look for her, she’s no longer in the usual spot. I like to think some kind soul took her home, but it’s hard to fathom in this place.

Report from Abidjan

An article from the UN’s news service agency on the violence in Ivory Coast, where the Rotary West Africa District Conference is scheduled for April.

ABIDJAN, 8 March 2011 (IRIN) - As reports by Human Rights Watch and formal documentation from the UN Human Rights Commission decry the worsening human rights situation in Côte d’Ivoire, many Ivoirians IRIN spoke with in Abidjan are appalled by recent acts of gruesome violence.

“We are seeing any and all forms of killing,” said an Ivoirian human rights activist who requested anonymity. “It’s sheer horror we’re living here… People are being burned alive and hacked to bits with machetes,” he said, adding that the violence seemed to be spiralling out of control.

Lassina*, 29, a cybercafé manager in Avocatier-Abobo neighbourhood (part of Abidjan’s Abobo District), said he has twice seen people burned alive. The latest incident he saw was on 5 March. “I heard cries from outside. When I went to see what was going on, youths were brandishing the burned bodies of two gendarmes like trophies.

“Not only is the country far from exiting its crisis, we have to deal with horrifying scenes like this,” he said.

The “betrayal” of Ivoirians’ hope that the 28 November second-round presidential election could be a first step on the road to peace and stability is contributing to the level of violence, said Rinaldo Depagne, senior West Africa analyst with International Crisis Group.

“That door was slammed shut; hope has vanished and now there is an absolutely dreadful state of desperation,” he told IRIN. “This degree of violence is quite unusual for Côte d’Ivoire; we didn’t even see this during armed conflict in 2002 and 2003 [the height of fighting following an armed rebellion].”

With such open displays of violence, Fatoumata Diaby, a 32-year-old housewife in Avocatier-Abobo, said she worries about what children are seeing. "I am shocked at how young girls and boys are witness to these horrific scenes... Human dignity crumbled in this country some time ago now. I wonder whether human life even has any meaning for Ivoirians any more. People are so thirsty for vengeance that they will slit someone’s throat without giving a damn."

Fabrice Danon, 35, a mason in Anonkoua-Abobo neighbourhood, is among hundreds of Ivoirians who have set up community self-defence groups in the past two months. He said one night armed men came and attacked his post. “They shot in the air, then attacked us. The head of our group was shot; as he was dying the armed men slit his throat with a machete. His body thrashed about like an animal’s. I was beside myself. Things have completely crossed the line."

In Abobo-Dokui neighbourhood, 33-year-old bus driver Maurine Koné said he could not believe he was in Côte d’Ivoire when he saw his nephew’s brutal murder. “Youths pulled him out of a bus and slit his throat. When I saw his body my legs gave out on me. This human slaughter is inexplicable."

He added: "But the moment of revenge is near. One must be patient.”

Asked whether the violence is at a point of no return, the human rights activist said it is still possible to avoid the worst - but only with a commitment to a peaceful settlement on the part of Alassane Ouattara and Laurent Gbagbo. He said for now few people apart from some religious leaders are actively calling for calm, out of fear from both sides.

The problem, he said, is there is no neutral mediator. “Given that the UN and the international community have declared unbending support for Ouattara, they cannot move things towards peace because they are partisan.”

He said on the one hand the Ouattara camp does not think it has to back down, because they have the categorical backing of the international community; on the other, Gbagbo will not yield either, as he holds the reins of power. “And keep in mind, the electorate is split just about 50-50.”

Meanwhile, the sharply partisan media carry diverging accounts of the violence, depending on who is attacking whom.

“Moral collapse” screamed the headline of a pro-Ouattara newspaper on 7 March, for an article about women reportedly shot dead by security forces during a march calling for incumbent Gbagbo to step down. A pro-Gbagbo paper on the same day carried the headline: “Alleged murder of women in Abobo - a grotesque fabrication”.

(*not his real name)

Read the article online here.

More unsettling news

A second man set himself on fire in front of the presidential palace last Thursday. Local papers say Senegal is poised for an uprising like the ones sweeping North Africa and the Middle East, and many of us are holding our breath here in the capital.

Worrisome news from Dakar

Man dies after setting himself on fire in Senegal

BY RUKMINI CALLIMACHI

ASSOCIATED PRESS

DAKAR, Senegal -- A man who set himself on fire in front of the presidential palace in Senegal on Friday died from his wounds hours later in the latest self-immolation on the African continent.

Witnesses said the man stood on the sidewalk and doused himself with a flammable liquid, possibly paint thinner or gasoline. It was not immediately clear why he set himself alight, but Abdoulaye Loum, who was at a bus stop nearby when the incident occurred, said the man was holding a piece of paper in his hand which he held up as the flames swallowed him.

The man collapsed to the ground and was rushed to a nearby hospital for treatment. A statement read on state TV late Friday said he died at the capital's main hospital.

A private radio station said the man was a soldier and that he was wearing his military fatigues when he set himself on fire.

This self-immolation comes on the heels of similar protests in Tunisia, Egypt, Algeria and Senegal's neighbor to the north, Mauritania.

Tunisia's mutiny that ousted President Zine El Abidine Ben Ali was touched off by a struggling 26-year-old university graduate who lit himself on fire after police confiscated his fruit and vegetable cart in December. Other self-immolations then quickly spread elsewhere in northern Africa and the Middle East.

Senegal is a moderate Muslim nation with one of the most established democracies in the region, but the country is facing its worst power outages in a decade and the cost of living has spiraled. There is growing discontent over octogenarian President Abdoulaye Wade's attempt to run for a third term, as well as the increasing influence of his son.

A U.S. diplomatic cable published by WikiLeaks warned that father and son appeared to be "preparing the way for a presidential dynastic succession."

An hour after the incident, traffic had gone back to normal. Pieces of the man's burnt clothing lay in a charred circle.

Read the story online.

Christmas in Dakar

My mother flew from Southwest Florida to West Africa to spend Christmas and New Year’s with me in Senegal. We visited the enormous African Renaissance statue, whose $27 million price tag has caused controversy in a country that still lacks basic infrastructure. We drove outside of Dakar to visit the animal reserve at Bandia, where giraffes munched on leaves alongside our Jeep and water buffalo lounged in the shade of acacia trees. We saw rhinos and zebras and antelope. Oh, my. And, of course, we ate—boiled shrimp, grilled fish, chicken stewed in sauce. Dakar offers many edible delights, and we tried them all. We celebrated the New Year downtown, welcoming 2011 in a crowd of international and Senegalese friends.

In Photos - Tabaski

Today we celebrate Tabaski, a Muslim holiday called Eid al-Adha outside of West Africa. Tabaski commemorates Abraham's willingness to sacrifice his son, and Muslim families in Dakar slaughter a sheep in honor of the religious holiday.

The family where I lived for my first two weeks in Dakar invited me to join them. I missed the killing in the courtyard, but I was there for the butchering and the bloody clean-up. I also got to taste a grilled delicacy - sheep testicles. Some photos from Tabaski and the neighborhood.

Poverty in Senegal

I am a feeder. If I eat a mango, I slice off sections for the people around me. I buy beignets for my study abroad friends, and I bring madeleines to the office to share. There is happiness in the simple pleasure of giving food.

My feeding also extends to animals. In the villa where I live, the madame keeps a black Labrador, a silly thing that rolls on her belly the instant she meets you. But she has a deep bark that keeps the curious away. In the mornings, I tuck away a portion of my buttered breakfast roll, and when I come home at night, I feed the bread to Blackie. She wags her tail and lets me rub her belly then sneaks off to wolf down the snack.

On a recent morning, the bakery was out of the usual soft rolls, so I bought a baguette instead. That night, Blackie and I went through our usual routine: Wag, belly rub, bread. She crept away to the dark backside of the house with the dry baguette hanging out of her mouth.

I was boiling water for tea the next morning when the girl who cleans the villa stepped into the kitchen. Her name is Rama, and she is 15. When I wake in the mornings at 7:30, she is already at work sweeping the courtyard. She scrubs the tiles while I eat breakfast. When I come home in the evenings, she’s chopping onions or washing the laundry in large plastic tubs. I bumped into her once at night, asleep in the kitchen. There are four unused beds in the villa—bedrooms for when the madame’s children visit from France and Canada—and yet Rama sleeps on the floor.

I pulled the tea kettle from the gas burner, and she stood in the doorway.

“I saw you gave the dog bread last night,” Rama said.

I thought: busted. I wondered if she would chastise me for feeding Blackie people-food.

“The next time you have bread left over, you shouldn’t give it to the dog,” she said. “Wrap it in a bag and save it for me.”

I looked at her, and a hard, tight knot formed in the back of my throat.

“The madame gives me money every day, but it’s not enough for breakfast,” Rama said. “I don’t eat in the mornings.”

I thought of all the times I sat on the patio with my tea and roll while Rama swept at my feet. For her day’s toil, from sunup until after sundown, she earns just enough to cover her evening meal. In a country where almost 50% of the population is unemployed, the madame knows she can get away with paying those rates. This then is the face of poverty in Senegal. Not because there is not enough—in this household, there is plenty—but because those who have enough refuse to share with those who don’t.

I asked Rama if she wanted me to buy her breakfast. She lowered her eyes to the counter and nodded her head in a quick jerk. I bought her a roll that morning and the next one, too. But I’m moving out of the villa soon, and Rama will be back to fending for herself.