An Image of Dakar

Earlier I began a motif of painting an image of Dakar, at least I think I did. But I never fulfilled that promise and now I would like to take a moment to try and share with you just a few of the sensory experiences I had while I was there.

You are walking down a street, random piles of sand and limestone clutter the sidewalk. A few sheep bleat from beneath the tree to which they are tied. Potholes break up the concrete. Brilliant bougainvillea flowers and vines topple over concrete walls and fences. Small shops (boutiques) sell everything you need and there is at least one per block. Occasional stretches of road are flooded with sewage and the stench is strong. Passing houses, the alluring scent of thiouri (a Senegalese woman's incense) wafts out of open windows. Some men are marked by the distinct smell of body odor from a hard day's work in the strong Senegalese sun. A woman's presence lingers with her potent perfume trailing in her path. Beautifully decorated blue and yellow car rapides hurtle down the main thoroughfares with apprentis soliciting clients from their perch at the open back door of the vehicle. Windows reveal women's heads wrapped in beautiful printed fabric with tops and skirts to match. Blue plumes of smoke escape exhaust pipes as automobiles accelerate. Men and women, boys and girls, adults and children clad themselves in traditional boubous, modern Western apparel, or dirty, tattered, old work clothes. Child beggars appeal to you on the street for money or food. The informal economy is thriving with women smelling small food items and men lining the streets selling a random assortment of goods. Time is marked by the five calls to prayer projected from the local minaret. The faint call from more distant mosques echoes that in your own community, with each muezzin adding his own personal touch. Children are heard repeating their Koranic verses. Brotherhoods gather in parks to chant melodic prayers into the early morning hours. Other children come bounding around the corner, sometimes with a soccer ball. Children naturally seem to group themselves by size. There is no direct parental supervision. But there are always plenty of people sitting outside watching the neighborhood's activities. Men brew their attaya (tea) over charcoal fires in the shade. Power outages plague the city and the country, cutting neighborhoods off for hours at a time. Music drifts out of stores, houses, parks, radios, everywhere. People dance. The ocean laps at its shores. Neighbors, friends and acquaintances stop to greet one another and shake hands. The community is strong.

In a nutshell, that is the Dakar I know and love. I hope one day you will see it for yourself.