Thank you, Benjamin

Photos (top to bottom):  The Institut Fondamental d'Afrique Noir;  Marche Kermel;  around Marche Sandaga.

We visited the Institut Fondamental d'Afrique Noir, the Museum of African Arts, this morning, housed in an ornate building in the Plateau area of central Dakar.  First impressions:  the museum was hot, without air conditioning, and dark, without lights.  When I asked that the lights be switched on for the second floor galleries, an attendant explained that the electricity was out for the entire area.  In fact, the power was down in central Dakar throughout the morning, and even in our building when we returned home (though we have the benefit of a generator). 

Without going in detail, the quality of the museum displays were consistent with the general lack of infrastructure here in Dakar, and I assume throughout the continent.  This was not the Louvre, and the collection was modest.  Still, we loved the museum.  Our pace was slow;  there was much to see of interest.  (I will be taking my class to the museum in late September, exploring how historians reconstruct the past through the collection and interpretation of material artifacts.)

From the museum, we headed toward two downtown landmarks:  the Palais Presidentiel and the Place de l'Independance.  En route, outside the offices of UNICEF, we were warmly engaged by a man who recognized us from our Mermoz neighborhood.  Benjamin had arrived early to a meeting at UNICEF, and now, unexpectedly, had a couple of hours to kill, so he picked us up and offered to show us around.  Two hours later, we had wound through Marche Kermel, the more upscale French market, frequented by expats;  Marche Sandaga, a three-level African market;  and an artists' cooperative, where carvings are produced for sale in high end galleries.  Along the way, we were introduced to vendors selling medicinal plants, guided through the depths of Marche Sandaga in candlelight (absolutely surreal), we visited a baobob tree considered sacred by the Lebu (the fishermen of the Cape Verde Peninsula), and a textiles' workshop created to support the children of families lost in a tragic ferry sinking in 2001 (over a thousand were lost).  What a breathtaking tour, the result of a bon chance meeting with a engaging neighbor.  Amazing.

I spoke with Benjamin about my interest in traditional beliefs/practices, and how they intermingle with the practice of Islam in Senegal.  Benjamin admitted that he sees a marabout for certain ailments, and that his being a Catholic does not exclude practicing traditional medicine.  

I must here say that a former Peace Corp volunteer we met last week was of the opinion that Islam is merely a cover for the practice of animism in Senegal.  I was intrigued by the statement, particularly being that there are those who feel that the Senegalese are not Moslem, because of their tolerance and acceptance of traditional beliefs.  

Benjamin introduced Randi and I to a guy who manages the artisans' cooperative mentioned above.  The friend, a Moslem, shared his grigri with us, worn around his waist, strung with several small leather pouches containing either verses from the Koran, or traditional plant medicines, each considered a talisman to ward off evil. 

I asked how one might distinguish between a marabout with real power, and a fake.  They agreed that a marabout was expected to demonstrate his understanding/skill, and that there were certainly fakes.  By example, a grigri designed to protect one from a knife wound could be tested. Benjamin gestured as if he were being stabbed in the chest. (I'll pass on that one.)

Before parting ways, Benjamin pointed us to a third market, Marche Medine, where one could find vendors selling traditional remedies, including, as he explained, lion hide.  So off we went, down Route Quakam, a major north-south road, with it's myriad of vendors, congestion, and vehicle exhaust, headed toward the Medine.  We found what we were looking for:  vendors selling strips of hide, skin-covered skulls (we identified everything from chickens, to monkey, mongoose, cobra, crocodile, turtle, etc.), dried iguana (obviously being born an iguana in West Africa's not a good thing), various feet/paws, and a dozen other unrecognizable animal parts.  Stunning.  

I don't remember washing my hands . . .

What an amazing morning, particularly being that I broached with Randi the idea of hiring a guide to escort us around the Peninsula (and Senegal), rather than traveling hit or miss on our own.  Today was a sensational day, not the least being because we now much better understand how to negotiate the streets of downtown Dakar with some confidence.  

So I respectfully retract an earlier naive opinion made re avoiding the downtown markets.