Walking

Walking to and from work has become a special part of my day. It takes about half an hour each way, along Rue de Ouakam, certainly not one of the more aesthetic streets in Dakar. Both in the mornings and late afternoons, Ouakam sees a lot of traffic, and a lot of noise and fumes, from public transport, schools of taxis, private vehicles, and the occasional horse-drawn cart. I’ve discovered that Rue de Ouakam is, for me, the perfect walking street. I enjoy the congestion, in the same way I enjoyed, as a university student, studying in the cafeteria: the sounds and movement somehow helped me to focus and concentrate attention.

I play with dividing attention while walking, always in three directions: one thread directed outward, into the world, points along the path, or the sound of wind; one thread inward, to sensation, enlarging sensation -- throat, spine, footfalls; and one thread lifted upward, to, what, a question perhaps.

I’ve come to view the activity as a kind of fishing. I go fishing.