Going global

I thought I had been an international man of mystery before, what with my being published in a couple of European magazines and, of course, all those Canadian girls going crazy for me (or is it because of me?), but being overseas gives me a whole new appreciation for the world.

In other words, I'm stalling here before mentioning a little faux pas. This morning, I went to the gym that my family belongs to here and took a class similar to the muscle definition class I like at home, except that they use a weighted bar rather than dumbells. The ab exercises are virtually the same. There happened to be an attractive redhead right in front of me, who, from as far as I could tell, spoke English and did not have a ring on her finger. I found out later that I was ogling the wife of the new Israeli ambassador to Senegal!

(Yup, Israel has an an embassy here in a Muslim, though non-Arab, country. I think that's cool.)

That little bit of embarrassment aside, I was downtown after the whole family met my uncle and a colleague of his for lunch at a place called Caesar's Fried Chicken, or, CFC. The word, "Kentucky," appeared on the sign under the name. (The other Caesar's in Dakar doesn't have chicken. Maybe they want to be respectful in their blatant trademark infringement.)

After lunch, we were walking along a street when I noticed a sign for the Union des journalistes de l'Afrique de l'ouest, or West African Journalists Association. I thought about it for a few seconds, then decided I had to go in. I was dressed like a tourist and looked anything but professional and I did not have any cards or other sort of credentials on me, but they happily welcomed me, even offering me a Coke. A meeting was just about to start, but they talked with me in French for a couple of minutes, before they found an English-speaking colleague from Sierra Leone. He spoke to me for about 10 minutes, explaining that the office housed three other organizations, including a Senegalese journalists' group, the West African headquarters of the International Federation of Journalists and the African office of the International News Safety Institute.

This man worked for the latter, a Brussels-based organization that teaches journalists to be safe in dangerous areas, inluding war zones such as Iraq and kidnapping havens like Colombia. He explained to me how Western media tend to ignore most of Africa, except when something bad happens like the massacres in the Darfur region of Sudan or if the news relates to places where international correspondents are posted, such as Cairo or Johannesburg, which are thousands of miles from here.

For example, the last time the West paid attention to anything here was in 2003, when George W. Bush visited Dakar and when 2,000 people drowned in a ferry accident off the coast of Senegal. (The government is constructing a monument to the ferry disaster, which, I'm told, is the deadliest peacetime maritime incident in history, worse than the sinking of the Titanic.)

The Sierra Leone journalist suggested I report on how Dakar is a financial and trade center for West Africa. It is the headquarters of a central bank that serves the 8 countries that use the CFA franc as their currency. Even if I don't write that story, I'm sure we will keep in touch.

Another story possibility could pop up on Friday, as I'm going to meet with an NGO affiliated with several North American and European universities that's involved in social development, including healthcare. One of the employees was watching a jam session with me on Sunday. My guitar-playing uncle and a few other American expats with varying levels of musical talent have a bluegrass/folk band that was practicing for some gig at a party this Friday. It was a lot of fun.

The expat community in Dakar probably numbers 15,000 to 20,000, with most being French or from other African nations. There are maybe 2,000 to 3,000 Americans here. Many, but certainly not all, tend to congretate together, such as at the health club I visited today. The instructor I had was French and most of the people I saw looked white, Middle Eastern or South Asian. My uncle's family also belongs to a swimming, tennis and social club called Club Atlantique. I understand it used to be called Club Américain.

I didn't get to Gorée Island today because the group that is going changed their plan to Wednesday. On Thursday, my uncle will be taking me to a Peace Corps site in a village about 250 km from Dakar, so I can get a real Senegalese experience. We'll spend the night there.

Before I sign off, I need to mention two things. First off, I tried some delicious tiébou dienn (pronounced "cheb-oo-jen"), a which is a rice dish with two to three kinds of fish, tamarind, cabbage and a few other tasty veggies and spices. It's the unofficial national dish of Senegal, something that many people eat for lunch pretty much every day. Yum.

Also, everyone here—my uncle included—keeps complaining about how chilly it has been. Today's high temperature was 24 degrees C, 75 degrees F, and the low last night was 17C, 63F. Puh-leeeeeeeez!