So, in teaching Baba English, I've started teaching him some common phrases. But while walking around in Dakar, I remembered back to the day when we used to say "Pshaw" or "Talk to the hand." So, I taught him "talk to the hand" which he transformed into "talk to my hand" with a dictatorial accent. Hilarious. Enjoy.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Thursday, April 09, 2009
Dakar - The Paris of Africa
Dakar is the Paris of Africa. I’m not kidding. People are dressed to the 9’s, very fashionable. Skinny jeans and tight shiny tshirts that cling to only one shoulder. Designer bags and sunglasses add to the shine. It doesn’t matter that most of the stuff is knock off – it still has those shining double CCs or GA or Gucci plastered on it. Name brands, that’s all people really care about. The buildings are tall and constructed primarily out of cement, not mud. The roads are all paved and clean – the city actually hires people to sweep. The sewers are covered and there’s no chance of accidentally falling in. The ocean sits adjacent to the city offering a splendid breeze to take away the sting of the hot Senegalese sun. There are over and underpasses. There is a 4 lane highway. Simply put, there is money. Things cost the same price, if not more, in Dakar than they do in America (at least the last time I was there). A kilo of bananas, the equivalent of $1.25. 2 lbs of bananas in the States, last time I bought them, was about $1. But that’s just one example. We were told by the people we stayed with, friends of Baba’s, that a normal apartment in Dakar costs 600,000 CFA per month – that’s about $1,200! That’s ridiculous. Seeing that a nice apartment in Bamako is between 100 and 200,000 CFA, 600 is just outrageous to me. There are so few motorcycles in Dakar – everyone drives a car. I’m not talking about the cars from 1957 that have been rebuilt 39 times in Mali. I’m talking about brand spanking new SUVs, BMWs and Mercedes. I saw an Infiniti dealer in Dakar for God’s sake. Really?
But my main question is, where does all this money come from? It was Baba’s first time going to Dakar and he was blown away. I mean blown away. He kept saying how the only thing lacking in Dakar are stop lights and a metro and as soon as it has those two things, it’ll be on par with Paris. He kept saying how Abdoulaye Wade, president of Senegal, really knows how to work and that our own president, Amadou Toumani Toure (ATT), is zero a la base, meaning that he doesn’t do anything. Baba went so far to say that if a bunch of Malians went to Dakar and saw how developed and how built up it was, they would revolt against ATT. It was pretty amazing to hear him talking about it. But, on the other hand, those are his political views. If you look at Senegal as a whole, it’s in a pretty sad state. Even 15 km outside of Dakar, the roads are unpaved and there’s no development. Every penny that President Wade found has gone into the development of Dakar. Last year, when I was in Dakar, there had just been this big conference called ODI. Basically, this group of Islamic countries got together for a conference and Senegal took tons of loans – I don’t know the amounts, but in the millions and possibly billions – and interest free to help the development of Senegal. But as I said, it’s all gone to Dakar, not to the rest of the country that could really use it. It’s disappointing for me.
All of this is to create a background for an entry I want to write about the visa process and immigrating to the US. The two days that Baba and I were at the Embassy were very interesting and odd. I’ll write more about this soon.
But my main question is, where does all this money come from? It was Baba’s first time going to Dakar and he was blown away. I mean blown away. He kept saying how the only thing lacking in Dakar are stop lights and a metro and as soon as it has those two things, it’ll be on par with Paris. He kept saying how Abdoulaye Wade, president of Senegal, really knows how to work and that our own president, Amadou Toumani Toure (ATT), is zero a la base, meaning that he doesn’t do anything. Baba went so far to say that if a bunch of Malians went to Dakar and saw how developed and how built up it was, they would revolt against ATT. It was pretty amazing to hear him talking about it. But, on the other hand, those are his political views. If you look at Senegal as a whole, it’s in a pretty sad state. Even 15 km outside of Dakar, the roads are unpaved and there’s no development. Every penny that President Wade found has gone into the development of Dakar. Last year, when I was in Dakar, there had just been this big conference called ODI. Basically, this group of Islamic countries got together for a conference and Senegal took tons of loans – I don’t know the amounts, but in the millions and possibly billions – and interest free to help the development of Senegal. But as I said, it’s all gone to Dakar, not to the rest of the country that could really use it. It’s disappointing for me.
All of this is to create a background for an entry I want to write about the visa process and immigrating to the US. The two days that Baba and I were at the Embassy were very interesting and odd. I’ll write more about this soon.
Baba's Coming to America!
Baba's US visa!
I’ve just completed my 4th trip to Dakar, this time on my own terms - and with Baba in tow. We spent about 10 days there and had a great time. The main purpose was to go and have our interview for the immigrant visa to go to the US. I was so nervous about it, but in the end it turned out wonderfully! We arrived at the Embassy at 7 AM only to be told that the photos we brought were the incorrect dimensions, and therefore we would have to go find a photo shop open to take new photos. At 7 AM nothing was open and the first place didn’t open until 8. I was discouraged. 7 AM and problems already? Despite having a perfect set of documents to hand over to the Embassy officials, I felt that the photo issue was a foreboding warning.
We arrived back at the Embassy around 8:30 and were finally allowed to enter. Unlike the US Embassy in Bamako, I wasn’t harassed about why I wanted to enter my own Embassy, but things went rather smoothly. Then came the waiting. After three and a half hours of sitting and waiting they finally called Baba’s name. This was it: he was going to be interviewed and we were going to get our visa (insh’allah). He was asked to swear to the accuracy of the documents that we gave them and then the questions started. “Where did you meet Sara?” “How long has she lived in Mali?” “What are your plans when you go to America?” “What are Sara’s plans?” “Where are you living?” “Does Sara have any siblings? If so, where do they live?” “Have you met members of Sara’s family yet?” The questions were amazingly simple, especially compared to the questions that other Africans seeking their visas were being asked. While I could hear all of the questions being asked of Baba, we couldn’t see each other – which was probably for the best. Each time he would get an answer just a little bit wrong (ie, saying that I moved to Mali in August 2006 instead of July), I would cringe and I was sure that that was the end of our visa searching. After about 10 minutes of me cringing, I heard the interviewer say, “Okay, come back on Tuesday on 2.” Come back on Tuesday at 2? What does that even mean? So I immediately shot up from my chair and went to the window asking, “Tuesday? 2? What does it all mean? Do we find out Tuesday if we got it or?!?!” I was like a frantic animal, it was pretty embarrassing. She looked at me, very sympathetically and said, “You’ve passed the interview, don’t worry.” The proverbial 100 lbs were lifted off of my shoulders. We passed? Are you serious? I wasn’t sure I believe it all. We spent $800 on the visa alone and waited for almost 4 hours and we passed. Baba and I just looked at each other and smiled.
Once we excited the Embassy, I was practically jumping up and down with excitement and Baba was just as smooth and cool as ever. I kept asking him, “Are you excited? Are you excited?” “Yes, Fatoumata, I’m very excited!” was his response. I didn’t quite believe him at first, but I know that he’s stoked. I called my Mom and Sister and said, “Baba’s coming to America!” They’re excitement was awesome too.
We arrived back at the Embassy around 8:30 and were finally allowed to enter. Unlike the US Embassy in Bamako, I wasn’t harassed about why I wanted to enter my own Embassy, but things went rather smoothly. Then came the waiting. After three and a half hours of sitting and waiting they finally called Baba’s name. This was it: he was going to be interviewed and we were going to get our visa (insh’allah). He was asked to swear to the accuracy of the documents that we gave them and then the questions started. “Where did you meet Sara?” “How long has she lived in Mali?” “What are your plans when you go to America?” “What are Sara’s plans?” “Where are you living?” “Does Sara have any siblings? If so, where do they live?” “Have you met members of Sara’s family yet?” The questions were amazingly simple, especially compared to the questions that other Africans seeking their visas were being asked. While I could hear all of the questions being asked of Baba, we couldn’t see each other – which was probably for the best. Each time he would get an answer just a little bit wrong (ie, saying that I moved to Mali in August 2006 instead of July), I would cringe and I was sure that that was the end of our visa searching. After about 10 minutes of me cringing, I heard the interviewer say, “Okay, come back on Tuesday on 2.” Come back on Tuesday at 2? What does that even mean? So I immediately shot up from my chair and went to the window asking, “Tuesday? 2? What does it all mean? Do we find out Tuesday if we got it or?!?!” I was like a frantic animal, it was pretty embarrassing. She looked at me, very sympathetically and said, “You’ve passed the interview, don’t worry.” The proverbial 100 lbs were lifted off of my shoulders. We passed? Are you serious? I wasn’t sure I believe it all. We spent $800 on the visa alone and waited for almost 4 hours and we passed. Baba and I just looked at each other and smiled.
Once we excited the Embassy, I was practically jumping up and down with excitement and Baba was just as smooth and cool as ever. I kept asking him, “Are you excited? Are you excited?” “Yes, Fatoumata, I’m very excited!” was his response. I didn’t quite believe him at first, but I know that he’s stoked. I called my Mom and Sister and said, “Baba’s coming to America!” They’re excitement was awesome too.
I tried teaching Baba the art of the jumping photo - not too shabby! Visa in hand, it would have been better infront of the Embassy, but this is a start!So, in a few months, we’ll be in North Carolina – now it’s for sure!
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