Many businessmen or women who travel frequently are concerned with a single item: can they sneak in a round of golf? This week, I finally played a resort golf course at Le Meridien Hotel. To be fair, Dakar hasn't seen rain in four months so I was expecting the course to be in terrible shape. That didn't matter; I was looking for was "The Experience." And a new blog entry. But, what an experience it was!
I arrived with a student who had never played golf, but has shown a keen interest by wearing argyle sweaters and knickers to school. This particular student is also fairly well off financially so I wasn't worried about him spending all of his allowance in one place. Golf can be a ridiculously expensive little hobby...
Prior to our arrival, I thought ahead and said, "We should go to the sporting goods store less than one mile away and buy golf balls and tees." The sporting goods store less than one mile away did not sell any golf accoutrements. This should be your first indication as to golf's popularity rating amongst the locals, but at least I felt better about paying "pro shop" prices knowing I had made some effort at advance planning.
Upon arrival, I learned that greens fees were 15,000 CFA (about $30) and renting a set of golf clubs was 10,000 CFA (about $20). These fares were inclusive for the entire day, so I could play 9 holes or 27 holes for the same price. This is comparable to prices at very mediocre U.S. 9-hole golf courses, so I paid with nary a second thought. The course superintendent asked if I needed balls and tees. I learned that 10 balls would cost 3,000 CFA (about $6, not too awful) and then I began to wonder about the balls. There's no such thing as a 10-pack of new balls and - indeed - I was not surprised to receive a black plastic bag with 10 used balls. "Gently used" would be a vast understatement: these balls couldn't have made it more than 20 yards on the driving range. I even think the word "Range" was removed with paint thinner to give the balls an extra sheen.
Then, I was presented with a nice bag of new golf tees. For $6. Yes, $6 for 40 pieces of carved wood. To put that in perspective, I can buy a hand-carved set of "see no evil, hear no evil and speak no evil" monkeys for $6 in Africa. I could probably hit the monkeys farther than the golf balls, but the point here is not to complain about price (like all golfers do); I was here for the experience of West African golf. And a new blog entry.
Then came the big surprise: for some reason, we happened to mention the student had never played golf before. The course superintendent shook his head and apologized profusely, but said the student could not go out on the course by himself if he was a true "golf virgin." The student would have to hire the club professional and pay for a lesson. In fact, he could hire the club professional and take the lesson directly on the course so that we could enjoy the day together, but he could not go out without hiring the club pro.
I shuddered to think what this was going to cost. Then, the superintendent said the club pro would cost 10,000 CFA, but that would include the lessons, clubs and one hour on the course. I scratched my head for a moment. Didn't I just pay 25,000 CFA without golf lessons to hack my way through the very same course? Such is pricing in West Africa.
We were greeted by the club professional and I was pleased to see my greens fees also included my very own personal caddy. I have never had a personal caddy before and looked forward to having such a knowledgable advocate on my side.
The club pro was as knowledgable as your average high school golf team dropout. No matter what happened, he would go into some theatrics as if to mime, "You lifted your head." My student could have run up to the ball like Happy Gilmore attempting to whack Bob Barker, but he still would have received the same advice of "You lifted your head." Then again, he was playing golf for 60% less than I was so he couldn't complain about the lack of precision from his newfound mentor.
But my caddy was a different story. This was a man who knew the inner workings of the course. Its design, its nuances, its intricacies. And it didn't matter how far away I was from the hole, he would look at the bag and say, "6 Iron?" I finally figured out the 6 iron was the only club that wasn't warped, bent or ripped to shreds and I played most of the day with the trusty 6 iron. My set of rental clubs also came conveniently loaded with a left handed putter. I'm right handed, but you'll see in a moment that really doesn't matter...
I'm the worst golfer in the world and THAT is the best part about playing golf in Dakar. No one can possibly get angry about their score because the greens aren't much more than sand with grass sprouts. After four holes, I was laughing so much at the greens that I felt I couldn't do much worse than putting left-handed. I asked my caddy for the club and proceeded to sink a 20-footer from the fringe.
The beauty of golf in Dakar is that it's a microcosm for the rest of Dakar. Hakuna Matada; no worries. We didn't even have a scorecard. The club pro was insistent that I take a mulligan after every bad shot. "Favorable lie" was the rule, not the exception. Oh - and the course markers are listed in meters, not yards - which I discovered halfway through the course when I couldn't seem to reach the green with my trusty 6 iron...
To top it off, this is an oceanfront course with views reminscent of playing golf in Hawaii. There was even a cliffside hole where I had to hit over an ocean cove to get to the green. I missed, but my ball hit a rock and bounced what appeared to be about 100 feet in the air - nearly landing back on the fairway.
So, if you're coming to play golf in Dakar do yourself a favor and leave the Visa card at home because I don't think they accept it here. Bring a sleeve of balls, your own bag of tees and forget about your handicap. It's going to be a great day.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Finally! Protests in Dakar!
What? You didn't hear about the Dakar protests on ABC/CBS/NBC world news? That's because there is no oil here. And no tourism. And no jobs. And no one was killed. What Senegal needs is a good old fashioned riot, but it will likely not happen for reasons that will become clear.
I have written previously about my thoughts on whether or not we'll see reform in this country (my analysis is "no"), but it was interesting that Senegal was the first country outside North Africa (read: first black nation) to have a protest. This isn't as sexy as North Africa (read: Arab) protests because there was no secret cabal of texting, and twittering and Facebooking. In fact, I learned of the protests from a tersely worded message from the U.S. Embassy advising me to stay away from the area. I stayed away, but only because I was on spring break and already out of the country...
Therefore, you are getting only second hand knowledge of the protests. But, first a little background...
Two people have thus far set themselves on fire and a third was going to attempt it, but was foiled before he could be successful. The first person who succeeded was a military veteran who needed medical assistance and was unhappy with the help he had been receiving. By all accounts, he was a troubled man. The second person was a mystery. He was a young man who wasn't particulary politically active; newspaper reports gave quotes from friends and family saying they really couldn't figure out why he did it. Nothing to report on the third man (other than "foiled attempt").
So, the seeds of discontent are here, but how could they not be? The President is widely reported as being 85 years old. Many think this is an understatement of his true age. The reason for the protests are pretty simple: after 11 years of rule, the President is running for a 3rd term (lasting 5 years).
There is no strong opposition, so he will likely win (more on that in next week's post, by the way). Actually, in Senegal, the major opposition party is paid to oppose the party in power. Come to think of it, that's a pretty sweet occupation: paid curmudgeon ("Hey Larry, what'd you do at work today?" "I opposed things. Of course, everything I opposed was approved, but that's my job...").
And, once the President wins re-election, he will likely do as all great African leaders do: try to turn the government over to his son. The voters of Dakar already rejected his son's candidacy for mayor, but that certainly won't stop this politcal dynasty. Meanwhile, unemployment remains at about 49% and power outages are the daily norm - often for more than half the day - and prices for consumer staples have doubled under the current administration.
Even though Dakar is a pretty peaceful place (for example, our protestors chant "He should go" and "Vote him out"), President Wade is a pre-emptive type of guy. Upon hearing news of the upcoming protest, he did what all great African leaders would have done: he arrested the organizers BEFORE the event started and charged them with an attempted coup-d'etat. So, when all the protestors got together to listen to rabble rousing speeches... there was no one to give the speeches. Reuters reports there were more on-lookers than demonstrators.
Elections next year should be very interesting.
I have written previously about my thoughts on whether or not we'll see reform in this country (my analysis is "no"), but it was interesting that Senegal was the first country outside North Africa (read: first black nation) to have a protest. This isn't as sexy as North Africa (read: Arab) protests because there was no secret cabal of texting, and twittering and Facebooking. In fact, I learned of the protests from a tersely worded message from the U.S. Embassy advising me to stay away from the area. I stayed away, but only because I was on spring break and already out of the country...
Therefore, you are getting only second hand knowledge of the protests. But, first a little background...
Two people have thus far set themselves on fire and a third was going to attempt it, but was foiled before he could be successful. The first person who succeeded was a military veteran who needed medical assistance and was unhappy with the help he had been receiving. By all accounts, he was a troubled man. The second person was a mystery. He was a young man who wasn't particulary politically active; newspaper reports gave quotes from friends and family saying they really couldn't figure out why he did it. Nothing to report on the third man (other than "foiled attempt").
So, the seeds of discontent are here, but how could they not be? The President is widely reported as being 85 years old. Many think this is an understatement of his true age. The reason for the protests are pretty simple: after 11 years of rule, the President is running for a 3rd term (lasting 5 years).
There is no strong opposition, so he will likely win (more on that in next week's post, by the way). Actually, in Senegal, the major opposition party is paid to oppose the party in power. Come to think of it, that's a pretty sweet occupation: paid curmudgeon ("Hey Larry, what'd you do at work today?" "I opposed things. Of course, everything I opposed was approved, but that's my job...").
And, once the President wins re-election, he will likely do as all great African leaders do: try to turn the government over to his son. The voters of Dakar already rejected his son's candidacy for mayor, but that certainly won't stop this politcal dynasty. Meanwhile, unemployment remains at about 49% and power outages are the daily norm - often for more than half the day - and prices for consumer staples have doubled under the current administration.
Even though Dakar is a pretty peaceful place (for example, our protestors chant "He should go" and "Vote him out"), President Wade is a pre-emptive type of guy. Upon hearing news of the upcoming protest, he did what all great African leaders would have done: he arrested the organizers BEFORE the event started and charged them with an attempted coup-d'etat. So, when all the protestors got together to listen to rabble rousing speeches... there was no one to give the speeches. Reuters reports there were more on-lookers than demonstrators.
Elections next year should be very interesting.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
We're Going to the Zoo!
Many people mistakenly assume that - just because I'm in Africa - there are wild animals lurking around every corner. The only four-legged creatures I've seen since my winter break at the San Diego Zoo have been cats, dogs and rodents and I thought it was high time to spend a morning at Dakar's municipal park zoo, located adjacent to the Parc Forestier De Hann.
http://www.au-senegal.com/Le-parc-de-Hann-une-escapade.html
Admission was 350 CFA per person (that's 75 cents each, if you're counting at home), so I decided to splurge and take a "local" with me to help translate in case I had questions. Upon arrival, the zoo was everything you would expect from a municipal zoo that charges 75 cents for admission.
"Disrepair" would be a vast understatement for the conditions. Most cages featured such animal friendly accoutrements as concrete, chipped lead paint and rust. Apparently, the zookeepers are afraid the animals are either going to breed or fight, so most often animals were singularly housed while a potential companion was located directly adjacent in a separate cage. Many cages appeared abandoned. There was no clue as to species of the prior residents as there were no identifying labels on any cages.
In America, zoologists have discovered "marketing" and develop "animal habitats" and "exhibits." These were pretty much prison cells. About the only things missing were a stainless steel toilet and soap on a rope.
The good news is that primates stand a chance of getting a good meal. And that's not because of the staff or the grand municipal budget, but because there's a lady selling bananas, nuts and vegetables in front of the zoo for prices that are comparable to grocery store prices. We bought two bunches of bananas and proceeded to a row of cages where we could feed the monkeys.
One of the monkeys (or chimpanzees or apes or insert identification sign here) had learned a skill that I call "entertaining the tourists." If you waved your hand around in a circular fashion, he would do a pirouette and then a little shuffle-dance before taking a small bow. It was actually the highlight of the day. He was well fed.
Some of the primate cages housed two residents. There would always be one dominant primate who would not allow the other to get any banana. My guide noted, "Now you see how the real Africa works."
Many of the areas that housed larger animals consisted of a simple fence with one access gate. Often, there would be no lock on the access gate. I was tempted to walk in and visit with a water buffalo - who appeared no more scary than a dairy cow - as well as a large animal that looked like a combination of horse and antelope. The "horselope" (seriously, I think I'm going to go back with cardboard signs so the next person will at least know what to call it) was "fenced in", but someone had ripped a hole in his fence that was large enough to enable the creature to stick his head out so visitors could feed him. He was also well fed.
My disappointment with the zoo could not have been more apparent than when we viewed what would have been a major event at any other zoo in the world. A baby lion was recently born (umbilical cord remnant still visible), but there was not a single sign announcing the birth. Also, the young fella was separated from his mother and father and left to sleep alone in a previously abandoned cage.
On that note, I asked my companion, "How do they get enough money to buy food for the lions if they only charge 75 cents admission?" Within moments, we figured out the answer as we drifted into an area that DEFINITELY should have been off-limits to the public and found a small goat farm on-site. While we were admiring the goats, I looked down and saw what I can only describe as "hoof remnants" scattered across the ground. They appeared to have been gnawed off by the lion. I think we were in the lion's feeding area...
One of the funnier moments was viewing "exotic" animals. Think about it: we're in Africa, so what animals might be considered exotic? How about the rare and endangered pigeon? There was an entire section dedicated to this highly regarded fowl.
My friend shuddered when walking past the hyena cage. She told me a story from her youth about how the "magic men" in her village would go into the woods at night and turn themselves into hyenas. Then, they would roam the woods in search of prey. Children, of course, did not go into the woods at night for fear of the hyenas. We did not stay long at the hyena cage.
Generally, I avoid politics and policy on this blog, but I think this a clear, unfortunate example of where government is not properly supporting a public resource. This place should be privatized immediately and be given a chance for success (like the highly successful local game reserve).
All of Dakar would be better off if the government allocated the budget to an organization (non-profit or profit) that could then raise additional funds and run this place like a true educational exhibit. If Dakar wants to attract tourists, a top ranked zoo in West Africa could be a very strong selling point. The bureaucrats could even cap admission at 75 cents for all Senegalese children in exchange for budgetary support.
The biggest worry with my suggestion is that whichever monkey gains control of the place might keep all the bananas for himself rather than do the right thing for the community. Still, he couldn't do much worse than the monkey currently in charge.
http://www.au-senegal.com/Le-parc-de-Hann-une-escapade.html
Admission was 350 CFA per person (that's 75 cents each, if you're counting at home), so I decided to splurge and take a "local" with me to help translate in case I had questions. Upon arrival, the zoo was everything you would expect from a municipal zoo that charges 75 cents for admission.
"Disrepair" would be a vast understatement for the conditions. Most cages featured such animal friendly accoutrements as concrete, chipped lead paint and rust. Apparently, the zookeepers are afraid the animals are either going to breed or fight, so most often animals were singularly housed while a potential companion was located directly adjacent in a separate cage. Many cages appeared abandoned. There was no clue as to species of the prior residents as there were no identifying labels on any cages.
In America, zoologists have discovered "marketing" and develop "animal habitats" and "exhibits." These were pretty much prison cells. About the only things missing were a stainless steel toilet and soap on a rope.
The good news is that primates stand a chance of getting a good meal. And that's not because of the staff or the grand municipal budget, but because there's a lady selling bananas, nuts and vegetables in front of the zoo for prices that are comparable to grocery store prices. We bought two bunches of bananas and proceeded to a row of cages where we could feed the monkeys.
One of the monkeys (or chimpanzees or apes or insert identification sign here) had learned a skill that I call "entertaining the tourists." If you waved your hand around in a circular fashion, he would do a pirouette and then a little shuffle-dance before taking a small bow. It was actually the highlight of the day. He was well fed.
Some of the primate cages housed two residents. There would always be one dominant primate who would not allow the other to get any banana. My guide noted, "Now you see how the real Africa works."
Many of the areas that housed larger animals consisted of a simple fence with one access gate. Often, there would be no lock on the access gate. I was tempted to walk in and visit with a water buffalo - who appeared no more scary than a dairy cow - as well as a large animal that looked like a combination of horse and antelope. The "horselope" (seriously, I think I'm going to go back with cardboard signs so the next person will at least know what to call it) was "fenced in", but someone had ripped a hole in his fence that was large enough to enable the creature to stick his head out so visitors could feed him. He was also well fed.
My disappointment with the zoo could not have been more apparent than when we viewed what would have been a major event at any other zoo in the world. A baby lion was recently born (umbilical cord remnant still visible), but there was not a single sign announcing the birth. Also, the young fella was separated from his mother and father and left to sleep alone in a previously abandoned cage.
On that note, I asked my companion, "How do they get enough money to buy food for the lions if they only charge 75 cents admission?" Within moments, we figured out the answer as we drifted into an area that DEFINITELY should have been off-limits to the public and found a small goat farm on-site. While we were admiring the goats, I looked down and saw what I can only describe as "hoof remnants" scattered across the ground. They appeared to have been gnawed off by the lion. I think we were in the lion's feeding area...
One of the funnier moments was viewing "exotic" animals. Think about it: we're in Africa, so what animals might be considered exotic? How about the rare and endangered pigeon? There was an entire section dedicated to this highly regarded fowl.
My friend shuddered when walking past the hyena cage. She told me a story from her youth about how the "magic men" in her village would go into the woods at night and turn themselves into hyenas. Then, they would roam the woods in search of prey. Children, of course, did not go into the woods at night for fear of the hyenas. We did not stay long at the hyena cage.
Generally, I avoid politics and policy on this blog, but I think this a clear, unfortunate example of where government is not properly supporting a public resource. This place should be privatized immediately and be given a chance for success (like the highly successful local game reserve).
All of Dakar would be better off if the government allocated the budget to an organization (non-profit or profit) that could then raise additional funds and run this place like a true educational exhibit. If Dakar wants to attract tourists, a top ranked zoo in West Africa could be a very strong selling point. The bureaucrats could even cap admission at 75 cents for all Senegalese children in exchange for budgetary support.
The biggest worry with my suggestion is that whichever monkey gains control of the place might keep all the bananas for himself rather than do the right thing for the community. Still, he couldn't do much worse than the monkey currently in charge.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Define "Cold"...
First, I have never quite grasped the concept of "Writer's Block." How could someone stare at a blank page or an empty screen and NOT have something to write about with all this great material to choose from around Dakar...
I have read with interest the stories of winter from America this year. You couldn't hold a global warming conference anywhere in the U.S. when - at one point - 49 states had snow on the ground (including Hawaii). Nor'easters blanket New England on a weekly basis. Syracuse has recorded 157 inches of snow this winter - that's BEFORE the month of March. Nowata, Oklahoma hit minus 31 degrees. Nowata, Oklahoma. Why is it the only thing I can picture when I hear "Nowata, Oklahoma" is Junior Samples sticking his head out of a cornfield saying, "Population 3,971. Saaaallluuute!"
For more of Junior Samples, try: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5S2z8rDL9Hg
Many of you have wondered, "What is winter like in Dakar?" Surprisly similar, as you will learn from my observations while out running last week. First, I made my way down an oceanfront promenade called the Corniche. The Corniche is actually a four-lane highway that runs along the ocean route, and adjacent to the Corniche is a huge stretch of concrete sidewalk. Think Storrow Drive along the Charles River.
One particular stretch of the Corniche is about two miles long and features a small beach. Normally, there are over a thousand people walking down this particular stretch after work, and there are hundreds more exercising on the beach. This particular day, the numbers had dwindled because of the weather.
Any souls brave enough to fight the temperatures wore woolen, knit hats and gloves. The exercisers - who are usually dressed in soccer uniforms - were more likely to be wearing a warm-up track suit with long pants and jacket on this particular, blustery day.
I left the Corniche and ran into a neighborhood that gave off an aroma of desolation. Six men were bundled up, warming their hands around an open pit fire they had built on the side of a street. It looked like a scene out of Mad Max, except instead of burning a tire in an old metal garbage can they arranged rocks and were burning what appeard to be some old furniture. The time of day was just prior to sundown. These men looked like homeless people and were preparing themselves for a long night.
Children scurried to get from one place to another, deftly avoiding open space as if the wind would carry them away. Many people stared at me as I ran through, with some even calling out comments that (I think) warned me against running in this type of weather or that I was not dressed appropriately for the conditions.
I returned to my neighborhood and did not see the guards. There are six houses on my street and each house has a security guard on duty. Since there is no crime in my neighborhood, the guards bring plastic chairs outside and set up a central watchpoint where they can hang out and shoot the breeze for hours. There were no guards outside today.
I found our guard inside our garage. He was wearing a heavy overcoat as if he were on the sidelines at a Green Bay Packers game, hoping his unit would not have to go onto the field. The garage door was open just enough for him to be able to record the comings and goings of pedestrians. I asked why he wasn't outside enjoying the beautiful day and he shuddered while responding there would be no outside for him today.
Then, he asked me with an incredulous voice, "Aren't you cold?"
It was 17 degrees on this day. I was wearing shorts and a t-shirt. Oh, wait. That was 17 degrees Celsius. About 63 degrees for you and me. And it was the coldest day of winter.
This week, it was back to normal. I came back to our neighborhood and saw three guards out mingling. I said to our guard, "I have some news for you." He asked if it was good news or bad news, and I replied that it was just news. He was still wearing a jacket and I had to inform him that it was 88 degrees outside and that winter - all six days of it - appeared to be over.
He laughed heartily. But, he did not remove his jacket.
I have read with interest the stories of winter from America this year. You couldn't hold a global warming conference anywhere in the U.S. when - at one point - 49 states had snow on the ground (including Hawaii). Nor'easters blanket New England on a weekly basis. Syracuse has recorded 157 inches of snow this winter - that's BEFORE the month of March. Nowata, Oklahoma hit minus 31 degrees. Nowata, Oklahoma. Why is it the only thing I can picture when I hear "Nowata, Oklahoma" is Junior Samples sticking his head out of a cornfield saying, "Population 3,971. Saaaallluuute!"
For more of Junior Samples, try: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5S2z8rDL9Hg
Many of you have wondered, "What is winter like in Dakar?" Surprisly similar, as you will learn from my observations while out running last week. First, I made my way down an oceanfront promenade called the Corniche. The Corniche is actually a four-lane highway that runs along the ocean route, and adjacent to the Corniche is a huge stretch of concrete sidewalk. Think Storrow Drive along the Charles River.
One particular stretch of the Corniche is about two miles long and features a small beach. Normally, there are over a thousand people walking down this particular stretch after work, and there are hundreds more exercising on the beach. This particular day, the numbers had dwindled because of the weather.
Any souls brave enough to fight the temperatures wore woolen, knit hats and gloves. The exercisers - who are usually dressed in soccer uniforms - were more likely to be wearing a warm-up track suit with long pants and jacket on this particular, blustery day.
I left the Corniche and ran into a neighborhood that gave off an aroma of desolation. Six men were bundled up, warming their hands around an open pit fire they had built on the side of a street. It looked like a scene out of Mad Max, except instead of burning a tire in an old metal garbage can they arranged rocks and were burning what appeard to be some old furniture. The time of day was just prior to sundown. These men looked like homeless people and were preparing themselves for a long night.
Children scurried to get from one place to another, deftly avoiding open space as if the wind would carry them away. Many people stared at me as I ran through, with some even calling out comments that (I think) warned me against running in this type of weather or that I was not dressed appropriately for the conditions.
I returned to my neighborhood and did not see the guards. There are six houses on my street and each house has a security guard on duty. Since there is no crime in my neighborhood, the guards bring plastic chairs outside and set up a central watchpoint where they can hang out and shoot the breeze for hours. There were no guards outside today.
I found our guard inside our garage. He was wearing a heavy overcoat as if he were on the sidelines at a Green Bay Packers game, hoping his unit would not have to go onto the field. The garage door was open just enough for him to be able to record the comings and goings of pedestrians. I asked why he wasn't outside enjoying the beautiful day and he shuddered while responding there would be no outside for him today.
Then, he asked me with an incredulous voice, "Aren't you cold?"
It was 17 degrees on this day. I was wearing shorts and a t-shirt. Oh, wait. That was 17 degrees Celsius. About 63 degrees for you and me. And it was the coldest day of winter.
This week, it was back to normal. I came back to our neighborhood and saw three guards out mingling. I said to our guard, "I have some news for you." He asked if it was good news or bad news, and I replied that it was just news. He was still wearing a jacket and I had to inform him that it was 88 degrees outside and that winter - all six days of it - appeared to be over.
He laughed heartily. But, he did not remove his jacket.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Customer Service Aplenty - Part Deux
For some reason, merchants guard their change as if these coins contained real silver, gold and copper while throwing paper money around as if it contained real wood pulp.
I once rode with a taxi driver who stopped at three different places looking for a 500 CFA coin (approximate value: $1), but no one would give him change for a 1,000 CFA bill. Never mind that the driver wasted much more time trying to find a coin than trying to find his next customer, these people are absolutely steadfast about the need for coinage.
My local convenience store/gas station absolutely refuses to give out change unless someone makes a purchase. And there are two ironies here: they will not give out change during the day when the bank - located one block from the convenience store - is open AND the employees don't own the store, so I imagine they would get paid for walking to the bank, cashing in bills for change, and walking back to the store.
You may have already guessed this information is required reading to appreciate the story of my most recent shopping experience at Casino. One other note that will add tremendously to your reading pleasure is to understand Part One of this story occurred sometime in October, whereas Part Deux takes place in February.
I went to Casino ostensibly because it is the only place in Dakar where I can find a particularly yummy brand of cashews. They are prepared "Senar Style" which (I think) means that the entire cashew nut is first grilled, then shelled and bagged. These cashews are WAY better than dry roasted peanuts, which is the closest comparison I can make in the U.S. Before I leave Senegal, I will be visiting the company to ask them to fill an entire carry-on suitcase for my personal consumption in the U.S. If they even last the plane ride home...
In any case, I walked to the cash register with a 200 gram bag and the cashier looked at me. She asked me something in French, which the bag boy translated to me in English as, "She wants to know if you have money." I looked closely at the cashier and it was - yes indeed! - "I'm a B*tch!" from October! Apparently, she thought I might try paying with a credit card and she was planning to refuse my purchase.
I said, "Oui" and she ran the product through the bar code scanner.
I need to digress for a moment to tell yet another story about the Casino bar code scanner. Ever since that fateful day when I was charged $20 for truffles that I did not buy, I only purchase a few things at a time at this fine grocery store. That way, I can clearly see what is being scanned and how much it will cost. One day, I went to purchase a bag of cat food (clearly, another blog entry is forthcoming on that) and noticed the store had replaced the usual ten varieties of Friskies with a single variety of store brand. Every section of every shelf contained the same variety of store brand cat food. Usually a 1/2 kg bag (one pound) costs 675 CFA (about $1.40) and a 2 kg bag (5 pounds) costs about 2,400 CFA (about $5). When they scanned the store brand through the bar code, someone had - once again - entered the wrong price in the system and I refused to pay $5 for a $1.40 bag of cat food. Every cashier in this store has finally determined I am the one customer who does not take kindly to paying three times more than I should because of bar code idiocy.
Now, back to our previous story... My lovely cashier ran the product through the bar code scanner and the price came up as 2,090 CFA (or, $4.18). I handed her three 1,000 CFA bills. She asked if I had change. I said no, only bills. You may realize that she was speaking in French and I was speaking in English, but we were communicating quite well. Or, so I thought.
The next thing I know, the bag boy translates for me in English, "She wants to know if you have any change." No, I repeated, I only have bills. The cashier looked at me. She asked me AGAIN if I had change. The bag boy reaches into his pocket and pulls out some coins. I honestly thought he was going to pay the 90 CFA for me just to put an end to this Mexican stand-off. But no, he shows me his change and asks, "Do you have any of these?" as if I didn't understand him the first time. I held my tongue, but the cashier absolutely would not open her cash drawer to make change. Had my command of French been a bit better, I would have said, "You do realize your job is "cashier", which means "one who makes change", don't you?"
Instead, I tried a different tack: "No comprendre Anglais?" I asked. She shook her head no, raising her eyebrows as if to say, "Who, me?" and matched that facial feature with a smirk that would have made George W. Bush proud. "Oh, that's too bad," I replied loud enough for anyone within earshot to hear, "because I was going to call you a F***ing B*tch!"
Suddenly, her eyes lit up. "Oh!" I said, "Vous comprendre Anglais! Donnez mon f***ing changer!"
At this point, my favorite cashier now realized that in my few months in this fine country, I was able to grasp enough French to survive in a supermarket. She slowly opened the register. She handed me a 500 CFA coin, effectively shortchanging me by 410 CFA (or, about a dollar). I said, "Non, neuf!" and held up nine fingers. By this time, two other customers were waiting in line and one of them clearly understood English. For the benefit of that customer - and now anyone within three rows of this particular register - I held out my hand and proudly pronounced, "My f***ing change, please."
My favorite cashier slowly counted out coins and handed me the worst possible assortment of coins she could think of handing me (think a dime, two nickels and five pennies instead of a quarter). I nodded my head, smiled and walked out of the store. Those who know me will vouch that - while I may have a crude sense of humor - I rarely use profane language anywhere other than a golf course. But, I can now see the allure to becoming a stand-up comedian because there really is something satisfying about dropping the F-bomb three times in one minute in front of an audience to chastise someone who clearly relishes her status as "I'm a B*tch!"
Maybe she thought she was making me look like a stupid American, but I know better. For pennance, I will return to Casino. And buy a small bag of cashews every week.
I once rode with a taxi driver who stopped at three different places looking for a 500 CFA coin (approximate value: $1), but no one would give him change for a 1,000 CFA bill. Never mind that the driver wasted much more time trying to find a coin than trying to find his next customer, these people are absolutely steadfast about the need for coinage.
My local convenience store/gas station absolutely refuses to give out change unless someone makes a purchase. And there are two ironies here: they will not give out change during the day when the bank - located one block from the convenience store - is open AND the employees don't own the store, so I imagine they would get paid for walking to the bank, cashing in bills for change, and walking back to the store.
You may have already guessed this information is required reading to appreciate the story of my most recent shopping experience at Casino. One other note that will add tremendously to your reading pleasure is to understand Part One of this story occurred sometime in October, whereas Part Deux takes place in February.
I went to Casino ostensibly because it is the only place in Dakar where I can find a particularly yummy brand of cashews. They are prepared "Senar Style" which (I think) means that the entire cashew nut is first grilled, then shelled and bagged. These cashews are WAY better than dry roasted peanuts, which is the closest comparison I can make in the U.S. Before I leave Senegal, I will be visiting the company to ask them to fill an entire carry-on suitcase for my personal consumption in the U.S. If they even last the plane ride home...
In any case, I walked to the cash register with a 200 gram bag and the cashier looked at me. She asked me something in French, which the bag boy translated to me in English as, "She wants to know if you have money." I looked closely at the cashier and it was - yes indeed! - "I'm a B*tch!" from October! Apparently, she thought I might try paying with a credit card and she was planning to refuse my purchase.
I said, "Oui" and she ran the product through the bar code scanner.
I need to digress for a moment to tell yet another story about the Casino bar code scanner. Ever since that fateful day when I was charged $20 for truffles that I did not buy, I only purchase a few things at a time at this fine grocery store. That way, I can clearly see what is being scanned and how much it will cost. One day, I went to purchase a bag of cat food (clearly, another blog entry is forthcoming on that) and noticed the store had replaced the usual ten varieties of Friskies with a single variety of store brand. Every section of every shelf contained the same variety of store brand cat food. Usually a 1/2 kg bag (one pound) costs 675 CFA (about $1.40) and a 2 kg bag (5 pounds) costs about 2,400 CFA (about $5). When they scanned the store brand through the bar code, someone had - once again - entered the wrong price in the system and I refused to pay $5 for a $1.40 bag of cat food. Every cashier in this store has finally determined I am the one customer who does not take kindly to paying three times more than I should because of bar code idiocy.
Now, back to our previous story... My lovely cashier ran the product through the bar code scanner and the price came up as 2,090 CFA (or, $4.18). I handed her three 1,000 CFA bills. She asked if I had change. I said no, only bills. You may realize that she was speaking in French and I was speaking in English, but we were communicating quite well. Or, so I thought.
The next thing I know, the bag boy translates for me in English, "She wants to know if you have any change." No, I repeated, I only have bills. The cashier looked at me. She asked me AGAIN if I had change. The bag boy reaches into his pocket and pulls out some coins. I honestly thought he was going to pay the 90 CFA for me just to put an end to this Mexican stand-off. But no, he shows me his change and asks, "Do you have any of these?" as if I didn't understand him the first time. I held my tongue, but the cashier absolutely would not open her cash drawer to make change. Had my command of French been a bit better, I would have said, "You do realize your job is "cashier", which means "one who makes change", don't you?"
Instead, I tried a different tack: "No comprendre Anglais?" I asked. She shook her head no, raising her eyebrows as if to say, "Who, me?" and matched that facial feature with a smirk that would have made George W. Bush proud. "Oh, that's too bad," I replied loud enough for anyone within earshot to hear, "because I was going to call you a F***ing B*tch!"
Suddenly, her eyes lit up. "Oh!" I said, "Vous comprendre Anglais! Donnez mon f***ing changer!"
At this point, my favorite cashier now realized that in my few months in this fine country, I was able to grasp enough French to survive in a supermarket. She slowly opened the register. She handed me a 500 CFA coin, effectively shortchanging me by 410 CFA (or, about a dollar). I said, "Non, neuf!" and held up nine fingers. By this time, two other customers were waiting in line and one of them clearly understood English. For the benefit of that customer - and now anyone within three rows of this particular register - I held out my hand and proudly pronounced, "My f***ing change, please."
My favorite cashier slowly counted out coins and handed me the worst possible assortment of coins she could think of handing me (think a dime, two nickels and five pennies instead of a quarter). I nodded my head, smiled and walked out of the store. Those who know me will vouch that - while I may have a crude sense of humor - I rarely use profane language anywhere other than a golf course. But, I can now see the allure to becoming a stand-up comedian because there really is something satisfying about dropping the F-bomb three times in one minute in front of an audience to chastise someone who clearly relishes her status as "I'm a B*tch!"
Maybe she thought she was making me look like a stupid American, but I know better. For pennance, I will return to Casino. And buy a small bag of cashews every week.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Customer Service Aplenty
Please note this is the first of a two-part blog entry.
My reputation as a celebrity shopper at my local grocery store was confirmed this Friday. Frequent readers to this blog will note Casino is the name of a French-based grocery chain, although the following entry just might make you wonder if the store might be more aptly named "Price Roulette"...
The Casino where I shop is a newly built store in a newly built shopping mall. The mall was built to attract European businesspeople, Non-Government Organization aid workers and embassy staff. This is not a "local" market, but it is bright, clean and has the largest selection of "European" groceries. In other words, this should be the marquis store in their Dakar chain of six stores.
The cashiers at Casino are hired based on "personal characteristics." No, that doesn't mean "hot chicks," it means personally related to some character who manages the store. As a group, they have all the intelligence of French Onion Dip and all the personality of French Onion Dip left out in the sun for three hours.
Now that you have some background... one sunny day, the Whitest Guy in West Africa ran up a tab of 42,000 CFA, but only had 40,000 CFA in currency and needed to pay with a credit card. In any ordinary country, the card would be swiped, you would sign and be on your merry way.
At Casino, the cashier will give you a dirty look. She will ask if you have any money. She will ask if you're sure you do not have enough money. She will ask to see your money to prove that you don't have enough money. She will stare at the credit card as if it will cost her a week's pay if she tries to swipe it through the machine. She will reluctantly swipe the card with abject disgust. She will give you the receipt after asking someone else for a pen. After you sign, she will hand you a copy of the receipt. You will not be merry, she will not be merry, but you will be on your way.
The next time I went there, I bought a few items and again paid with credit card. As I was handed my bags, I looked at the receipt and noticed that a 2-pack of 200 gram dark chocolate bars was listed as "chocolate truffles" and I was charged the equivalent of $20. Normally, one 200 gram dark chocolate bar is about $3 and the package said "save 40 euros."
I don't speak French very well, but I could point. I pointed to my chocolate bars and I pointed to my receipt and said, "non truffles; deux chocolat bar." The cashier looked at me and - with a very snotty grin said - "Merci, Bonsoir!" and then she held her hand up - like a policeman stopping traffic - and waved goodbye to me with a slow motion of her four fingers. Apparently, there is a universal wave that translates to, "I'm a B*tch"... with a capital B.
Well, now I'm pissed. I went back into the store to check the price and - wouldn't you know it! - the two-pack of chocolates was displayed in the space normally reserved for truffles. Obviously, someone had loaded the incorrect price into the bar code system because truffles were indeed $20.
I located one of my colleagues, who speaks perfect French, and asked him to translate because I obviously was not going to pay $20 for a two-pack of chocolate bars. He explained what happened and his cashier (completely different from mine) did a price check by running my two-pack through her bar code scanner. It came up $20. She looked at him and said, loosely translated, "Look, the machine says these are truffles." My friend replied and I replied that they were obviously not truffles, but our ace cashier had probably never seen truffles before and could not believe the bar code scanning device could actually be wrong.
I took her back to the aisle to show her the mistake. One shelf had my chocolate bars in single packs. One row beneath held the two-packs. The packages looked identical (save, of course, for the fact that one was a two-pack wrapped in plastic while the other was a single bar). I said, "Une chocolat, $3. Deux chocolat, non $20." She looked at the packages, looked back at me, pointed to shelf and pointed to my package and said, "Look: you buy truffles."
We asked to see the manager. My colleague explained the situation. The manager was wearing a green uniform and apparently needed another manager, who was wearing a red uniform, to complete the transaction. The manager in the red uniform must not have had enough authority because he called in a third manager - who was obviously very important because he was the only one not wearing a uniform. I think he was not wearing a uniform because he did not want anyone to know he was the manager.
Anyway, the third manager agreed that maybe one of Casino's employees had inserted the wrong price into the scanning system. Note I said "maybe" because the manager never went back to change the pricing or give anyone any instructions to change the pricing; he was happy to charge truffle prices for a two-pack of chocolate. But, he said I could return the product for a full refund. We spent approximately 35 minutes to get a refund based on a bar code error.
But, wait! There's more! To get the refund, I had to go back to MY cashier! What a joy it was to see "I'm a B*tch" twice in one day! The manager stood next to her and informed her that she needed to refund my purchase. That meant she had to go into her cash drawer and pull out actual cash money to give back to me! Oh, the look on her face. Why didn't I bring a camera to the grocery store?
That would normally be a pretty good story, but it's not over. While I was getting my refund... remember how the second cashier did a price check on my two-pack? Well... she never deleted that price check so my colleague was ALSO charged $20 for truffles on his bill, even though he never even bought any chocolate!
Once again, a manager was required to delete this phantom purchase. The problem was, my colleague had just handed her 100,000 CFA in currency and she now was required to hand him back change - including the difference for the truffles. This required the second cashier to perform basic subtraction - a task for which she was obviously not prepared for. She and my colleague spent the better part of ten minutes trying to reconcile the difference between his bill; both pre- and post-truffle.
We spent a total of 45 minutes trying to check out of the store. When we returned to the house to unload our groceries, we discovered that neither one of us brought home any chocolate.
(Part Deux - Next Sunday!)
My reputation as a celebrity shopper at my local grocery store was confirmed this Friday. Frequent readers to this blog will note Casino is the name of a French-based grocery chain, although the following entry just might make you wonder if the store might be more aptly named "Price Roulette"...
The Casino where I shop is a newly built store in a newly built shopping mall. The mall was built to attract European businesspeople, Non-Government Organization aid workers and embassy staff. This is not a "local" market, but it is bright, clean and has the largest selection of "European" groceries. In other words, this should be the marquis store in their Dakar chain of six stores.
The cashiers at Casino are hired based on "personal characteristics." No, that doesn't mean "hot chicks," it means personally related to some character who manages the store. As a group, they have all the intelligence of French Onion Dip and all the personality of French Onion Dip left out in the sun for three hours.
Now that you have some background... one sunny day, the Whitest Guy in West Africa ran up a tab of 42,000 CFA, but only had 40,000 CFA in currency and needed to pay with a credit card. In any ordinary country, the card would be swiped, you would sign and be on your merry way.
At Casino, the cashier will give you a dirty look. She will ask if you have any money. She will ask if you're sure you do not have enough money. She will ask to see your money to prove that you don't have enough money. She will stare at the credit card as if it will cost her a week's pay if she tries to swipe it through the machine. She will reluctantly swipe the card with abject disgust. She will give you the receipt after asking someone else for a pen. After you sign, she will hand you a copy of the receipt. You will not be merry, she will not be merry, but you will be on your way.
The next time I went there, I bought a few items and again paid with credit card. As I was handed my bags, I looked at the receipt and noticed that a 2-pack of 200 gram dark chocolate bars was listed as "chocolate truffles" and I was charged the equivalent of $20. Normally, one 200 gram dark chocolate bar is about $3 and the package said "save 40 euros."
I don't speak French very well, but I could point. I pointed to my chocolate bars and I pointed to my receipt and said, "non truffles; deux chocolat bar." The cashier looked at me and - with a very snotty grin said - "Merci, Bonsoir!" and then she held her hand up - like a policeman stopping traffic - and waved goodbye to me with a slow motion of her four fingers. Apparently, there is a universal wave that translates to, "I'm a B*tch"... with a capital B.
Well, now I'm pissed. I went back into the store to check the price and - wouldn't you know it! - the two-pack of chocolates was displayed in the space normally reserved for truffles. Obviously, someone had loaded the incorrect price into the bar code system because truffles were indeed $20.
I located one of my colleagues, who speaks perfect French, and asked him to translate because I obviously was not going to pay $20 for a two-pack of chocolate bars. He explained what happened and his cashier (completely different from mine) did a price check by running my two-pack through her bar code scanner. It came up $20. She looked at him and said, loosely translated, "Look, the machine says these are truffles." My friend replied and I replied that they were obviously not truffles, but our ace cashier had probably never seen truffles before and could not believe the bar code scanning device could actually be wrong.
I took her back to the aisle to show her the mistake. One shelf had my chocolate bars in single packs. One row beneath held the two-packs. The packages looked identical (save, of course, for the fact that one was a two-pack wrapped in plastic while the other was a single bar). I said, "Une chocolat, $3. Deux chocolat, non $20." She looked at the packages, looked back at me, pointed to shelf and pointed to my package and said, "Look: you buy truffles."
We asked to see the manager. My colleague explained the situation. The manager was wearing a green uniform and apparently needed another manager, who was wearing a red uniform, to complete the transaction. The manager in the red uniform must not have had enough authority because he called in a third manager - who was obviously very important because he was the only one not wearing a uniform. I think he was not wearing a uniform because he did not want anyone to know he was the manager.
Anyway, the third manager agreed that maybe one of Casino's employees had inserted the wrong price into the scanning system. Note I said "maybe" because the manager never went back to change the pricing or give anyone any instructions to change the pricing; he was happy to charge truffle prices for a two-pack of chocolate. But, he said I could return the product for a full refund. We spent approximately 35 minutes to get a refund based on a bar code error.
But, wait! There's more! To get the refund, I had to go back to MY cashier! What a joy it was to see "I'm a B*tch" twice in one day! The manager stood next to her and informed her that she needed to refund my purchase. That meant she had to go into her cash drawer and pull out actual cash money to give back to me! Oh, the look on her face. Why didn't I bring a camera to the grocery store?
That would normally be a pretty good story, but it's not over. While I was getting my refund... remember how the second cashier did a price check on my two-pack? Well... she never deleted that price check so my colleague was ALSO charged $20 for truffles on his bill, even though he never even bought any chocolate!
Once again, a manager was required to delete this phantom purchase. The problem was, my colleague had just handed her 100,000 CFA in currency and she now was required to hand him back change - including the difference for the truffles. This required the second cashier to perform basic subtraction - a task for which she was obviously not prepared for. She and my colleague spent the better part of ten minutes trying to reconcile the difference between his bill; both pre- and post-truffle.
We spent a total of 45 minutes trying to check out of the store. When we returned to the house to unload our groceries, we discovered that neither one of us brought home any chocolate.
(Part Deux - Next Sunday!)
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Tourism: The Great Economic Hope
Senegal is widely accepted as being the arts and music capital of West Africa. The country was recently host to the "annual" Festival Mondial Des Arts Negres. I say "annual" because that is exactly how the festival is billed, even though this is only the 3rd Festival since 1966. A nice, working link is included below:
http://blackworldfestival.com/wp/en/
But, I'm getting ahead of myself. This blog entry is about one man's dream to build an economy in his native country - a country that does not appear to have any major manufacturing facility to employ its citizens; a country that still imports most goods from France 50+ years after Independence and has its currency linked to the Euro; a country with an official unemployment rate of 49%. That man, of course, is the Honorable President Wade (pronounced "wod", as in "spit wad").
So, President Wade, like every great leader before him in every great country, determined the best way to provide for his people - and also ensure his legacy - was to do something for his country. I'm not talking about leaving the country to his son like most 80 year old world leaders who are currently being overthrown (although that would make for another excellent blog entry). And - to his credit - Wade did not build a giant statue of himself. No, Wade went one better.
He commissioned the largest bronze statue in Africa. At about 49 meters high, it slightly outranks the Statue of Liberty (46.5 meters, or about 150 feet) and absolutely dwarfs Christ the Redeemer (a mere 38 meters tall). Just in case you were wondering, the statue was also built on a hill about 100 meters and is located adjacent to the airport. Welcome to Senegal! Build it and they will come...
The statue was commissioned at a cost of $27 million. And, with all the great artisans in Africa - including world reknowned sculptors - the chance to earn $27 million for building this statue would have provided quite a spark to the local economy as well as defining Wade's commitment to investing in Senegal's arts and tourism sectors. So, the builder lucky enough to earn this windfall was (drumroll please....) North Korea.
I can't make this stuff up, but all of the above has been widely documented by others much more qualified than me. Criticisms have been leveled, expectations have been scaled back - such as Wade's expectation that he should personally earn 35% of the revenues from the statue because the "intellectual property," or "idea for the statue," was his - and the statue was built anyway. Now, bring on the tourists!
Oh wait, tourists usually need some reason to visit a particular location. Mount Rushmore aside, most people won't actually burn their hard earned vacation dollars to stare a giant monument. So, enter the annual Black World Arts Festival: 21 days of music, films, lectures, arts and crafts and a giant celebration of Senegal's place as the new tourist capital of West Africa. The event was attended by dozens of heads of state and many famous artists, musicians and actors. By most accounts, it was a success in terms of drawing visitors to the region. That's why I decided to offer up a couple of sidebars to the event.
The first item is that Senegal's electricity is not especially well known for its reliability. This can generally be traced to two factors. The first is that Senegal's electric system is highly dependent on oil and diesel, so the recent increase in fuel prices cannot be immediately passed along to customers and puts additional strain on the power provider's finances. This is also related to the second reason: Senegal's electric utility is absolutely corrupt.
With profits being skimmed and a rise in the price of oil, suppliers were not paid and they reacted swiftly by cutting off access to the fuel required for the power plants. Rolling blackouts are the norm here. What would President Wade do about that? Certainly, he would not allow his country to be embarrassed on the world scene with rolling blackouts during a signature event. The results were amazing! 21 days of power aplenty! After the festival, the country returned to heavy rolling blackouts for about a month...
The other sidebar is about whether or not tourism generates economic benefits for the locals. With all those tourists expected, many college students were hired to work booths, hand out literature, give directions and act as general public ambassadors. The students sometimes worked eight to twelve hour days and were asked to be "on call", meaning it was difficult for them to plan anything for the entire 21 days of the festival. Rumors of Spike Lee and several other top celebrities filled their hopes and I know of one student who met actor and international humanitarian Danny Glover at the event.
What were their wages? Just how much did they earn? It is now February 6 - thirty-seven days after the festival ended and fifty-eight days after they began work - and none of the students have been paid a dime for their efforts. Repeated visits to top officials result in responses of, "You'll need to see Mr. So and So", who in turn refers them to Mr. Such and Such, who refers them to Mr. Upper Muckity Muck who - of course - is "away on business."
http://blackworldfestival.com/wp/en/
But, I'm getting ahead of myself. This blog entry is about one man's dream to build an economy in his native country - a country that does not appear to have any major manufacturing facility to employ its citizens; a country that still imports most goods from France 50+ years after Independence and has its currency linked to the Euro; a country with an official unemployment rate of 49%. That man, of course, is the Honorable President Wade (pronounced "wod", as in "spit wad").
So, President Wade, like every great leader before him in every great country, determined the best way to provide for his people - and also ensure his legacy - was to do something for his country. I'm not talking about leaving the country to his son like most 80 year old world leaders who are currently being overthrown (although that would make for another excellent blog entry). And - to his credit - Wade did not build a giant statue of himself. No, Wade went one better.
He commissioned the largest bronze statue in Africa. At about 49 meters high, it slightly outranks the Statue of Liberty (46.5 meters, or about 150 feet) and absolutely dwarfs Christ the Redeemer (a mere 38 meters tall). Just in case you were wondering, the statue was also built on a hill about 100 meters and is located adjacent to the airport. Welcome to Senegal! Build it and they will come...
The statue was commissioned at a cost of $27 million. And, with all the great artisans in Africa - including world reknowned sculptors - the chance to earn $27 million for building this statue would have provided quite a spark to the local economy as well as defining Wade's commitment to investing in Senegal's arts and tourism sectors. So, the builder lucky enough to earn this windfall was (drumroll please....) North Korea.
I can't make this stuff up, but all of the above has been widely documented by others much more qualified than me. Criticisms have been leveled, expectations have been scaled back - such as Wade's expectation that he should personally earn 35% of the revenues from the statue because the "intellectual property," or "idea for the statue," was his - and the statue was built anyway. Now, bring on the tourists!
Oh wait, tourists usually need some reason to visit a particular location. Mount Rushmore aside, most people won't actually burn their hard earned vacation dollars to stare a giant monument. So, enter the annual Black World Arts Festival: 21 days of music, films, lectures, arts and crafts and a giant celebration of Senegal's place as the new tourist capital of West Africa. The event was attended by dozens of heads of state and many famous artists, musicians and actors. By most accounts, it was a success in terms of drawing visitors to the region. That's why I decided to offer up a couple of sidebars to the event.
The first item is that Senegal's electricity is not especially well known for its reliability. This can generally be traced to two factors. The first is that Senegal's electric system is highly dependent on oil and diesel, so the recent increase in fuel prices cannot be immediately passed along to customers and puts additional strain on the power provider's finances. This is also related to the second reason: Senegal's electric utility is absolutely corrupt.
With profits being skimmed and a rise in the price of oil, suppliers were not paid and they reacted swiftly by cutting off access to the fuel required for the power plants. Rolling blackouts are the norm here. What would President Wade do about that? Certainly, he would not allow his country to be embarrassed on the world scene with rolling blackouts during a signature event. The results were amazing! 21 days of power aplenty! After the festival, the country returned to heavy rolling blackouts for about a month...
The other sidebar is about whether or not tourism generates economic benefits for the locals. With all those tourists expected, many college students were hired to work booths, hand out literature, give directions and act as general public ambassadors. The students sometimes worked eight to twelve hour days and were asked to be "on call", meaning it was difficult for them to plan anything for the entire 21 days of the festival. Rumors of Spike Lee and several other top celebrities filled their hopes and I know of one student who met actor and international humanitarian Danny Glover at the event.
What were their wages? Just how much did they earn? It is now February 6 - thirty-seven days after the festival ended and fifty-eight days after they began work - and none of the students have been paid a dime for their efforts. Repeated visits to top officials result in responses of, "You'll need to see Mr. So and So", who in turn refers them to Mr. Such and Such, who refers them to Mr. Upper Muckity Muck who - of course - is "away on business."
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