We are in our last days in Guinea, and in between our final drumming and dancing classes, many of us want to buy some gifts and souvenirs. And this means a visit to “the market,” one of the great pleasures and wonders of any trip to a developing country. Of course, much of Conakry is an open-air market to some extent – most of the major streets are lined with both indoor shops which open directly to the street or tents and blankets in which vendors sell almost anything one could want. But here in Conakry, there is one market that stands above all others, the one we have referred to as “the big one,” the Madina Market.
We have passed through the neighborhood surrounding this market before, so we knew of the incredible number of people that gather to trade here. Some of us were a little nervous about heading into such a large and seemingly chaotic crowd. Nevertheless, we headed out on Monday morning with a couple of our Guinean guides to see what we could find.
We drove in a taxi to the neighborhood near the market. To get to the market, we had to walk across a bridge that went over a set of railroad tracks and a busy autopiste. The bridge is lined with vendors on both sides and so many pedestrians that it is very difficult for vehicles to get across. They honk their horns almost constantly to clear a path. From the top of the bridge, you can see additional stalls along the railroad tracks, and you can also see the nearby main soccer stadium (the one they currently use, not the new one they are building near our house), and in the distance the four spires of the Grand Mosque. Looking towards the market, a large building surrounded on all sides by numerous stalls, you can see another mosque, with two very tall spires.
Some of us stopped as we crossed to look at bootlegged DVDs and other items. We then descended the other side and entered the market. It is a mass of humanity, many of whom want you to buy whatever item they are selling. And they could be selling almost anything, from underwear to motorcycles. People shouted “fote” and “boss man” to get our attention and to attract us into their stalls. Others wandered around carrying their goods, and poked us and pushed items into our faces.
The Madina Market is not really oriented towards tourists. This is where many residents come to buy the things they need on a daily basis, and also where other retailers come to by the things they sell in their stores. Consequently, we didn’t see too much that we needed to buy, especially given that we will be leaving in two days. But we wandered around for a good two hours, nevertheless.
There were several of us together, which meant if one person wanted to stop to buy something, a process that takes awhile given the need to look for the best item and to negotiate a price, the rest of us were left standing around. In typical fashion, the Guineans showed great hospitality by providing us with chairs or benches to sit down in the shade while we waited. People here are very attuned to others and seem to know your needs without you even asking. Some also asked us what we were looking for and offered to go and find the items for us.
We eventually tired of all the people, and some ran out of money (the best way to dissuade the many vendors – telling them “I’m broke” usually, though not always, sends them off looking for another buyer), so we bought some soft drinks from a young man carrying a tub of Cokes, Fantas and other beverages, then we walked along the highway back to the bridge and across to find the taxi that was waiting for us. While this was a very interesting cultural experience, I think most in our group found it cumbersome to have to negotiate so much just to do some shopping. Having to weave through so many people, especially in Guinea’s relentless heat; having to say “no” so many times to unsolicited sellers; and having to negotiate a price on very purchase are all tiring. We are happy for the relative simplicity of shopping at Krogers or WalMart, where strangely in many ways our choices are much more limited and prescribed. I think in a country like Guinea with so many poor people who don’t have a lot to buy, having to negotiate all of this at the times they do shop is not such a great burden, but in a high consumption country like the United States, where shopping is a recreational activity, the Madina Market system would not function very well.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Waiting... Waiting... Waiting...
Nobel laureate Gabriel Garcia Marquez has made a career weaving stories about the magic in everyday life in the villages along Colombia’s Caribbean coast. In his story “No One Writes to the Colonel,” he recounts the tale of a retired military official who spends over twenty years waiting for his pension check to arrive. Throughout the time, the colonel remains convinced that the check will come in the next day’s mail. It is a story about the indomitable human spirit, about resilience and hope in the face of inefficient, corrupt and crumbling social institutions. It is also a story about the tedium of waiting.
We have become intimately familiar with this aspect of life in a culture where time is measured in days and seasons rather than in minutes and seconds. In a previous post on this blog, Wally has dubbed this “wongai time,” wongai being the Suissui word for “let’s go.” Whenever we are trying to get organized to go somewhere, there is a long period of “hurry up and wait,” of “wongai! wongai!” and then standing around waiting for an hour or two before we finally get going. And in the last few days we have become familiar with an aspect of wongai time that is closer to that faced by Garcia Marquez’s colonel.
Last week a couple of our group’s leaders had a chance meeting with the vice president of Guinea in a restaurant. They told him about our drumming course, and he was appreciative that our group had chosen Guinea and offered to help in any way he could. Our leaders decided it would be good for our group to meet the vice president. And the waiting began.
Now, of course the vice president of a country is a very busy man. While I know nothing of his daily schedule, I can imagine it is filled with meetings with diplomats, other politicians, leaders from cities and towns all over the country, business leaders and the like. And, like politicians everywhere, I am sure he also meets with his constituents and with private groups such as ours on occasion, in recognition of the important things ordinary people are doing in the country and also as a photo opportunity (although the value of a photo opportunity in a country with little press is debatable). But his time is valuable and getting a piece of it is not easy. Thus, we have been told for the past several days that we are waiting for a telephone call that will announce our visit with this important official.
On Friday we even went over to the military barracks where his residence is located to meet with him, but after waiting (in a comfortable room with air conditioning and a very emotional West African soap opera on the TV), we finally learned he would not be available and left. Since then we have been waiting for the call. Will we ever meet the vice president? Perhaps today…
We have become intimately familiar with this aspect of life in a culture where time is measured in days and seasons rather than in minutes and seconds. In a previous post on this blog, Wally has dubbed this “wongai time,” wongai being the Suissui word for “let’s go.” Whenever we are trying to get organized to go somewhere, there is a long period of “hurry up and wait,” of “wongai! wongai!” and then standing around waiting for an hour or two before we finally get going. And in the last few days we have become familiar with an aspect of wongai time that is closer to that faced by Garcia Marquez’s colonel.
Last week a couple of our group’s leaders had a chance meeting with the vice president of Guinea in a restaurant. They told him about our drumming course, and he was appreciative that our group had chosen Guinea and offered to help in any way he could. Our leaders decided it would be good for our group to meet the vice president. And the waiting began.
Now, of course the vice president of a country is a very busy man. While I know nothing of his daily schedule, I can imagine it is filled with meetings with diplomats, other politicians, leaders from cities and towns all over the country, business leaders and the like. And, like politicians everywhere, I am sure he also meets with his constituents and with private groups such as ours on occasion, in recognition of the important things ordinary people are doing in the country and also as a photo opportunity (although the value of a photo opportunity in a country with little press is debatable). But his time is valuable and getting a piece of it is not easy. Thus, we have been told for the past several days that we are waiting for a telephone call that will announce our visit with this important official.
On Friday we even went over to the military barracks where his residence is located to meet with him, but after waiting (in a comfortable room with air conditioning and a very emotional West African soap opera on the TV), we finally learned he would not be available and left. Since then we have been waiting for the call. Will we ever meet the vice president? Perhaps today…
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Finally, OUR (migrating) Dundunba!
Ever since we first heard of the trip to Guinea, one of the selling points has been having our own dundunba at the end of the trip. Well, the appointed day finally arrived! Our dundunba was scheduled for Saturday afternoon. The actual location, like the masks Wally discussed in a previous post, seemed to be a secret – it changed periodically during the week, and even during the party itself. We started at our home. About 2 pm we were told the scheduled time was 4 pm, so we all began preparing, donning our African gear, and at 4 we were ready to dance. But no one really started arriving until about 6 pm – something we are pretty accustomed to by now (and none of us really expected anyone at 4). Once people started arriving, things picked up quickly, though. A drumming corps set up along the side wall of the patio and began a rhythm, and dancers got up and did some traditional steps. People were getting into it and more people were arriving, many of whom we recognized from previous dundunbas we have attended and from Sekou’s ballet company.
Just when it seemed like things were going, the band picked up their drums and headed towards the gate. One of the members, djembe slung over his shoulder, said to me “Let’s go to the dundunba.” I thought “isn’t that where we are?” But apparently the word had come down from wherever the mysterious place is that words come down from here in this magical land that the dundunba was moving over to the center of Conteya, our neighborhood. So we followed along, walking in a long line down the street to the corner where we often catch taxis, then along the road that heads towards the ocean for a half block to a small paved pad on the side of the road. Plastic chairs were set up in a circle, and the drummers set up in the front. Again, they began beating a rhythm.
The Americans took seats at the back of the circle. Several of us looked warily around to see who was going to select the dancers, as we wanted to avoid his/her eyes. Many in our group don’t mind getting out and dancing but are starting to feel as though the Americans are “on display” and people laugh at us when we dance. Personally, I don’t believe that is true (although I am one who has steadfastly avoided dancing in these affairs) – I think people want us to dance because to them, dancing is the joy of life and they want everyone to share in it. They do laugh when Americans dance, and often our steps are not as intricate as theirs and perhaps do not display the virtuosity most dancers at dundunbas have, but I don’t think the audience is laughing at Americans who dance, I believe they are filled with joy and happy to see Americans participating in their culture, even if it is in an unrefined way.
Once again, the beat got going and the dancers were taking turns showing their stuff. A crowed gathered along the side of the road to watch. Our dance instructor Sali, decked out in an African dress and scarf, took some of the Americans out and they performed some of the sequenced steps she had taught during our dance class. The crowd loved this. One-by-one the Americans dropped out and went back to their seats, as did Sali, but Gene and David, the two members of our group who have been most dedicated to the dance classes, stayed out there and continued the steps for awhile. Finally, the leader came out and swept them off, to the crowd’s approval, and others went and did their individual dances.
Yet again, though, just as we were getting started… Suddenly, a pick-up pulled up and a man got out. The rhythm quickly stopped. A large crowd gathered around the drums, and in the style we have become accustomed to watching from the sidelines, about 40 or 50 people heatedly discussed matters, while we wondered what was happening. Then Olu came over and told us we were moving back to the house. Apparently the local officials did not approve of this spontaneous party, and shut it down.
Again, we moved to the house in a long line. Some tired of this moving around and left, but most people went back to the house, and once again, the drummers took up the beat. Dancers jumped up, kicked up their feet and sat down, and people began having a good time once again. Seku and Ballake took up the lead spots in the combo for awhile, then other drummers came in and soloed. People sat around the circle in plastic chairs, while others gathered in the gazebo opposite the drummers. The leader went around with a handkerchief selecting dancers. Some of the Americans took turns with dance solos.
I was taking pictures and went up to the balcony off of our living room, on the second floor overlooking the patio. Gene was on the balcony taking photos as well. We saw rain clouds forming off to the north. Then, the wind picked up and the palm tree across the street began blowing. Finally, the rains arrived. The dancers and drummers continued until the rain got harder, then they moved into the covered patio in front of the house where the staff here stays. After a few more dances, everyone gave up and called it a night.
Probably not what we had envisioned for our big party, but many of the friends we have made came by and performed, and the dances and outfits made this cultural experience fun to watch, and for some, fun to participate in. The drummers here feel they belong to a large brotherhood, and some have told us they believe we are entering that group. For at least one evening, we could feel like we were a part of the talented corps of Guinean djembe players.
Just when it seemed like things were going, the band picked up their drums and headed towards the gate. One of the members, djembe slung over his shoulder, said to me “Let’s go to the dundunba.” I thought “isn’t that where we are?” But apparently the word had come down from wherever the mysterious place is that words come down from here in this magical land that the dundunba was moving over to the center of Conteya, our neighborhood. So we followed along, walking in a long line down the street to the corner where we often catch taxis, then along the road that heads towards the ocean for a half block to a small paved pad on the side of the road. Plastic chairs were set up in a circle, and the drummers set up in the front. Again, they began beating a rhythm.
The Americans took seats at the back of the circle. Several of us looked warily around to see who was going to select the dancers, as we wanted to avoid his/her eyes. Many in our group don’t mind getting out and dancing but are starting to feel as though the Americans are “on display” and people laugh at us when we dance. Personally, I don’t believe that is true (although I am one who has steadfastly avoided dancing in these affairs) – I think people want us to dance because to them, dancing is the joy of life and they want everyone to share in it. They do laugh when Americans dance, and often our steps are not as intricate as theirs and perhaps do not display the virtuosity most dancers at dundunbas have, but I don’t think the audience is laughing at Americans who dance, I believe they are filled with joy and happy to see Americans participating in their culture, even if it is in an unrefined way.
Once again, the beat got going and the dancers were taking turns showing their stuff. A crowed gathered along the side of the road to watch. Our dance instructor Sali, decked out in an African dress and scarf, took some of the Americans out and they performed some of the sequenced steps she had taught during our dance class. The crowd loved this. One-by-one the Americans dropped out and went back to their seats, as did Sali, but Gene and David, the two members of our group who have been most dedicated to the dance classes, stayed out there and continued the steps for awhile. Finally, the leader came out and swept them off, to the crowd’s approval, and others went and did their individual dances.
Yet again, though, just as we were getting started… Suddenly, a pick-up pulled up and a man got out. The rhythm quickly stopped. A large crowd gathered around the drums, and in the style we have become accustomed to watching from the sidelines, about 40 or 50 people heatedly discussed matters, while we wondered what was happening. Then Olu came over and told us we were moving back to the house. Apparently the local officials did not approve of this spontaneous party, and shut it down.
Again, we moved to the house in a long line. Some tired of this moving around and left, but most people went back to the house, and once again, the drummers took up the beat. Dancers jumped up, kicked up their feet and sat down, and people began having a good time once again. Seku and Ballake took up the lead spots in the combo for awhile, then other drummers came in and soloed. People sat around the circle in plastic chairs, while others gathered in the gazebo opposite the drummers. The leader went around with a handkerchief selecting dancers. Some of the Americans took turns with dance solos.
I was taking pictures and went up to the balcony off of our living room, on the second floor overlooking the patio. Gene was on the balcony taking photos as well. We saw rain clouds forming off to the north. Then, the wind picked up and the palm tree across the street began blowing. Finally, the rains arrived. The dancers and drummers continued until the rain got harder, then they moved into the covered patio in front of the house where the staff here stays. After a few more dances, everyone gave up and called it a night.
Probably not what we had envisioned for our big party, but many of the friends we have made came by and performed, and the dances and outfits made this cultural experience fun to watch, and for some, fun to participate in. The drummers here feel they belong to a large brotherhood, and some have told us they believe we are entering that group. For at least one evening, we could feel like we were a part of the talented corps of Guinean djembe players.
Everything is Beautiful at the Ballet
On Thursday evening we returned to Sekou’s studio for the dance spectacular. The show was scheduled to start at 6 pm, so we went and piled into taxis and headed downtown. We arrived late, about 6:20, but found that they had changed the starting time, and the show was now scheduled to begin at 8 pm. We hung around for a few minutes, during which Yamoussa, our first dancing instructor and a principal dancer with Sekou’s company, arrived on his motorcycle. We greeted him, and he went indoors. We then were informed that we would walk somewhere, although no one really seemed to know where we were going. Since we have become rather accustomed to this state of affairs, we followed along dutifully, and walked for a few blocks to a small café and bar, where we sat around a small patio and a few people ordered drinks.
About 7:45 some of us began to get antsy and suggested we head back to the studio. We were told it was too early, but shortly after 8 we headed out and walked back. When we arrived we found they still weren’t ready to start, so we waited outside for awhile, watching the always-bustling Conakry street scene, and then finally went in around 8:30. We were lead to the front row of several rows of plastic chairs that had been set up for the occasion. The chairs were labeled “VIP.” How we merited VIP seating, I don’t know, except that Guineans have always seemed to be especially hospitable to us.
The audience continued to file in and fill the seats, finally numbering about 150 or so. After awhile, an emcee got on the stage and spoke for awhile, introducing Sekou and others, and then a woman came out and lip-synched to French tunes while three dancers did some simple dance steps behind her. This was clearly to kill time until they were ready to start, but the audience appreciated her songs nevertheless. Finally, around 9:30, the drummers came out and set up on the left side of the stage. They were wearing simple short sleeved pull-over white shirts that have been identified as the special shirts drummers wear for concerts. Some were wearing baseball caps.
They began a rhythm and the show began. A parade of elaborately costumed characters danced around the stage – we recognized several of the masks that we have seen around the country. One was the Nimba, the symbol of Guinea, which is a four legged female creature with a bird-like face. Then successive groups of dancers, all in very elaborate and beautiful costumes, came out and performed very energetic dances, while the drummers beat out complex and skillful rhythms. The show, in a word, was incredible. It displayed such remarkable talent and such beauty that it would be hard to describe. We all thoroughly enjoyed it.
When the show ended, the dancers took their bows, and then they set up some drums across the stage and held a post-ballet dundunba. A group of young drummers came out – they looked to be high school age – and played some rhythms. Although they did not display the virtuosity of the ballet drummers, they still were very talented, and put on a good show. Toward the end some people went up on the stage to dance, and with a little encouragement, several of the Americans went up and joined them.
Then Sekou and others began setting up chairs and drums across the stage again, and they announced the Americans were going to play something. We had not been told about this, but all went up on the stage and took our places. Olu was in the center and he began a rhythm, which we picked up on. He then played some solos with the rhythm. I have to say, compared to the other drummers, we looked like amateurs, but the audience was very warm. After we finished the first rhythm, Sekou sat in and we played another, then cleared the stage. The dundunba continued for a little while longer, and most of the crowd stayed for the whole thing.
After the show, one member of our group declared that the ballet performance was “one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen.” I would have to agree – it really was a unique experience to be able to see this wonderful show. We also got to see just how hard Sekou, Yamoussa and others who have taught us work, and how talented they are in their own realm. This company, which was started by Sekou’s dad and which Sekou recently took over when his father passed away, has toured widely and is well known in Guinea. Still, it seemed to me that the talent on display merited an audience larger than the one they attracted in this large, busy, but poor urban area. I wonder if the Gf 20,000 (approximately $4.50) entry kept too many people away – after all, at the rehearsal, when the doors to the street were open, many passers-by stopped in to watch, so clearly there is interest. Perhaps people have to work to hard just to get by and don’t have time for entertainment, or maybe many who would have an interest in a cultural show don’t feel safe going out after dark onto Conakry’s sometimes chaotic and disorderly streets. I do think, however, that this show transcended Guinean culture, and displayed a rich heritage that would be appreciated by audiences anywhere in the world.
About 7:45 some of us began to get antsy and suggested we head back to the studio. We were told it was too early, but shortly after 8 we headed out and walked back. When we arrived we found they still weren’t ready to start, so we waited outside for awhile, watching the always-bustling Conakry street scene, and then finally went in around 8:30. We were lead to the front row of several rows of plastic chairs that had been set up for the occasion. The chairs were labeled “VIP.” How we merited VIP seating, I don’t know, except that Guineans have always seemed to be especially hospitable to us.
The audience continued to file in and fill the seats, finally numbering about 150 or so. After awhile, an emcee got on the stage and spoke for awhile, introducing Sekou and others, and then a woman came out and lip-synched to French tunes while three dancers did some simple dance steps behind her. This was clearly to kill time until they were ready to start, but the audience appreciated her songs nevertheless. Finally, around 9:30, the drummers came out and set up on the left side of the stage. They were wearing simple short sleeved pull-over white shirts that have been identified as the special shirts drummers wear for concerts. Some were wearing baseball caps.
They began a rhythm and the show began. A parade of elaborately costumed characters danced around the stage – we recognized several of the masks that we have seen around the country. One was the Nimba, the symbol of Guinea, which is a four legged female creature with a bird-like face. Then successive groups of dancers, all in very elaborate and beautiful costumes, came out and performed very energetic dances, while the drummers beat out complex and skillful rhythms. The show, in a word, was incredible. It displayed such remarkable talent and such beauty that it would be hard to describe. We all thoroughly enjoyed it.
When the show ended, the dancers took their bows, and then they set up some drums across the stage and held a post-ballet dundunba. A group of young drummers came out – they looked to be high school age – and played some rhythms. Although they did not display the virtuosity of the ballet drummers, they still were very talented, and put on a good show. Toward the end some people went up on the stage to dance, and with a little encouragement, several of the Americans went up and joined them.
Then Sekou and others began setting up chairs and drums across the stage again, and they announced the Americans were going to play something. We had not been told about this, but all went up on the stage and took our places. Olu was in the center and he began a rhythm, which we picked up on. He then played some solos with the rhythm. I have to say, compared to the other drummers, we looked like amateurs, but the audience was very warm. After we finished the first rhythm, Sekou sat in and we played another, then cleared the stage. The dundunba continued for a little while longer, and most of the crowd stayed for the whole thing.
After the show, one member of our group declared that the ballet performance was “one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen.” I would have to agree – it really was a unique experience to be able to see this wonderful show. We also got to see just how hard Sekou, Yamoussa and others who have taught us work, and how talented they are in their own realm. This company, which was started by Sekou’s dad and which Sekou recently took over when his father passed away, has toured widely and is well known in Guinea. Still, it seemed to me that the talent on display merited an audience larger than the one they attracted in this large, busy, but poor urban area. I wonder if the Gf 20,000 (approximately $4.50) entry kept too many people away – after all, at the rehearsal, when the doors to the street were open, many passers-by stopped in to watch, so clearly there is interest. Perhaps people have to work to hard just to get by and don’t have time for entertainment, or maybe many who would have an interest in a cultural show don’t feel safe going out after dark onto Conakry’s sometimes chaotic and disorderly streets. I do think, however, that this show transcended Guinean culture, and displayed a rich heritage that would be appreciated by audiences anywhere in the world.
Friday, June 26, 2009
good and bad cab drivers
Yes as you can see from this Blog we have been busy. Thursday night we went to a performance with masks and costumes given by Seku Sano's company (Seku was one of our teachers for a while}Apparently Sekus company is one of four National Ballets in Guinea.I still do not speak french but I think I heard Seku describe the performance as a presentation of different Masks Rythyms and dances from the different cultures and regions of Guinea. I think I do not understand the social role that masked dances play.{they are stunning to watch.]I do not understand the social role that masks play,but they appear in unexpected places. (on the money for example} Yet annother sign that this really is an independent! African! country! The thing that I wanted to talk about is the cabs.Today one drivergot us smoothly across town, did not get lost,and went fast(while maneuvering around things ) .He was never honked at.I remeber thinking as we were going along"wow what a great driver"We then arived at the Dunungbe and I saw a drummer I had not seen before{he apparently plays for one of the other national ballets my main thought was "wow what a great drummer" The ride home was absolutely miserable 1. it was rush hour.2.the cab driver made mistakes,got lost,almost got into wrecks and was constantly honked at. Was he tired? having a bad day ?or is rush hour always painful? I do not Know !things are complicated here. Later I was talking to somebody at the compound about masks and he said"1.They are secret 2.They are African 3. and that Idid not possess the power to understand them.How could I" I do not know! Things are complicated here!
Buying Drums in Conakry
As we now are past the first day of summer in the northern hemisphere, we are into the rainy season (sometimes called “winter”) in the northern tropics. And we have seen evidence of increased rains already. For our first couple of weeks here, it mostly rained about 4 am, and we had many days with no rain. But over the past week we have had a couple of good rainstorms during the day, as well as three very strong nighttime thunderstorms. A couple days ago we had a storm that was so strong that it knocked over much of the palm thatch covering our patio, where we have been taking drumming and dance lessons. They removed the whole covering, giving the patio a very different appearance.
Thursday was a very rainy day in Conakry. We had a strong storm in the morning, shortly after dawn. And another storm came through in the early afternoon. It was overcast and cool for the rest of the day – the first day of reasonably cool weather since we have arrived. Some members of our group were interested in buying djembes, so several of us loaded into two cars and headed downtown with Ballake, one of our drum teachers, to locate some drums. We hit the downtown just as the storm began, and spent our time there in a heavy rain.
There was a lot of traffic in Conakry this weekday, and it took us awhile to get to the western end of the peninsula. Our taxi driver ran out of gas early in the trip, but fortunately we were near a gas station, so he took a small can over and put a small amount of gas in his tank. We have found that many people here buy gas in small quantities – a gallon at a time or so, and keep their tanks near empty most of the time. It seems most taxi trips involve a stop at a gas station for a small amount of gasoline to complete the trip. And vendors sell litre bottles of gasoline and other fuels on the street all over town. Such is the hand-to-mouth existence for many in West Africa.
Once we were back on our way, we ran into trouble with the law. In the middle of a traffic jam, two policemen were pulling cars over, apparently in search of bribes. We got pulled aside. Fortunately, one of our security guards is an officer in the military, and he was in the other car right behind us, in uniform. He got out and yelled at the police officers, who quickly backed off and sent us on our way. We repeated this again as we got closer to downtown, with two female police officers.
We finally stopped in a neighborhood at the very western end of the peninsula, and walked through the rain to a house. We went down a narrow path between two buildings to a courtyard with a large tree growing at the far end. There were a couple of women in the doorways of the homes across the courtyard, and two doors in a separate house at our end of the yard. We could see over the roofs to some of the taller buildings in the neighborhood. Several of us stood under an overhand in the tin roof, as the rain was getting harder. A couple of guys brought out a few djembes and began showing them to members of our group.
They shuttled us along the small walkway at the edge of the building into a short passageway, and then through a door into a very small and very dark room. The roof was leaking in several spots, so all of us – about eight in total – crowded in, trying to find our way in the very dim light provided by the door, and seeking a dry spot to stand. One of the hosts produced a candle, which lit up the room, revealing a bed with a guy sleeping on it. The bed took up about two thirds of the room, and there was barely enough room for all of us to stand. There were several unfinished drums outside the door, now getting soaked in the rain. They opened a small storage room next to the door and began bringing out drums. The members of our group who were looking began negotiating a price, with Ballake doing the translating.
I was just along for the ride, so I stepped out of the room and went back to the courtyard, which now was completely flooded. I stood under the overhang, trying to avoid the leaky spots. Two girls walked into the courtyard and stepped into the pool, which reached their ankles. Wally, who also was mostly along for the ride, came out of the room and stood next to me. After a couple of minutes, a boy of about 12, wearing only blue soccer shorts, brought a small wooden bench over and set it next to us, then put a cloth over it. I thanked him for this generous gesture and he went back across the courtyard to his mother, who was washing some clothes in front of their small house. The people living in this courtyard are about as poor as people can get, but it is important for them to make a stranger feel comfortable as best they can. I was very touched by their kindness.
As we sat there, we saw several bolts of lightening, followed almost immediately by loud thunder. Two of the lightening bolts seemed to hit very nearby. I commented to Wally that I hoped the house had a lightening rod! After awhile the rain subsided a little and the courtyard began to drain into a large opening in the corner.
Soon, the members of our group emerged from the room with smiles on their faces. Apparently they had managed to negotiate a price that satisfied them. The drums they purchased were not ready yet, though, so they will have to return on Sunday to pick them up.
As we left the house I waved at the boy and woman across the courtyard and thanked them. They smiled and waved as we walked back down the passage to the street. The rain had let up some and there was a large branch from a tree across the street that had broken off and was blocking traffic across half of the street. I saw that it had broken from the tree and wondered if it had been hit by lightening.
We walked the other direction and went a couple blocks in search of a taxi. We stood on a busy corner as Ballake and a friend (apparently another drummer) who had mysteriously appeared halfway through the trip looked for a taxi. They finally found one and negotiated a trip back to our home in Conteya – a good distance away, but the typical fare is Gf 20,000, or about four U.S. dollars. The traffic was a mess on the way home as well. Just outside of downtown we got to a bridge and found the underpass completely flooded. Only the largest trucks and SUVs were venturing going in. Everyone else was looking for some way around it, which led to cars heading in many different directions. We managed to inch our way up a down ramp, and at the top some police officers had shown up and were directing traffic, so we got out of it. Our taxi driver snaked through back streets to avoid traffic for most of the rest of the trip home.
Despite the rain and inconveniences, this was an interesting excursion into one side of the world of drumming in Conakry. The drummaker clearly had a successful business – he had a number of drums he was working on – but lived in a tiny room (perhaps with others although we never found out all the details) in a very poor neighborhood. The work is very labor intensive and I’m sure the cost of his raw materials is going up – the hardwoods of Guinea are used for many things, including a fairly thriving furniture industry which supplies Europe with beds and armoires. For his work, he is able to get about Gf 250,000, or sixty U.S. dollars, per drum. It is a tough way to make a living for this craftsman, but seems to be similar to the experiences of many skilled people in this country.
Thursday was a very rainy day in Conakry. We had a strong storm in the morning, shortly after dawn. And another storm came through in the early afternoon. It was overcast and cool for the rest of the day – the first day of reasonably cool weather since we have arrived. Some members of our group were interested in buying djembes, so several of us loaded into two cars and headed downtown with Ballake, one of our drum teachers, to locate some drums. We hit the downtown just as the storm began, and spent our time there in a heavy rain.
There was a lot of traffic in Conakry this weekday, and it took us awhile to get to the western end of the peninsula. Our taxi driver ran out of gas early in the trip, but fortunately we were near a gas station, so he took a small can over and put a small amount of gas in his tank. We have found that many people here buy gas in small quantities – a gallon at a time or so, and keep their tanks near empty most of the time. It seems most taxi trips involve a stop at a gas station for a small amount of gasoline to complete the trip. And vendors sell litre bottles of gasoline and other fuels on the street all over town. Such is the hand-to-mouth existence for many in West Africa.
Once we were back on our way, we ran into trouble with the law. In the middle of a traffic jam, two policemen were pulling cars over, apparently in search of bribes. We got pulled aside. Fortunately, one of our security guards is an officer in the military, and he was in the other car right behind us, in uniform. He got out and yelled at the police officers, who quickly backed off and sent us on our way. We repeated this again as we got closer to downtown, with two female police officers.
We finally stopped in a neighborhood at the very western end of the peninsula, and walked through the rain to a house. We went down a narrow path between two buildings to a courtyard with a large tree growing at the far end. There were a couple of women in the doorways of the homes across the courtyard, and two doors in a separate house at our end of the yard. We could see over the roofs to some of the taller buildings in the neighborhood. Several of us stood under an overhand in the tin roof, as the rain was getting harder. A couple of guys brought out a few djembes and began showing them to members of our group.
They shuttled us along the small walkway at the edge of the building into a short passageway, and then through a door into a very small and very dark room. The roof was leaking in several spots, so all of us – about eight in total – crowded in, trying to find our way in the very dim light provided by the door, and seeking a dry spot to stand. One of the hosts produced a candle, which lit up the room, revealing a bed with a guy sleeping on it. The bed took up about two thirds of the room, and there was barely enough room for all of us to stand. There were several unfinished drums outside the door, now getting soaked in the rain. They opened a small storage room next to the door and began bringing out drums. The members of our group who were looking began negotiating a price, with Ballake doing the translating.
I was just along for the ride, so I stepped out of the room and went back to the courtyard, which now was completely flooded. I stood under the overhang, trying to avoid the leaky spots. Two girls walked into the courtyard and stepped into the pool, which reached their ankles. Wally, who also was mostly along for the ride, came out of the room and stood next to me. After a couple of minutes, a boy of about 12, wearing only blue soccer shorts, brought a small wooden bench over and set it next to us, then put a cloth over it. I thanked him for this generous gesture and he went back across the courtyard to his mother, who was washing some clothes in front of their small house. The people living in this courtyard are about as poor as people can get, but it is important for them to make a stranger feel comfortable as best they can. I was very touched by their kindness.
As we sat there, we saw several bolts of lightening, followed almost immediately by loud thunder. Two of the lightening bolts seemed to hit very nearby. I commented to Wally that I hoped the house had a lightening rod! After awhile the rain subsided a little and the courtyard began to drain into a large opening in the corner.
Soon, the members of our group emerged from the room with smiles on their faces. Apparently they had managed to negotiate a price that satisfied them. The drums they purchased were not ready yet, though, so they will have to return on Sunday to pick them up.
As we left the house I waved at the boy and woman across the courtyard and thanked them. They smiled and waved as we walked back down the passage to the street. The rain had let up some and there was a large branch from a tree across the street that had broken off and was blocking traffic across half of the street. I saw that it had broken from the tree and wondered if it had been hit by lightening.
We walked the other direction and went a couple blocks in search of a taxi. We stood on a busy corner as Ballake and a friend (apparently another drummer) who had mysteriously appeared halfway through the trip looked for a taxi. They finally found one and negotiated a trip back to our home in Conteya – a good distance away, but the typical fare is Gf 20,000, or about four U.S. dollars. The traffic was a mess on the way home as well. Just outside of downtown we got to a bridge and found the underpass completely flooded. Only the largest trucks and SUVs were venturing going in. Everyone else was looking for some way around it, which led to cars heading in many different directions. We managed to inch our way up a down ramp, and at the top some police officers had shown up and were directing traffic, so we got out of it. Our taxi driver snaked through back streets to avoid traffic for most of the rest of the trip home.
Despite the rain and inconveniences, this was an interesting excursion into one side of the world of drumming in Conakry. The drummaker clearly had a successful business – he had a number of drums he was working on – but lived in a tiny room (perhaps with others although we never found out all the details) in a very poor neighborhood. The work is very labor intensive and I’m sure the cost of his raw materials is going up – the hardwoods of Guinea are used for many things, including a fairly thriving furniture industry which supplies Europe with beds and armoires. For his work, he is able to get about Gf 250,000, or sixty U.S. dollars, per drum. It is a tough way to make a living for this craftsman, but seems to be similar to the experiences of many skilled people in this country.
"Home"
(And finally I have something I want to post!)
I've been doing a lot of thinking and watching over the past few weeks here in Africa. It's been interesting, because I'm one of those people that likes to just sit and watch others. There are times I'll even sit in a crowded spot in school with my headphones on without any music playing just to look occupied (and there's a lot to be learned that way!). One of the many things I found myself questioning ever since coming out here (much less my first time ever leaving the country at all!) was something I wrote down in my personal journal and shared with Dr. Barton, who said it'd make a good blog post. Just as a preemptive note, this is all just a lot of wondering in general, NOT some kind of attack on any opinions or reality. Please don't take it as such.
I have a slightly different subject/observation to make here, from what I’ve seen. It’s more of a question I’ve come to ponder after living almost a month here in Guinea. That question is this: What is “home”? This isn’t a question I plan to find an answer for. There are tons of definitions, and I hate that I don’t have a dictionary handy to find an official one. For me, it’s hard to say. As a kid, home was with my parents, as it seems to have been with most people. And as with most people, that changes when they finally get out of the house for extended periods of time. After college orientation, the city of Cleveland, MS became my home, even more so now that I’ve lived there for so long. It's the city rather than a particular building. Even still, I question what “home” is. Going to Paris was an interesting thing, because it’s been one of my goals to get there one day, and we just recently had that two-day layover (which seems like it was years ago, now). I remember stepping out of the plane and thinking, “Wow… This is it.” It felt right just being there. I’ve heard several people on this trip say the same about Guinea. It all, in this case, seems to come from the feeling of satisfaction in where one is.
I found another statement I heard interesting (“I’m beginning to call this place home”) because it sounded as if the person was speaking of the compound we’re staying at. So now, rather than a city or country, it’s a specific building, or maybe it’s the fact that we’ve been staying here so long or the activities that have been going on here. So could home be a specific building?
“You’ll wake up in America and wish you were in Africa.” That was one quote our drum teacher, Amara, has said that stuck with me when writing this. As far as I know, Amara was born and raised in Africa. In this case, it seems to be the place or country of birth. Tradition, upbringing, culture… Definitely one of the many things we can see as part of a home.
Aside from my observations of the people around me, there’s one question I can’t help but raise. What about the population/citizens of Guinea? Some people would quickly question, “How can you call a place like Guinea home?” It’s certainly not unheard of, because Conakry alone is a city thriving of 2,000,000 people (or so I’ve heard). Is it a matter of WANTING to live under these kinds of conditions that people like myself aren’t so accustomed to? Not to mention how many people have been telling us how they want to go to America. On the other hand, to those that are here in Africa or have been to such a place, notice how many people are happy and welcoming. Never in America have I been welcomed to an island by a trio of musicians and singers. People will come up with a "Bonjour! Ca va?" and a handshake. How often does that happen in America under the circumstances of just passing by? And who here can forget the enthusiasm and support for the country's football team? There's energy everywhere, and it's not like any I've felt much of in America.
There was a conversation I’d read that I’m going to post at the end of this, but let me wrap this up with what I think on this: Home is what and where you make it. Comfort and safety are most likely the main focus. The very well-known phrase, “Home is where the heart is” comes to mind. Corny, but true.
---
“…people underneath are sufferin’! And the city…is full of polluted air. …On top of that,…”
“Then why doesn’t everyone move…?”
“Dunno. Probably ‘cuz they ain’t got no money. Or maybe… ‘Cuz they love their land, no matter how polluted it gets.”
“I know. No one lives in the slums because they want to. It’s like this train. It can’t run anywhere except where its rails take it.”
I've been doing a lot of thinking and watching over the past few weeks here in Africa. It's been interesting, because I'm one of those people that likes to just sit and watch others. There are times I'll even sit in a crowded spot in school with my headphones on without any music playing just to look occupied (and there's a lot to be learned that way!). One of the many things I found myself questioning ever since coming out here (much less my first time ever leaving the country at all!) was something I wrote down in my personal journal and shared with Dr. Barton, who said it'd make a good blog post. Just as a preemptive note, this is all just a lot of wondering in general, NOT some kind of attack on any opinions or reality. Please don't take it as such.
I have a slightly different subject/observation to make here, from what I’ve seen. It’s more of a question I’ve come to ponder after living almost a month here in Guinea. That question is this: What is “home”? This isn’t a question I plan to find an answer for. There are tons of definitions, and I hate that I don’t have a dictionary handy to find an official one. For me, it’s hard to say. As a kid, home was with my parents, as it seems to have been with most people. And as with most people, that changes when they finally get out of the house for extended periods of time. After college orientation, the city of Cleveland, MS became my home, even more so now that I’ve lived there for so long. It's the city rather than a particular building. Even still, I question what “home” is. Going to Paris was an interesting thing, because it’s been one of my goals to get there one day, and we just recently had that two-day layover (which seems like it was years ago, now). I remember stepping out of the plane and thinking, “Wow… This is it.” It felt right just being there. I’ve heard several people on this trip say the same about Guinea. It all, in this case, seems to come from the feeling of satisfaction in where one is.
I found another statement I heard interesting (“I’m beginning to call this place home”) because it sounded as if the person was speaking of the compound we’re staying at. So now, rather than a city or country, it’s a specific building, or maybe it’s the fact that we’ve been staying here so long or the activities that have been going on here. So could home be a specific building?
“You’ll wake up in America and wish you were in Africa.” That was one quote our drum teacher, Amara, has said that stuck with me when writing this. As far as I know, Amara was born and raised in Africa. In this case, it seems to be the place or country of birth. Tradition, upbringing, culture… Definitely one of the many things we can see as part of a home.
Aside from my observations of the people around me, there’s one question I can’t help but raise. What about the population/citizens of Guinea? Some people would quickly question, “How can you call a place like Guinea home?” It’s certainly not unheard of, because Conakry alone is a city thriving of 2,000,000 people (or so I’ve heard). Is it a matter of WANTING to live under these kinds of conditions that people like myself aren’t so accustomed to? Not to mention how many people have been telling us how they want to go to America. On the other hand, to those that are here in Africa or have been to such a place, notice how many people are happy and welcoming. Never in America have I been welcomed to an island by a trio of musicians and singers. People will come up with a "Bonjour! Ca va?" and a handshake. How often does that happen in America under the circumstances of just passing by? And who here can forget the enthusiasm and support for the country's football team? There's energy everywhere, and it's not like any I've felt much of in America.
There was a conversation I’d read that I’m going to post at the end of this, but let me wrap this up with what I think on this: Home is what and where you make it. Comfort and safety are most likely the main focus. The very well-known phrase, “Home is where the heart is” comes to mind. Corny, but true.
---
“…people underneath are sufferin’! And the city…is full of polluted air. …On top of that,…”
“Then why doesn’t everyone move…?”
“Dunno. Probably ‘cuz they ain’t got no money. Or maybe… ‘Cuz they love their land, no matter how polluted it gets.”
“I know. No one lives in the slums because they want to. It’s like this train. It can’t run anywhere except where its rails take it.”
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Drum and Dance Rehearsal
On Wednesday afternoon, we loaded in taxis and went towards downtown Conakry to a dance studio to watch a drumming and dancing ensemble rehearse. The studio opened directly to the street, and we could hear the beat of the drums as we approached the location. We got out of the taxis and walked through the crowd gathered around the doors and windows, peering in. Inside, the studio was sparse – there was a stage at one end and the rest of the large room was empty, except for one bench in the middle of the room. There were no lights, except for what filtered through the doors and windows on each side of the building. There also was no air conditioning nor fans, and it was very hot in the room.
About 30 people sat on the floor in front of the stage. The drummers were lined up at the far end of the stage, and the dancers were rehearsing. The dancing occurs as individuals or in single-sex groups, and alternates between female and male dancers. It is very high energy – lots of moving the legs and arms, jumping and turns.
The ensemble is directed by Sekou, who taught us drumming during our first two weeks in Guinea. The lead dancer was Yamoussa, who taught our first dance classes. Our balofon instructor Ishmael is also a member of this group, as is Ballake, another of our drumming instructors. Some of the drummers who have been hanging around the house and playing the drums for our dance classes also played with this group.
They made some room for some of our group on the bench, and the rest of us stood up and watched the rehearsal. Shortly after we arrived they took a break and those in the troupe who knew us came over to greet us. We had not seen Yamoussa for a couple of weeks and it was nice to see him again. Then, most people went to the large patio behind the building to sit in the shade. We followed them to the patio, where there was a nice, cooling breeze.
After the break we went back in, and the drummers set up on the floor at the opposite side of the room from the stage. The dancers gathered to one side. Many of the people who were watching the first part of the rehearsal had dissipated – it seemed most of them were just passing the building and had stopped to watch for awhile. The members of our group and a few others gathered to watch another run-through of their show.
The drumming and dancing were really incredible. Sekou’s group is one of the best-known in Conakry and their reputation is well deserved. The dancing included solos by each of the dancers at different times, as well as choreographed group dancing, with women and men alternating. At one point Ballake moved to the center of the stage to solo on his djembe, followed by Sekou doing the same. At the end, some of the dancers came over and invited some members of our group out on the floor to dance. Dr. Fosheim, David and Brittney all went out and danced with some of the professional dancers. Another large crowd had gathered as they ran through their show, and they appreciated the contributions of the Americans.
After the rehearsal, the troupe gathered around sitting on the floor, and Sekou and Yamoussa went through some of the details with them. Sekou invited us to see this show, which is debuting tonight (Thursday). Apparently we saw one of the last run-throughs. Several of us plan to go to see the full show, with costumes and all. Check back for details soon.
A Visit to the University
On Tuesday, June 23, after our morning drumming class, Wally and I went to visit the national university. We were accompanied by Mohammad, Amara’s brother. The university is located on the main road between our house and downtown Conakry, and we have passed it several times on trips into town. It is past the main hospital, the grand mosque, and just before the largest cemetery in town, all of which are right along the same road.
When we leave the house we are supposed to go with one of the Guineans to make sure we don’t get lost and don’t get into trouble. After our morning drumming class, I asked Mohammad if he would go with us to the university. Mohammad only speaks a few words of English and between us Wally and I only speak a few words of French, so communication was somewhat confusing. We were sitting on the patio of the house, and pretty soon everyone around was involved in the discussion. They brought out Ballake, who is one of the drumming instructors and who speaks better English. Then one of the guards, who also speaks some English, got involved. He had gone with us to the Maison de Livre bookstore, and while we were there we had talked about visiting the university to see if they had a bookstore, so he immediately began asking me about the books I was looking for. They then began discussing in Suissui the issue of whether the university had a bookstore or not. I could only follow a little, but as usual the discussion got very heated and involved a lot of shouting and gesticulating, and I think from the few French words I could pick up that they were then discussing whether I wanted to go to the library or the bookstore. After awhile it seemed that their discussion broke down to which direction the university actually was from our house.
In any case, they resolved all these issues, and Wally, Mohammad and I set out. We quickly found a taxi at the crossroads in Conteya, a couple blocks from our place. The taxi took us straight to the university, drove in the front gate, and dropped us off at the front door. We walked in and began looking around the campus. In the discussions before we left, the guys were referring to the university as “Gamal,” and I didn’t know what that meant, but they assured me that was the name of the university. I saw from a bus parked in front of the university that its official name is the Université Gamal Abdel Nasser. We walked into a breezeway under the main building and onto a large courtyard in the back. There were many tropical trees around, a group was playing soccer across the courtyard, and many students and others were walking around. On the backside of the main building, which was four stories tall, we could see many classrooms, which opened to outdoor hallways along the building. The building looked institutional, old and worn, as many buildings do in the harsh tropical environment.
We walked across the courtyard to a newer and nicely painted building, which we found out was the library. Mohammad had taken from the conversation on the patio that we were looking for books, so this seemed like the logical place to take us. After we entered the library, he tried to explain to the woman at the desk what we wanted, although I’m not sure he really knew, nor did we – our main objective was simply to look around and get a feel for the university. The woman didn’t really understand and called the director to come down and speak with us. The director showed up fairly quickly, a very elegant woman in a beautiful colorful African dress and scarf, and she spoke meticulous French. I could follow some of what she said, and she told Mohammad their library collection covered engineering and computer science, primarily, and was all in French. She directed him to the English Department, where she said they had a small English library.
We said good-bye to the director and walked around a few buildings, ended up off campus and walked along the main road for a ways, then went into a courtyard by what appeared to be an elementary school. We continued across the courtyard and it appeared we were reentering the university campus. We passed a small shed where a man had set up an improvised photocopy shop – he had one copier and made a living by making photocopies for students and others. We entered a gate and saw a bulletin board to the side announcing English News Review, so we figured we had arrived to the English Department.
Mohammad saw a young woman he knew and she came over and spoke with us. She talked with Mohammad in Suissui, then spoke to Wally and me in English. She took us over to their small library, which consisted of a few books about taking the SAT and topics like that. The librarian came over to speak with us, and he spoke pretty good English. We more or less said hello, and asked him if there was a bookstore on campus, and he said no, they didn’t have anything like that. We thanked him and the young lady then took us to the director’s office. He was a very nice gentleman who invited us in and had us sit down across his desk. He also spoke very good English. We told him we were visiting and looking around campus, and just wanted to know more about the university. He explained that the English Department was actually part of another university, which had its main campus about 50 km away. He then proceeded to show us the books they use for their English instruction. We spoke with him a little more, and then went back into the courtyard.
As we were walking out I pulled out my camera to take a picture of the English Department building, and a few students who were standing around came over and began practicing their English with Wally and me. They actually spoke very well, and they wanted me to take a picture of them. I did so, and then they wanted to know how they could get a copy. I asked if they had e-mail, and they all wrote down their e-mail addresses, and I promised to send them the picture. A young lady walked up and wanted a picture of us with her camera. She had a nice, new red Sony camera. Many more crowded around, all speaking in their student English, and we took several more photos.
We walked back to the main university and across campus, taking some photos of the buildings, people and gardens. The university’s marching band was practicing and we could hear the music in the distance. I found it remarkable that the university would have such a band, but we did not take time to follow the music and find them. As we crossed the campus, we passed departments that specialized in architecture and in computers. Mohammad communicated to us that the university is very big, and also very bad. I’m not sure exactly what he meant by bad, but it appeared that he was repeating what he had heard people say. As we walked to the main building, Wally was identifying several tropical tree species that he knew from living in Florida and from spending time in the Caribbean. He noted how unusual it was, from the point of view of our American eyes, to see tropical species on a university campus. The trees certainly added a lot of character to the place, and also provided some shade in Guinea’s relentless tropical sun.
We walked back to the main gate and out onto the very busy main avenue, where we caught a bus and continued on our way. Our visit to this campus was rather short but interesting. We were able to get a sense of how colleges operate by talking to the librarian and the director and students in the English Department. As noted in previous postings, a university like this is perhaps an anomaly in Guinea, but also an important agent of change and development for the people in this country. Just before we left the house, one of the vendors explained to me that he had a degree in economics, and sold handicrafts because that was the family business. He said 60 percent of the people in Guinea don’t go to school, and he shook his head and said “that is very, very bad.”
When we leave the house we are supposed to go with one of the Guineans to make sure we don’t get lost and don’t get into trouble. After our morning drumming class, I asked Mohammad if he would go with us to the university. Mohammad only speaks a few words of English and between us Wally and I only speak a few words of French, so communication was somewhat confusing. We were sitting on the patio of the house, and pretty soon everyone around was involved in the discussion. They brought out Ballake, who is one of the drumming instructors and who speaks better English. Then one of the guards, who also speaks some English, got involved. He had gone with us to the Maison de Livre bookstore, and while we were there we had talked about visiting the university to see if they had a bookstore, so he immediately began asking me about the books I was looking for. They then began discussing in Suissui the issue of whether the university had a bookstore or not. I could only follow a little, but as usual the discussion got very heated and involved a lot of shouting and gesticulating, and I think from the few French words I could pick up that they were then discussing whether I wanted to go to the library or the bookstore. After awhile it seemed that their discussion broke down to which direction the university actually was from our house.
In any case, they resolved all these issues, and Wally, Mohammad and I set out. We quickly found a taxi at the crossroads in Conteya, a couple blocks from our place. The taxi took us straight to the university, drove in the front gate, and dropped us off at the front door. We walked in and began looking around the campus. In the discussions before we left, the guys were referring to the university as “Gamal,” and I didn’t know what that meant, but they assured me that was the name of the university. I saw from a bus parked in front of the university that its official name is the Université Gamal Abdel Nasser. We walked into a breezeway under the main building and onto a large courtyard in the back. There were many tropical trees around, a group was playing soccer across the courtyard, and many students and others were walking around. On the backside of the main building, which was four stories tall, we could see many classrooms, which opened to outdoor hallways along the building. The building looked institutional, old and worn, as many buildings do in the harsh tropical environment.
We walked across the courtyard to a newer and nicely painted building, which we found out was the library. Mohammad had taken from the conversation on the patio that we were looking for books, so this seemed like the logical place to take us. After we entered the library, he tried to explain to the woman at the desk what we wanted, although I’m not sure he really knew, nor did we – our main objective was simply to look around and get a feel for the university. The woman didn’t really understand and called the director to come down and speak with us. The director showed up fairly quickly, a very elegant woman in a beautiful colorful African dress and scarf, and she spoke meticulous French. I could follow some of what she said, and she told Mohammad their library collection covered engineering and computer science, primarily, and was all in French. She directed him to the English Department, where she said they had a small English library.
We said good-bye to the director and walked around a few buildings, ended up off campus and walked along the main road for a ways, then went into a courtyard by what appeared to be an elementary school. We continued across the courtyard and it appeared we were reentering the university campus. We passed a small shed where a man had set up an improvised photocopy shop – he had one copier and made a living by making photocopies for students and others. We entered a gate and saw a bulletin board to the side announcing English News Review, so we figured we had arrived to the English Department.
Mohammad saw a young woman he knew and she came over and spoke with us. She talked with Mohammad in Suissui, then spoke to Wally and me in English. She took us over to their small library, which consisted of a few books about taking the SAT and topics like that. The librarian came over to speak with us, and he spoke pretty good English. We more or less said hello, and asked him if there was a bookstore on campus, and he said no, they didn’t have anything like that. We thanked him and the young lady then took us to the director’s office. He was a very nice gentleman who invited us in and had us sit down across his desk. He also spoke very good English. We told him we were visiting and looking around campus, and just wanted to know more about the university. He explained that the English Department was actually part of another university, which had its main campus about 50 km away. He then proceeded to show us the books they use for their English instruction. We spoke with him a little more, and then went back into the courtyard.
As we were walking out I pulled out my camera to take a picture of the English Department building, and a few students who were standing around came over and began practicing their English with Wally and me. They actually spoke very well, and they wanted me to take a picture of them. I did so, and then they wanted to know how they could get a copy. I asked if they had e-mail, and they all wrote down their e-mail addresses, and I promised to send them the picture. A young lady walked up and wanted a picture of us with her camera. She had a nice, new red Sony camera. Many more crowded around, all speaking in their student English, and we took several more photos.
We walked back to the main university and across campus, taking some photos of the buildings, people and gardens. The university’s marching band was practicing and we could hear the music in the distance. I found it remarkable that the university would have such a band, but we did not take time to follow the music and find them. As we crossed the campus, we passed departments that specialized in architecture and in computers. Mohammad communicated to us that the university is very big, and also very bad. I’m not sure exactly what he meant by bad, but it appeared that he was repeating what he had heard people say. As we walked to the main building, Wally was identifying several tropical tree species that he knew from living in Florida and from spending time in the Caribbean. He noted how unusual it was, from the point of view of our American eyes, to see tropical species on a university campus. The trees certainly added a lot of character to the place, and also provided some shade in Guinea’s relentless tropical sun.
We walked back to the main gate and out onto the very busy main avenue, where we caught a bus and continued on our way. Our visit to this campus was rather short but interesting. We were able to get a sense of how colleges operate by talking to the librarian and the director and students in the English Department. As noted in previous postings, a university like this is perhaps an anomaly in Guinea, but also an important agent of change and development for the people in this country. Just before we left the house, one of the vendors explained to me that he had a degree in economics, and sold handicrafts because that was the family business. He said 60 percent of the people in Guinea don’t go to school, and he shook his head and said “that is very, very bad.”
Monday, June 22, 2009
Another Soccer Sunday
Sunday, June 21 was another day of soccer in Guinea. The national team was playing Malawi in a World Cup qualifying match, and the locals were confident of a victory. We had witnessed some of the soccer hysteria two weeks ago during another national qualifying match, and this Sunday showed us again how crazy for soccer Guineans are.
The match was held in the late afternoon. I was out in a neighborhood just outside of downtown when the match started. I had taken a taxi there with David, one of the drumming students, and Mohammad, Amara’s brother, who has been helping with our program. We went with the intention of visiting the “Exclusiv Hyper-Marche Bobo,” advertised as a large supermarket where you could get anything. Although it was Sunday, we had understood this store was open 24 hours, but when we got there we found it shut tight. So, we walked around the neighborhood, which was near the coastline, and we visited some small shops where vendors were selling Guinean souvenirs and products from local artisans. There were a lot of wood carvings and shell necklaces, as well as a few unusual items such as animal pelts and “silver” jewelry. Some of the vendors had drums, so we were looking at those.
I found a drum that I liked and I was negotiating with the vendor for it – a process that involves leaving and returning, discussing the quality of the item, and many other tricks. Mohammad, David and I were standing up the street from the shop discussing the drum and a proper price when Guinea scored its first goal. There was no doubt what had happened, as almost everyone on the street broke out in screams and laughter. Some of the kids were running down the street and everyone was very happy.
We concluded our negotiation for the drum and were walking through a nearby neighborhood when Guinea scored its second goal, and again we knew immediately what had happened. People, especially kids, poured out of the houses and on to the streets, and were running around celebrating. Both goals were scored in the first half of the game, and both by the same Guinean striker.
We were near the Grand Mosque, one of the landmarks in Conakry, so we walked over and looked around – it is a beautiful building, surrounded by a large park. We then caught a taxi back to our house, and on the way back noticed that the traffic was very light for Conakry – no doubt many people were inside watching the second half of the game. In fact in several spots we saw people watching the game – upwards of 200 people gathered around a single TV set at one site, nearly as many at another down the street. When we got back to the house, a radio was blasting the game in the patio. I went walking through our neighborhood of Conteya and saw people packed in small restaurants or around storefront businesses gathered around one TV. Guineans love their soccer!
In the end the Guinean team triumphed, 2-1. A happy day for the country.
The match was held in the late afternoon. I was out in a neighborhood just outside of downtown when the match started. I had taken a taxi there with David, one of the drumming students, and Mohammad, Amara’s brother, who has been helping with our program. We went with the intention of visiting the “Exclusiv Hyper-Marche Bobo,” advertised as a large supermarket where you could get anything. Although it was Sunday, we had understood this store was open 24 hours, but when we got there we found it shut tight. So, we walked around the neighborhood, which was near the coastline, and we visited some small shops where vendors were selling Guinean souvenirs and products from local artisans. There were a lot of wood carvings and shell necklaces, as well as a few unusual items such as animal pelts and “silver” jewelry. Some of the vendors had drums, so we were looking at those.
I found a drum that I liked and I was negotiating with the vendor for it – a process that involves leaving and returning, discussing the quality of the item, and many other tricks. Mohammad, David and I were standing up the street from the shop discussing the drum and a proper price when Guinea scored its first goal. There was no doubt what had happened, as almost everyone on the street broke out in screams and laughter. Some of the kids were running down the street and everyone was very happy.
We concluded our negotiation for the drum and were walking through a nearby neighborhood when Guinea scored its second goal, and again we knew immediately what had happened. People, especially kids, poured out of the houses and on to the streets, and were running around celebrating. Both goals were scored in the first half of the game, and both by the same Guinean striker.
We were near the Grand Mosque, one of the landmarks in Conakry, so we walked over and looked around – it is a beautiful building, surrounded by a large park. We then caught a taxi back to our house, and on the way back noticed that the traffic was very light for Conakry – no doubt many people were inside watching the second half of the game. In fact in several spots we saw people watching the game – upwards of 200 people gathered around a single TV set at one site, nearly as many at another down the street. When we got back to the house, a radio was blasting the game in the patio. I went walking through our neighborhood of Conteya and saw people packed in small restaurants or around storefront businesses gathered around one TV. Guineans love their soccer!
In the end the Guinean team triumphed, 2-1. A happy day for the country.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
The House of Books
On Saturday we organized an outing to the Maison de Livre, a bookstore located just outside of downtown Conakry on the south side of the peninsula. We had seen this store a couple of times on trips around town, and after several days of trying we finally found time to make a visit there. Moussa, one of our security guards, drove three members of our group there.
The idea of a bookstore may seem a little strange in Conakry. First of all, this is a society with a strong oral tradition, including in its several native languages which persist today, and the efforts of the French to impose a modern educational system were resisted, so that Guinea remains largely a country where most people do not read. Second, there just aren’t that many businesses that look much like what an American would consider a “shop,” by which I mean an enclosed location with attendants, a counter, a cash register, etc. Most businesses in Conakry, especially outside of the small downtown area, are open-air – they either consist of a tent or just a blanket on the ground, or are in a building but open directly to the street with no doors or windows.
We drove to the bookstore in Moussa’s car, parked in the small lot in front, and opened the glass door to the nicely air conditioned interior. It looked like any small bookstore in the states – the walls were lined with shelves and filled with books, there were tables and stands around with featured items, and there was a spiral staircase in the center that led to an upstairs room that consisted mostly of children’s books. Each shelf was labeled with a topic, and to the right of the door there was a counter, and towards the rear of the store on the right-hand side were stationery-type items.
We browsed around, each looking for books in our own interests. Even the idea of “browsing” seemed strange in Guinea, as shopping here often consists of fending off several vendors, all of whom are pushing items in your face at the same time. The books were almost all in French, and consisted of a lot of literature, some self-help books, and some technical titles. Most of the items represented Europe much more than Africa, and disappointingly, there was very little about Guinea in the store. There were a few travel guide type books, and I looked at one that had a good amount of information about the country, and lots of photos, but the price was over Gf 200,000, roughly $45 in American currency, and I decided against buying it.
There were a couple of attendants who were helpful in finding items, although they didn’t really have the items we were looking for. Still, this was an interesting cultural experience, a nice excursion into a different side of Guinea than we see on a daily basis.
The idea of a bookstore may seem a little strange in Conakry. First of all, this is a society with a strong oral tradition, including in its several native languages which persist today, and the efforts of the French to impose a modern educational system were resisted, so that Guinea remains largely a country where most people do not read. Second, there just aren’t that many businesses that look much like what an American would consider a “shop,” by which I mean an enclosed location with attendants, a counter, a cash register, etc. Most businesses in Conakry, especially outside of the small downtown area, are open-air – they either consist of a tent or just a blanket on the ground, or are in a building but open directly to the street with no doors or windows.
We drove to the bookstore in Moussa’s car, parked in the small lot in front, and opened the glass door to the nicely air conditioned interior. It looked like any small bookstore in the states – the walls were lined with shelves and filled with books, there were tables and stands around with featured items, and there was a spiral staircase in the center that led to an upstairs room that consisted mostly of children’s books. Each shelf was labeled with a topic, and to the right of the door there was a counter, and towards the rear of the store on the right-hand side were stationery-type items.
We browsed around, each looking for books in our own interests. Even the idea of “browsing” seemed strange in Guinea, as shopping here often consists of fending off several vendors, all of whom are pushing items in your face at the same time. The books were almost all in French, and consisted of a lot of literature, some self-help books, and some technical titles. Most of the items represented Europe much more than Africa, and disappointingly, there was very little about Guinea in the store. There were a few travel guide type books, and I looked at one that had a good amount of information about the country, and lots of photos, but the price was over Gf 200,000, roughly $45 in American currency, and I decided against buying it.
There were a couple of attendants who were helpful in finding items, although they didn’t really have the items we were looking for. Still, this was an interesting cultural experience, a nice excursion into a different side of Guinea than we see on a daily basis.
You're Leaving? Let's Party!
On Saturday, we had a small dundunba at the house in honor of Chip, Amara’s friend and neighbor from South Carolina. Chip has been visiting Guinea for the past month, and although he is staying at Amara’s house, he has spent a lot of time over at our house/drumming school. He also accompanied us on our trips to Kassa Island and Kindia. Chip is returning home on Sunday, so the dundunba on Saturday was his farewell party.
The dundunba got underway right around sunset, as several of the drummers who have been working with us began playing some rhythms. Some in the audience got up and danced. When I arrived, Chip was sitting off to the side taking photos, but after awhile he went into the house where the staff are staying. The drumming and dancing continued while he was gone, and eventually he emerged dressed in a full African outfit, including a tie-dyed shirt and pants and leather sandals. These had been made for him by one of the cooks and her family. Chip went to the front and did some dance steps with Amara to one of the rhythms, then walked around and talked to those in attendance.
The drummers continued playing for awhile and both Guineans and Americans danced. The dancing is usually done one-at-a-time, and the dancer faces the drummers while executing his or her moves. The drumming continued until the call-to-prayer came from the local mosque, at which time it ceased while the prayers went on.
Later on, another band showed up to play. They consisted of several traditional instruments. The first was a cora, sometimes called the Guinean harp, which is a large half-gourd with a straight stick attached, and eight strings arranged vertically in two rows of four. It is played by plucking the strings. Another instrument was a bolon, which is similar to the cora, except the gourd is larger and round, and the stick is curved. There are three strings which produce a bass sound when plucked. A third instrument was the krin, or log drum, which is a small hollowed out log with three long slits cut out of different sizes. The log is then struck with two sticks, and various sounds can be produced depending on where the log is struck. A fourth instrument was the gongoma, a good sized half gourd with a flat face, which is often painted in bright colors with local scenes. There is a hole in the middle of the face, and three or four pins that go across the hole. The pins are plucked to produce a twanging sound, and at the same time the gourd is tapped, sometimes with a metal ring, to produce a rhythm. The band included a singer, who sang improvised tunes in a wailing tone, often using a call-and-response with another band member. The singer and soloists were not shy about venturing among the small crowd to ask for tips as they played, either by extending a hat in front of an audience member or by getting on their knees and pleading. This is all part of a West African musical show and good fun.
The good-bye party seems to be a tradition in Guinea, as it is other places I have lived. People take great pride and pleasure is sending someone off, and wishing them well. I believe this is part of the face-to-face nature of social interaction here – most people value time spent in direct contact with others more than the written word, whether in books, letters or e-mails. Of course people like keeping in touch with distant friends and relatives, but it is those that are present and their words that matter most. So, when one is going away, it is cause for a party to show appreciation for the time spent together, and to with them well. The good-bye party is an opportunity to spend a few last moments of fun and joy together, as who knows when we’ll see each other again?
The dundunba got underway right around sunset, as several of the drummers who have been working with us began playing some rhythms. Some in the audience got up and danced. When I arrived, Chip was sitting off to the side taking photos, but after awhile he went into the house where the staff are staying. The drumming and dancing continued while he was gone, and eventually he emerged dressed in a full African outfit, including a tie-dyed shirt and pants and leather sandals. These had been made for him by one of the cooks and her family. Chip went to the front and did some dance steps with Amara to one of the rhythms, then walked around and talked to those in attendance.
The drummers continued playing for awhile and both Guineans and Americans danced. The dancing is usually done one-at-a-time, and the dancer faces the drummers while executing his or her moves. The drumming continued until the call-to-prayer came from the local mosque, at which time it ceased while the prayers went on.
Later on, another band showed up to play. They consisted of several traditional instruments. The first was a cora, sometimes called the Guinean harp, which is a large half-gourd with a straight stick attached, and eight strings arranged vertically in two rows of four. It is played by plucking the strings. Another instrument was a bolon, which is similar to the cora, except the gourd is larger and round, and the stick is curved. There are three strings which produce a bass sound when plucked. A third instrument was the krin, or log drum, which is a small hollowed out log with three long slits cut out of different sizes. The log is then struck with two sticks, and various sounds can be produced depending on where the log is struck. A fourth instrument was the gongoma, a good sized half gourd with a flat face, which is often painted in bright colors with local scenes. There is a hole in the middle of the face, and three or four pins that go across the hole. The pins are plucked to produce a twanging sound, and at the same time the gourd is tapped, sometimes with a metal ring, to produce a rhythm. The band included a singer, who sang improvised tunes in a wailing tone, often using a call-and-response with another band member. The singer and soloists were not shy about venturing among the small crowd to ask for tips as they played, either by extending a hat in front of an audience member or by getting on their knees and pleading. This is all part of a West African musical show and good fun.
The good-bye party seems to be a tradition in Guinea, as it is other places I have lived. People take great pride and pleasure is sending someone off, and wishing them well. I believe this is part of the face-to-face nature of social interaction here – most people value time spent in direct contact with others more than the written word, whether in books, letters or e-mails. Of course people like keeping in touch with distant friends and relatives, but it is those that are present and their words that matter most. So, when one is going away, it is cause for a party to show appreciation for the time spent together, and to with them well. The good-bye party is an opportunity to spend a few last moments of fun and joy together, as who knows when we’ll see each other again?
Saturday, June 20, 2009
drum lessons
oops that last entry ended wrong what I meant to say was that every single band I have seen here has sooner or later had a Djembe in it. Also every band I have seen here has been identified to me by ethnic group."that band is fula people from senegal.that band is malinke ect"I have been reading a book called"The Music of Africa" byKwabena Nketia He says that music in Africa is a social activity and a part ofcommunity life. Is it part of how communities identify or define themselves is that why every time we learn a drum rythym or go see a band we are told what groups music it is. I am begining bto think that music really does play a different role here.
afropop
Well I finally went out to one of Conakry's world famous nightclubs. First we pile into a car,then we stop at a shell station, there is a bad motorcycle wreck there , I do not know how badly anyone was hurt because it was Wongai Wongai time.(Wongai is an expression used a lot around illiterate americans by people responsible for their safety and well being, it means let's go lets go. ) Our house is named wongai bagata , painted on the front wall. Wongai bagata I am pretty sure means let's go music in sou sou. After the shell station we drove through crowed steets and suddenly we seemed to arrive downtown and the streets got quite and the traffic light. We stooped at what was easily recognisable to an american as a music club.It had cocacola and beer signs on the walls. There was a stage. There were waitresses who were taking orders for beer, soft drinks, and smoked fish and rice. They had posters of celebreties on the walls.(Jimi Hendricks ,Nelson Mandella, Iced T, Ice Cube,Malcolm X were the ones I could identify ] After a while the band started, the band was made up of an electric guitar (stratocaster}an electric bass a western drum set,and a vocalist.They played what seemed to me to be a wide range of songs. Our host said that the band was malinke people from upper Guinea near Mali. Some of their songs sounded like French Jazz ,some of their songs sounded like drum rythyms player on electric guitars ( emphisis on ostinato? ] some of there songs sounded like american pop [ [obvious emphasis on haromony suddenly noticeable by its inclusion] The club was very relaxed and there were other americans there who did not seem the least bit apprehensive about there surroundings. It in general seemed like a prosperous and well dressed urban crowd. After a while a Djembe player showed up and played with the band. I have not seen any bands here that they seeThen it was wongai time.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Update on Our Status, June 18
We have two weeks left in Guinea, and we have settled into a routine. Many of us have now purchased our djembes, and we use them twice a day for drumming class. Olu spends the first half of the morning class working on our technique, and then Amara teaches us rhythms. In the afternoon either Amara or one of the other drummers reviews some of the rhythms with us. We also have dance class once a day three times a week.
The rest of the time is mostly down time. It is very hot in the middle of the afternoon and that saps our energy to do much. We also do not have transportation available and are limited to exploring the neighborhood around our house. We hold sociology classes two to three times a week for each of the two classes, discussing some of the readings and trying to relate them to the conditions we see in Guinea.
Although we have been here just over two weeks, our house is definitely starting to look very “lived in.” In the evenings many of us gather in the upstairs living room, where we have the internet connection, to work on our computers or read. Some people also like to sit on the roof in the evenings, where it is cool as a nice breeze generally can be felt there.
Some of us have also had African style clothing made. Today, our seamstress brought some things she made for three of us – shirts, pants, skirts, and headwraps. The clothing is very cool and comfortable, and the patterns are very interesting. We will have a final dundunba (drumming festival) before we leave, giving us the opportunity to wear our clothing while drumming and dancing.
We have found the city services to be very unreliable, which makes things interesting and at times, frustrating. The city electricity is turned off much more than it is turned on, and when it is on the quality of the electricity is not great. The lights are pretty dim, for example, and fade in and out occasionally. The electricity also goes out fairly regularly, and stays off for a few minutes or an hour before returning. We have a generator, but only run it in the evenings and occasionally briefly in the mornings, as the fuel to run it is expensive and not in our budget. Our two bathrooms have full facilities – flush toilet, shower and sink. The water to these hardly ever runs, however. There is a large trash can in each room, which is filled with water from a well in the yard, and we use that to bathe, wash our hands and faces, and flush the toilet. A few nights ago, however, suddenly the running water worked! This apparently was because there had been a big rainstorm, and apparently the reservoir or whatever supplies our water filled up briefly. In any case, we all took “real” showers while we could, and were happy to have water, although it only lasted for a short while. By the next morning, we were back to well water in the trash cans. Our drinking water is all from plastic bottles or small plastic bags. It is widely available in Conakry, sold in all stores and on the street. We keep it in our refrigerator, which keeps it cold as long as the electricity is on.
To keep things cool in the house, we leave the windows and doors open almost all the time. This, of course, lets lots of flies and mosquitoes in, which is something of a problem, but they seem to get in anyway and if the doors were closed and there was no breeze, the heat would be unbearable. The occasional rains we get, including a big storm this afternoon, do cool things down nicely and take some of the humidity out of the air, but it never lasts long.
These are our conditions now. Some are ready to go home now – they are having Big Mac attacks – while others are ready to move to Africa. All of us are learning a lot, though, even though we may not always realize it. I think our drumming has improved a lot, although it has happened slowly and is not necessarily obvious. The drummers we are working with are so talented, that it makes all of us look like amateurs in comparison – especially those like myself who are amateurs! It gives us all something to shoot for, however.
The rest of the time is mostly down time. It is very hot in the middle of the afternoon and that saps our energy to do much. We also do not have transportation available and are limited to exploring the neighborhood around our house. We hold sociology classes two to three times a week for each of the two classes, discussing some of the readings and trying to relate them to the conditions we see in Guinea.
Although we have been here just over two weeks, our house is definitely starting to look very “lived in.” In the evenings many of us gather in the upstairs living room, where we have the internet connection, to work on our computers or read. Some people also like to sit on the roof in the evenings, where it is cool as a nice breeze generally can be felt there.
Some of us have also had African style clothing made. Today, our seamstress brought some things she made for three of us – shirts, pants, skirts, and headwraps. The clothing is very cool and comfortable, and the patterns are very interesting. We will have a final dundunba (drumming festival) before we leave, giving us the opportunity to wear our clothing while drumming and dancing.
We have found the city services to be very unreliable, which makes things interesting and at times, frustrating. The city electricity is turned off much more than it is turned on, and when it is on the quality of the electricity is not great. The lights are pretty dim, for example, and fade in and out occasionally. The electricity also goes out fairly regularly, and stays off for a few minutes or an hour before returning. We have a generator, but only run it in the evenings and occasionally briefly in the mornings, as the fuel to run it is expensive and not in our budget. Our two bathrooms have full facilities – flush toilet, shower and sink. The water to these hardly ever runs, however. There is a large trash can in each room, which is filled with water from a well in the yard, and we use that to bathe, wash our hands and faces, and flush the toilet. A few nights ago, however, suddenly the running water worked! This apparently was because there had been a big rainstorm, and apparently the reservoir or whatever supplies our water filled up briefly. In any case, we all took “real” showers while we could, and were happy to have water, although it only lasted for a short while. By the next morning, we were back to well water in the trash cans. Our drinking water is all from plastic bottles or small plastic bags. It is widely available in Conakry, sold in all stores and on the street. We keep it in our refrigerator, which keeps it cold as long as the electricity is on.
To keep things cool in the house, we leave the windows and doors open almost all the time. This, of course, lets lots of flies and mosquitoes in, which is something of a problem, but they seem to get in anyway and if the doors were closed and there was no breeze, the heat would be unbearable. The occasional rains we get, including a big storm this afternoon, do cool things down nicely and take some of the humidity out of the air, but it never lasts long.
These are our conditions now. Some are ready to go home now – they are having Big Mac attacks – while others are ready to move to Africa. All of us are learning a lot, though, even though we may not always realize it. I think our drumming has improved a lot, although it has happened slowly and is not necessarily obvious. The drummers we are working with are so talented, that it makes all of us look like amateurs in comparison – especially those like myself who are amateurs! It gives us all something to shoot for, however.
Education in Guinea
The neighborhood we are staying in may not be representative of the country, but nevertheless, in walking around the neighborhood, one gets the idea that Guinea has a strong commitment to education. There are several schools right around our house. In the same block, there is a private language school that teaches French, English and Spanish. There is a university a couple blocks away – the Universite Nongo Conakry. And there are other schools within a few blocks of our house.
Yet, given that the illiteracy rate in Guinea is around 70 to 75 percent, one wonders how effective these schools are. We have driven past the national university on a few occasions, and I don’t know about the quality of the education there, but the facilities do not appear to be very good. I would suspect that the instructors are underpaid and probably many of them work only part time for the university.
There also does not appear to be many bookstores around the city. We saw one and are trying to arrange a visit there, and there may be more downtown, but they are not too common. Most of the vendors in the city seem to be small storefronts that open directly to the sidewalk, or small tents and kiosks right on the sidewalk. They sell mostly necessities -- food, clothes, cell-phone cards and DVDs, along with services such as beauty shops, tailors, and the like. Open-air markets are common around the city, and there are no shopping malls that we have seen. I am very curious to see what types of books are available at this bookstore that we plan to visit.
I also do not know much about religious education in Guinea. The national mosque is located on a large area that is called the National Islamic Center or something like that. They likely have religious education there. I would assume there are other Muslim schools around as well. We have not had much contact with anyone who could tell us about them, however.
Yet, given that the illiteracy rate in Guinea is around 70 to 75 percent, one wonders how effective these schools are. We have driven past the national university on a few occasions, and I don’t know about the quality of the education there, but the facilities do not appear to be very good. I would suspect that the instructors are underpaid and probably many of them work only part time for the university.
There also does not appear to be many bookstores around the city. We saw one and are trying to arrange a visit there, and there may be more downtown, but they are not too common. Most of the vendors in the city seem to be small storefronts that open directly to the sidewalk, or small tents and kiosks right on the sidewalk. They sell mostly necessities -- food, clothes, cell-phone cards and DVDs, along with services such as beauty shops, tailors, and the like. Open-air markets are common around the city, and there are no shopping malls that we have seen. I am very curious to see what types of books are available at this bookstore that we plan to visit.
I also do not know much about religious education in Guinea. The national mosque is located on a large area that is called the National Islamic Center or something like that. They likely have religious education there. I would assume there are other Muslim schools around as well. We have not had much contact with anyone who could tell us about them, however.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
The Beach in Conakry
The beach in Conakry we visited on Sunday (see post below). Isle Kassa in the background.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
on the roof
Many of people here seem to live in compounds behind walls many of the compounds have patios or courtyards,also many of the roofs are partly or all porch. Ours is kind of unfinished no roof[thus no shade] Now that we are getting settled in there is actually time to go up there and sit. Here are some obserevations,A . This seems to be a prosperous suburban neighborhood near an unfinished mainson that was going to be the last presidents house He died in december and his house is not finished.There are a lot of unfinished houses in Conakry I think construction is a slow process here. In Conakry the vast majority of the construction is massonary.I have seen several trucks full f sand(for mixing cement} It is also not unusual to see sand piles in front of partly finished houses.So You sit on the roof looking at the unfinished compounds, mango and cocunut trees(those seem to be common trees here although there a lot more mango trees than coconut palms9 oil palms are much more common]. So there you sit the traffic is f inally light and you can clearly heare the evening call for prayer from the concrete mosque about 2 blocks away and the sun sets and it is time for supper.
On-Line Students
For those taking SOC 492/592 on-line, note the folder on the Blackboard page with information from our class sessions in Guinea. Please refer to this occasionally for updated info. The students in Guinea are also encouraged to post their reflections and notes from these sessions on this blog.
The Effect of Social Institutions on Bartering
One of the demands of living in a place like Guinea that Americans have a hard time adapting to at first is the necessity to barter for many purchases that one makes. Because Americans are used to paying the price a merchant asks in most cases, they are uncomfortable negotiating prices. Add to this that many more items available in Guinea are made through craft labor rather than industrial processes, and that adds a personal dimension – Americans may not like to barter with the creator of a product or provider of a service, because they think it might be taken as a personal insult over the quality of the product or service.
But, as we have seen over and over again since arriving, bartering is a way of life here, necessary (at sometimes very heated) for most purchases. Some things are not up for barter. For example, most cell phones here are pre-paid, and you can buy cards all over the country, including in many street kiosks, that allow you to add minutes to your cell phone. This are priced at Gf 5,000, Gf 10,000, etc., and that is the price you have to pay. In the convenience stores attached to gas stations, the items have prices as well, and it is not expected that a customer would barter, just as you wouldn’t barter for the price of gasoline at a Shell or Total station.
But when a technician came out to install our internet service, the Guineans here had no problem bartering with him over the price of his services. He wanted Gf 100,000, while they offered Gf 50,000. He tried to argue that he was a professional and the price of his services was fixed, but no one bought that argument, and in the end, he walked off with only Gf 50,000. Could you imagine arguing with the cable guy over price, and only paying half of what he charges for his services? To most Americans, this seems funny, because it is impossible to imagine.
Yet, there are things Americans are expected to barter for, mostly “big ticket” items. Most Americans would not think of buying a car without bartering with the salesman, and buying a house also requires a negotiation. You can also barter for items such as washing machines, stereos or lawn mowers, perhaps by accepting a floor model for a discount – in any case, if you go to a department store and make a lower bid on an expensive item, it probably would not be considered completely out of line. But much of our bartering in the U.S. happens within the confines of a larger institutional system of consumption, where rather than working out a deal with an individual seller, we search for the cheapest deal by comparison shopping. We look for “bargains,” rather than bargaining for a deal.
The upshot is that bartering and negotiation happen in both cultures, but in the U.S. it has become more institutionalized and built into our superstructure of economic institutions, whereas in Guinea’s more communitarian and personal culture, economics happens more as a personal relationship. And the personal relationship is fundamental to the bartering process, something it generally takes American visiting developing countries a while to figure out. From the point of view of the locals, bartering is an opportunity to get to know someone, to test them out and to see if they are a sucker or someone worthy of respect. As you go through the negotiation, you learn about each other, and if the negotiation is protracted, you may have opportunities to learn a lot about the other person. One of our teachers here has a side business making sandals and other leather items, and she was trying to sell them to us. Several people bought sandals, paying the first price she asked. I spent about six days negotiating a price with her, offering her much less than she originally asked, walking away when she refused, coming back and feigning interest in other items, basically using all the tricks I have learned from many years of bartering in various Latin American cultures. In the process, she asked me all about my family, I learned about her family, she learned more about the U.S. and I about dance in Guinea, and in the end we arrived at a price that was about 1/3 less than others paid for the shoes. But, it wasn’t really about the money – none of the other buyers had the chance to get to know her as they negotiated a purchase, and she didn’t get to know them, because the transaction was strictly economic. By bartering, I was able to build a social relationship as well. And that is the real value of bartering, and its true representation of the character of the culture.
(By the way, when she sold me the shoes at a cheaper price, the teacher told me not to tell anyone else what price I got, so please don’t tell anyone!) :)
But, as we have seen over and over again since arriving, bartering is a way of life here, necessary (at sometimes very heated) for most purchases. Some things are not up for barter. For example, most cell phones here are pre-paid, and you can buy cards all over the country, including in many street kiosks, that allow you to add minutes to your cell phone. This are priced at Gf 5,000, Gf 10,000, etc., and that is the price you have to pay. In the convenience stores attached to gas stations, the items have prices as well, and it is not expected that a customer would barter, just as you wouldn’t barter for the price of gasoline at a Shell or Total station.
But when a technician came out to install our internet service, the Guineans here had no problem bartering with him over the price of his services. He wanted Gf 100,000, while they offered Gf 50,000. He tried to argue that he was a professional and the price of his services was fixed, but no one bought that argument, and in the end, he walked off with only Gf 50,000. Could you imagine arguing with the cable guy over price, and only paying half of what he charges for his services? To most Americans, this seems funny, because it is impossible to imagine.
Yet, there are things Americans are expected to barter for, mostly “big ticket” items. Most Americans would not think of buying a car without bartering with the salesman, and buying a house also requires a negotiation. You can also barter for items such as washing machines, stereos or lawn mowers, perhaps by accepting a floor model for a discount – in any case, if you go to a department store and make a lower bid on an expensive item, it probably would not be considered completely out of line. But much of our bartering in the U.S. happens within the confines of a larger institutional system of consumption, where rather than working out a deal with an individual seller, we search for the cheapest deal by comparison shopping. We look for “bargains,” rather than bargaining for a deal.
The upshot is that bartering and negotiation happen in both cultures, but in the U.S. it has become more institutionalized and built into our superstructure of economic institutions, whereas in Guinea’s more communitarian and personal culture, economics happens more as a personal relationship. And the personal relationship is fundamental to the bartering process, something it generally takes American visiting developing countries a while to figure out. From the point of view of the locals, bartering is an opportunity to get to know someone, to test them out and to see if they are a sucker or someone worthy of respect. As you go through the negotiation, you learn about each other, and if the negotiation is protracted, you may have opportunities to learn a lot about the other person. One of our teachers here has a side business making sandals and other leather items, and she was trying to sell them to us. Several people bought sandals, paying the first price she asked. I spent about six days negotiating a price with her, offering her much less than she originally asked, walking away when she refused, coming back and feigning interest in other items, basically using all the tricks I have learned from many years of bartering in various Latin American cultures. In the process, she asked me all about my family, I learned about her family, she learned more about the U.S. and I about dance in Guinea, and in the end we arrived at a price that was about 1/3 less than others paid for the shoes. But, it wasn’t really about the money – none of the other buyers had the chance to get to know her as they negotiated a purchase, and she didn’t get to know them, because the transaction was strictly economic. By bartering, I was able to build a social relationship as well. And that is the real value of bartering, and its true representation of the character of the culture.
(By the way, when she sold me the shoes at a cheaper price, the teacher told me not to tell anyone else what price I got, so please don’t tell anyone!) :)
Bugs Bugs Bugs
People in developing regions or rural areas are sometimes described as “living close to the Earth.” To some, this invokes romantic images of a more authentic existence, without many of the stresses and cares of modern urban life. Being “close to the Earth” does have its drawbacks and minor irritants, however.
Prior to departing for Guinea, we spent a lot of time preparing for the mosquitoes here. We got malaria tablets, bought mosquito repellent and long sleeves, and some of us even got mosquito nets for our beds. We certainly want to avoid malaria, dengue, or other mosquito-transmitted diseases, and the mosquitoes have been somewhat bothersome to some, mostly at around 4 am. A few of us have awaken to many bites on our arms and legs. But for the most part, the mosquitoes have not been a big problem.
What we didn’t prepare for, and what has turned out to be a much bigger pest, is the common housefly. Flies seem to be pervasive in Guinea. They say of New Zealand that it has 2 million people and 20 million sheep. For Guinea, it would have to be 10 million people and 10 billion flies. At times it seems the flies are everywhere – and they always are landing on any exposed skin, causing a minor but very persistent irritation. After lunch, in the heat of day, a nice nap seems in order, but it is very difficult to do so with all the flies around.
Guineans adapt to the number of flies. For example, they always bring food on a tray, with another tray covering it so the flies won’t swarm the food. They also are very adept at finding places to sit that are strategically located where they will get a breeze, to keep cool but also to discourage flies. Why there are so many flies in this country is hard to say – they certainly do not have regular garbage pick up, and there is a lot of trash strewn around the streets and vacant lots. But there are not many animals around, except for the occasional goat and a few stray dogs. Interestingly, there are no horses, oxen or mules on the streets; Guineans do not use them to pull carts or for farming, from what we have seen.
We haven’t seen too many other insects, at least around our house. Perhaps this is because we have seen some rather large spiders, and there also are lizards around, including one species that crawls around the thatched covering over the patio where we take drumming class. It is a large lizard species, with a reddish-orange neck and blue on its back. We also have had frogs in the house when it has rained – good hoppers, too. These animals may keep the insects down, but have had little effect on the flies, which seem to be multiplying.
Prior to departing for Guinea, we spent a lot of time preparing for the mosquitoes here. We got malaria tablets, bought mosquito repellent and long sleeves, and some of us even got mosquito nets for our beds. We certainly want to avoid malaria, dengue, or other mosquito-transmitted diseases, and the mosquitoes have been somewhat bothersome to some, mostly at around 4 am. A few of us have awaken to many bites on our arms and legs. But for the most part, the mosquitoes have not been a big problem.
What we didn’t prepare for, and what has turned out to be a much bigger pest, is the common housefly. Flies seem to be pervasive in Guinea. They say of New Zealand that it has 2 million people and 20 million sheep. For Guinea, it would have to be 10 million people and 10 billion flies. At times it seems the flies are everywhere – and they always are landing on any exposed skin, causing a minor but very persistent irritation. After lunch, in the heat of day, a nice nap seems in order, but it is very difficult to do so with all the flies around.
Guineans adapt to the number of flies. For example, they always bring food on a tray, with another tray covering it so the flies won’t swarm the food. They also are very adept at finding places to sit that are strategically located where they will get a breeze, to keep cool but also to discourage flies. Why there are so many flies in this country is hard to say – they certainly do not have regular garbage pick up, and there is a lot of trash strewn around the streets and vacant lots. But there are not many animals around, except for the occasional goat and a few stray dogs. Interestingly, there are no horses, oxen or mules on the streets; Guineans do not use them to pull carts or for farming, from what we have seen.
We haven’t seen too many other insects, at least around our house. Perhaps this is because we have seen some rather large spiders, and there also are lizards around, including one species that crawls around the thatched covering over the patio where we take drumming class. It is a large lizard species, with a reddish-orange neck and blue on its back. We also have had frogs in the house when it has rained – good hoppers, too. These animals may keep the insects down, but have had little effect on the flies, which seem to be multiplying.
Monday, June 15, 2009
music transcending culture
hey David I do not know what DR. Barton would say but here are my observations 1 these rythyms are spreading I heard them at drum circles in Atlanta, Memphis and Cleveland Miss Amara teaches in South Carolina and Olu teaches in Ohio. If you go to the local nightclub here with Amara he is quick to point out that that is a fula rythymn they are playing( they even let him sit in some] Also the guys at the compound seem to like wearing t-shirts with the names of performing companies in the US.I sometimes suspect that we are ocassionaly paraded around to demonstrate Amaras international status.Amara definitely seems to be a sort of celebratie. I do not understand the role of music in the local culture but it seems that almost everyone has at least dabbled in music or dance.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Surf's Up!
After our excursion to Kindia, we were all rather tired, so we took Sunday off and rested. Some of us read or played cards, while others walked around the neighborhood or went shopping. Some businesses are open on Sunday but many are closed, although there still are a lot of people out on the streets. In the afternoon some of the drum teachers joined together for an impromptu concert in the gazebo in our patio. They sang and played traditional instruments. Then a rumor of a trip to the beach surfaced. Amara said we could go over by his mother's house, to a nearby beach.
At around 4 pm, after the usual couple of false starts, we walked to the road and caught taxis to the beach. About ten of us went along, including security guards, students and drum teachers. We went towards downtown Conakry, then turned off the main road onto a couple of side roads, ending up on a dirt road that dead ended into a large gate, which was the entrance to the beach. They charged a small entry fee, and we walked in and caught our first sight of the beach. We were on the north side of the Conakry peninsula, a little east of downtown, and looked straight out to Kassa Island, where we visited last weekend. There were no waves in the water and very few people swimming. None of us wanted to swim as it seemed the water was likely very polluted. The sand on the beach was black and there were rocks running across the beach that also were dark black in color. At the back of the beach were small kiosks selling food and drinks. We walked down to a bar that had tables out on a covered platform over the beach. We sat alongside the platform; the owner brought out some chairs and a table for us. We ordered beers and soft drinks and enjoyed the sun, which was fairly low in the sky out over the water.
They allowed cars to drive out onto the beach, and several were parked behind us. As the afternoon carried on, many more cars arrived and drove up and down the beach, and many parked in front of the bar.
The beach was alive with activity. No one wore swimsuits, opting instead for attire that varied from shorts and shirts to very fancy dresses. Women and children walked up and down the beach selling various items ranging from cookies and candy to hard boiled eggs, which they carried on their heads. There were several other Americans on the beach as well, outside the U.S. embassy, the first I have seen in two weeks here. Many young men were playing soccer, displaying their skills at ball handling in small circles. A group drew a large circle in the sand and began doing capoeira, an Afro-Brazilian martial art/dance that involves a lot of acrobatics as well as drumming and singing. A crowd gathered to watch, but soon were distracted by another group of jugglers. Three guys began juggling pins and attracted a large crowd, mostly because one of them also did contortionist moves that were astounding and creepy. This was the second contortionist we have seen; apparently it is something valued in Guinean culture.
We watched the jugglers for awhile, and then the sun began setting. There was a nice set of clouds above the horizon and there was a nice sunset. After the sun went down we headed back to the house. An interesting and relaxing afternoon in Conakry.
At around 4 pm, after the usual couple of false starts, we walked to the road and caught taxis to the beach. About ten of us went along, including security guards, students and drum teachers. We went towards downtown Conakry, then turned off the main road onto a couple of side roads, ending up on a dirt road that dead ended into a large gate, which was the entrance to the beach. They charged a small entry fee, and we walked in and caught our first sight of the beach. We were on the north side of the Conakry peninsula, a little east of downtown, and looked straight out to Kassa Island, where we visited last weekend. There were no waves in the water and very few people swimming. None of us wanted to swim as it seemed the water was likely very polluted. The sand on the beach was black and there were rocks running across the beach that also were dark black in color. At the back of the beach were small kiosks selling food and drinks. We walked down to a bar that had tables out on a covered platform over the beach. We sat alongside the platform; the owner brought out some chairs and a table for us. We ordered beers and soft drinks and enjoyed the sun, which was fairly low in the sky out over the water.
They allowed cars to drive out onto the beach, and several were parked behind us. As the afternoon carried on, many more cars arrived and drove up and down the beach, and many parked in front of the bar.
The beach was alive with activity. No one wore swimsuits, opting instead for attire that varied from shorts and shirts to very fancy dresses. Women and children walked up and down the beach selling various items ranging from cookies and candy to hard boiled eggs, which they carried on their heads. There were several other Americans on the beach as well, outside the U.S. embassy, the first I have seen in two weeks here. Many young men were playing soccer, displaying their skills at ball handling in small circles. A group drew a large circle in the sand and began doing capoeira, an Afro-Brazilian martial art/dance that involves a lot of acrobatics as well as drumming and singing. A crowd gathered to watch, but soon were distracted by another group of jugglers. Three guys began juggling pins and attracted a large crowd, mostly because one of them also did contortionist moves that were astounding and creepy. This was the second contortionist we have seen; apparently it is something valued in Guinean culture.
We watched the jugglers for awhile, and then the sun began setting. There was a nice set of clouds above the horizon and there was a nice sunset. After the sun went down we headed back to the house. An interesting and relaxing afternoon in Conakry.
Kindia! A trip to Guinea's interior...
On Friday, June 12, we left Conakry to explore the interior of Guinea. We had intended to leave around 9 am, and head to Kindia, a city about 150 km from the capital. Time is very flexible in Guinea, however, so it was around 11:30 when we finally began loading the mini-bus we had rented for this adventure. We put our luggage and a few djembes on the floor and in other nooks and crannies, and then loaded 20 people into the bus, pretty much filling it up. We started east through Conakry’s suburbs, along a road lined with businesses on both sides. We began climbing and got nice views of the Conakry peninsula and the city. Eventually the houses thinned out and we turned onto the highway to Kindia.
The drive was beautiful and fascinating. We drove through green valleys filled with palms, and alongside large mesa-like mountains with steep sides. We climbed up through forest-lined hillsides and drove through many villages, which got progressively more traditional the farther we got from Conakry. All of the villages had some European-style rebar and concrete houses with tin or tile roofs, but they also had traditional African huts, most of which are round with mud walls, one door and a tall, pointed thatched roof. Many of the towns had beautiful mosques, and as it was Friday in a couple of the towns we saw they people coming out of the mosque dressed in their finest religious gowns. A beautiful sight.
We made a few stops for supplies, the first in a market town not too far from Conakry, crowded with women carrying all kinds of foods on their heads, from loaves of bread to cookies to cans of sardines. They crowded around the van and offered us their goods, while a few members of our group went out and bought our food for the trip. Later, further inland, we stopped in a town with many fruit stands lining the road. The fruit was colorful and beautiful, mangoes, papayas, soursops, avocados, peppers, tomatoes, pineapples, yuca and a few other delights. All were very ripe and we bought a few baskets and filled them with fruit for the weekend.
The road is two-lane the whole way, with large potholes, railroad crossings and police checkpoints, where soldiers sit alongside the road and raise and lower a rope to let traffic through. All of these made the traveling rather slow. Add to that the many vehicles, from large semi-trucks carrying gasoline and other supplies, to motorcycles and bicycles, all traveling at different speeds, and this slows things down even more. A third barrier is the cars and trucks that are stopped on the road, either broken down or unloading people. At one point we came upon a car that was stopped on the road, and our driver had to brake suddenly, stopping just before we hit the car’s bumper. A second later we heard a large crash to the rear; the car behind us hadn’t been able to stop and crashed into us. It jolted us a little, but our bus was a lot bigger than the car and the crash wasn’t too bad. The car in front of us, the culprit for the accident, pulled away, and our driver and the driver of the car behind us got out and discussed things for a few minutes, and we went on our way. There didn’t seem to be too much damage to either vehicle. At another point we came upon a large semi-truck stopped on a bridge, and we had to creep around it, with barely enough room to get by.
After several hours, we finally made it to Kindia, a fairly good sized city, in which most of the streets are lined with market stalls. We snaked through the city center, and stopped for awhile, then loaded up again and drove out of town a ways, into a beautiful valley, and then after about 20 minutes turned off the highway and onto a dirt road. We drove through a traditional African village and along the road aways until we reached a hotel. We entered the gate and drove up to the main building along a dirt road lined with tall trees with huge leaves – I believe they were gmelinas (a very fast growing and widely planted tropical species). All of the buildings were round with tin roofs, built to mimic the traditional African huts. We unloaded our things and while they were processing us the group walked up a trail, also lined with gmelinas, and into a forested area alongside a tall cliff. The top of the cliff formed an overhang, and waterfalls dropped down into pools at the bottom. There were stairs and walkways along the bottom of the cliff, and you could walk up under the overhand and view the falls from underneath. It was really a beautiful spot.
As we lingered around the falls, a wood carver brought out some of his work and put it alongside the trail. He had a workshop, in the same round African style, up a small hill near the falls. We walked back and looked at his wares, which were absolutely beautiful. He had cleverly put several along the trail, but also put a few on the steps leading up to his shop, including a giraffe that was over 6 feet tall carved from a beautiful reddish wood that he said was the cola tree. We walked up the steps and looked in his shop, which consisted of three rooms, two of which were full of many carvings of various sizes. The third room contained his workbench and a couple of items he was working on.
We went back down to the trail and talked to him, somehow communicating in our limited French and his limited English. We negotiated a few purchases, although his starting prices were extremely reasonable. I was almost embarrassed to barter, but I did so nevertheless because it is such a social experience. We agreed upon a price for two items, and Wally who I was with bought three items. He then gave each of us small turtles as a gift. We chatted a little more and said goodbye. In response to a question I asked he said very few tourists come through this time of year, but in August through October many people come to this site.
We went back and moved into our huts. No electricity, but they did have running water. Each hut had three rooms and two bathrooms, and a common room in the center. We took the small stuffed chairs from the common room and put them in front of the hut, on the well-sweeped pathway (the owners kept the dirt areas around the lodge clean of all garbage and swept up all the leaves), and spent the evening chatting. We had a nice dinner that included delicious pineapple and mango, along with a fish stew that by now we are all very accustomed to. Some of our group included soldiers which have been hired to provide security for us, and on this trip there were a couple of extra soldiers along, which added to the trip as they were friendly and fun to talk to. One in particular always greeted us enthusiastically and came over to say hi. They wore camouflage military fatigues, red berets and carried semi-automatic rifles. Needless to say, we felt very safe in their presence.
The hotel gave us some candles and a small kerosene lantern, and when we blew them out to turn in we found the huts were very, very dark – pitch black. We awoke to rain, which got harder and harder, and cooled things down considerably. As the rain subsided we had a nice breakfast of tea or coffee and more fruit, plus a salad of eggs, tomatoes and cucumbers. We loaded the van and headed back into Kindia and walked around to do some shopping. Most of the streets were lined with stalls and vendors. We passed a school and the kids were all out front in their blue uniforms, and they swarmed over and gave us fist bumps, while calling “big ups.” When you give them your fist their faces light up in smiles. We found a market with fabrics and clothing and went in. Several people brought fabrics to be made into shirts and skirts. I also bought a Guinea soccer jersey and a wool cap.
We walked back to the bus, which was parked in front of a beautiful Muslim mosque. As we were waiting the call to prayer came and many men hurried into the mosque. A few kids had gathered around the bus and I got out some ball point pens and crayons I had brought and gave them to the kids, which brought another round of “big ups.” The people of Guinea are so warm and friendly, something they clearly learn as kids as the young people here are so friendly and have such great smiles.
The trip back to Conakry went without incident. We stopped at the fruit stands and stocked up, and also bought some charcoal along the way. We ran into some rain, but most of the way the weather was overcast and reasonably cool. On the trip out on Friday we didn’t see anyone working in the fields, no doubt because it was Friday, a Muslim holiday, but on the way back there were many people bent over working the field, all of them women! Apparently it is their job to tend to the gardens and crops.
We pulled into the house right around dusk and unloaded our gear. Our cooks took the various items we had brought back and fixed us a great dinner of noodles and beef, tomato and cucumber salad and several fruits.
This was quite an interesting excursion, very different than our trip to the islands the week before. Although we only barely scratched the surface of the interior of Guinea, which is a very large and diverse country, we got a small flavor of what life is like for rural people in West Africa. The influence of religion was obvious, and the reliance on agriculture was clear as well. The impact of French colonization and modernization were also apparent, as most villages and farms retained some of their traditional buildings, but also had more modern housing as well as businesses and even factories in some towns. We paralleled railroad tracks for much of the trip and saw one train as we approached Conakry on the return trip. The countryside is quite beautiful, very green, with lots of palm trees and small farms alongside the road. We saw some animals – mostly goats and cattle, with a few sheep. Lots of people all along the way, walking along the road or sitting in groups in front of their houses or in the small squares in their villages. Seeing white people pass by is a rarity, and many of them waved and smiled when they saw us. Although the distance was relatively short, the trip still took quite awhile due to the conditions on the road, so we all were pretty tired when we got home. Such is life in a developing country, many of the conveniences we take for granted in the States, such as our infrastructure of highways and easy transportation, are not available in a place like Guinea, so things take a lot longer and the pace of life is much slower. But the drive to and from Kindia was the most interesting part of the trip, in my opinion, and taking 5 hours to cover 100 miles did not seem like much of a burden.
The drive was beautiful and fascinating. We drove through green valleys filled with palms, and alongside large mesa-like mountains with steep sides. We climbed up through forest-lined hillsides and drove through many villages, which got progressively more traditional the farther we got from Conakry. All of the villages had some European-style rebar and concrete houses with tin or tile roofs, but they also had traditional African huts, most of which are round with mud walls, one door and a tall, pointed thatched roof. Many of the towns had beautiful mosques, and as it was Friday in a couple of the towns we saw they people coming out of the mosque dressed in their finest religious gowns. A beautiful sight.
We made a few stops for supplies, the first in a market town not too far from Conakry, crowded with women carrying all kinds of foods on their heads, from loaves of bread to cookies to cans of sardines. They crowded around the van and offered us their goods, while a few members of our group went out and bought our food for the trip. Later, further inland, we stopped in a town with many fruit stands lining the road. The fruit was colorful and beautiful, mangoes, papayas, soursops, avocados, peppers, tomatoes, pineapples, yuca and a few other delights. All were very ripe and we bought a few baskets and filled them with fruit for the weekend.
The road is two-lane the whole way, with large potholes, railroad crossings and police checkpoints, where soldiers sit alongside the road and raise and lower a rope to let traffic through. All of these made the traveling rather slow. Add to that the many vehicles, from large semi-trucks carrying gasoline and other supplies, to motorcycles and bicycles, all traveling at different speeds, and this slows things down even more. A third barrier is the cars and trucks that are stopped on the road, either broken down or unloading people. At one point we came upon a car that was stopped on the road, and our driver had to brake suddenly, stopping just before we hit the car’s bumper. A second later we heard a large crash to the rear; the car behind us hadn’t been able to stop and crashed into us. It jolted us a little, but our bus was a lot bigger than the car and the crash wasn’t too bad. The car in front of us, the culprit for the accident, pulled away, and our driver and the driver of the car behind us got out and discussed things for a few minutes, and we went on our way. There didn’t seem to be too much damage to either vehicle. At another point we came upon a large semi-truck stopped on a bridge, and we had to creep around it, with barely enough room to get by.
After several hours, we finally made it to Kindia, a fairly good sized city, in which most of the streets are lined with market stalls. We snaked through the city center, and stopped for awhile, then loaded up again and drove out of town a ways, into a beautiful valley, and then after about 20 minutes turned off the highway and onto a dirt road. We drove through a traditional African village and along the road aways until we reached a hotel. We entered the gate and drove up to the main building along a dirt road lined with tall trees with huge leaves – I believe they were gmelinas (a very fast growing and widely planted tropical species). All of the buildings were round with tin roofs, built to mimic the traditional African huts. We unloaded our things and while they were processing us the group walked up a trail, also lined with gmelinas, and into a forested area alongside a tall cliff. The top of the cliff formed an overhang, and waterfalls dropped down into pools at the bottom. There were stairs and walkways along the bottom of the cliff, and you could walk up under the overhand and view the falls from underneath. It was really a beautiful spot.
As we lingered around the falls, a wood carver brought out some of his work and put it alongside the trail. He had a workshop, in the same round African style, up a small hill near the falls. We walked back and looked at his wares, which were absolutely beautiful. He had cleverly put several along the trail, but also put a few on the steps leading up to his shop, including a giraffe that was over 6 feet tall carved from a beautiful reddish wood that he said was the cola tree. We walked up the steps and looked in his shop, which consisted of three rooms, two of which were full of many carvings of various sizes. The third room contained his workbench and a couple of items he was working on.
We went back down to the trail and talked to him, somehow communicating in our limited French and his limited English. We negotiated a few purchases, although his starting prices were extremely reasonable. I was almost embarrassed to barter, but I did so nevertheless because it is such a social experience. We agreed upon a price for two items, and Wally who I was with bought three items. He then gave each of us small turtles as a gift. We chatted a little more and said goodbye. In response to a question I asked he said very few tourists come through this time of year, but in August through October many people come to this site.
We went back and moved into our huts. No electricity, but they did have running water. Each hut had three rooms and two bathrooms, and a common room in the center. We took the small stuffed chairs from the common room and put them in front of the hut, on the well-sweeped pathway (the owners kept the dirt areas around the lodge clean of all garbage and swept up all the leaves), and spent the evening chatting. We had a nice dinner that included delicious pineapple and mango, along with a fish stew that by now we are all very accustomed to. Some of our group included soldiers which have been hired to provide security for us, and on this trip there were a couple of extra soldiers along, which added to the trip as they were friendly and fun to talk to. One in particular always greeted us enthusiastically and came over to say hi. They wore camouflage military fatigues, red berets and carried semi-automatic rifles. Needless to say, we felt very safe in their presence.
The hotel gave us some candles and a small kerosene lantern, and when we blew them out to turn in we found the huts were very, very dark – pitch black. We awoke to rain, which got harder and harder, and cooled things down considerably. As the rain subsided we had a nice breakfast of tea or coffee and more fruit, plus a salad of eggs, tomatoes and cucumbers. We loaded the van and headed back into Kindia and walked around to do some shopping. Most of the streets were lined with stalls and vendors. We passed a school and the kids were all out front in their blue uniforms, and they swarmed over and gave us fist bumps, while calling “big ups.” When you give them your fist their faces light up in smiles. We found a market with fabrics and clothing and went in. Several people brought fabrics to be made into shirts and skirts. I also bought a Guinea soccer jersey and a wool cap.
We walked back to the bus, which was parked in front of a beautiful Muslim mosque. As we were waiting the call to prayer came and many men hurried into the mosque. A few kids had gathered around the bus and I got out some ball point pens and crayons I had brought and gave them to the kids, which brought another round of “big ups.” The people of Guinea are so warm and friendly, something they clearly learn as kids as the young people here are so friendly and have such great smiles.
The trip back to Conakry went without incident. We stopped at the fruit stands and stocked up, and also bought some charcoal along the way. We ran into some rain, but most of the way the weather was overcast and reasonably cool. On the trip out on Friday we didn’t see anyone working in the fields, no doubt because it was Friday, a Muslim holiday, but on the way back there were many people bent over working the field, all of them women! Apparently it is their job to tend to the gardens and crops.
We pulled into the house right around dusk and unloaded our gear. Our cooks took the various items we had brought back and fixed us a great dinner of noodles and beef, tomato and cucumber salad and several fruits.
This was quite an interesting excursion, very different than our trip to the islands the week before. Although we only barely scratched the surface of the interior of Guinea, which is a very large and diverse country, we got a small flavor of what life is like for rural people in West Africa. The influence of religion was obvious, and the reliance on agriculture was clear as well. The impact of French colonization and modernization were also apparent, as most villages and farms retained some of their traditional buildings, but also had more modern housing as well as businesses and even factories in some towns. We paralleled railroad tracks for much of the trip and saw one train as we approached Conakry on the return trip. The countryside is quite beautiful, very green, with lots of palm trees and small farms alongside the road. We saw some animals – mostly goats and cattle, with a few sheep. Lots of people all along the way, walking along the road or sitting in groups in front of their houses or in the small squares in their villages. Seeing white people pass by is a rarity, and many of them waved and smiled when they saw us. Although the distance was relatively short, the trip still took quite awhile due to the conditions on the road, so we all were pretty tired when we got home. Such is life in a developing country, many of the conveniences we take for granted in the States, such as our infrastructure of highways and easy transportation, are not available in a place like Guinea, so things take a lot longer and the pace of life is much slower. But the drive to and from Kindia was the most interesting part of the trip, in my opinion, and taking 5 hours to cover 100 miles did not seem like much of a burden.
I have listened to the C.D. that his with the book "Music in West Africa". Enjoyed tracks 4 and 10, thought they had close to a "modern"; and thought the others were very traditional but had no meaning to me. How have you found their music transcends their society; what meaning does their music provide for them? Hot in Mississippi too, but I would guess the seet Tea is a liiiitle better than what you are getting. Travel safe
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Wilkinson1991
Here are four questions inspired by Guinea(go Guinea) and by this weeks sociology reading.
1. Is Druming Gemeinschafft or Gesellschafft? Isn't it possible that someone would drum to increase their social standing or to network. 2. How do you tell what is done because of economic necessities and what is done because of some kind of community standard or tradition. 3. How do you tell what is caused by community and what is caused by outside causes? look at the small town chrysler dealer in this weeks reading Bellah et al. 4. Can you understand sociology without knowing a lot about history and economics?
1. Is Druming Gemeinschafft or Gesellschafft? Isn't it possible that someone would drum to increase their social standing or to network. 2. How do you tell what is done because of economic necessities and what is done because of some kind of community standard or tradition. 3. How do you tell what is caused by community and what is caused by outside causes? look at the small town chrysler dealer in this weeks reading Bellah et al. 4. Can you understand sociology without knowing a lot about history and economics?
The Compound
1.There are a lot of musicans (a dozen or so)who hang around, perform or teach at the compound. I think it must be like my experiences in the U.S. where musicans often blur praticing networking and socialising. 2. The people here are really nice and are working very hard to make us comfortable and to teach us. 3.Guinea is definitely a franco-phone country and not speaking french (none of us do) is a handicap.Conakry is a thriving city and almost anything you need is available here once you learn the fench names of things. You also have to realise that all of those things that look like shacks or booths are more organised than they seem to an american who is put off by the crowds and the heat. 4. it is very very hot here.5. I think we are all coming out of shock and learning how to function in this place.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Dundunba!
Yesterday (Wednesday) evening, we took a field trip to a neighborhood in Conakry for a dundunba, a traditional West African drumming and dancing festival. After a long taxi ride that took us past Conakry's major market, covering several square blocks and as crowded as Times Square on New Year's Eve, we pulled into a side street and heard the drums playing. We walked down the street to a dead end, and a large circle had been set up with chairs. We took a spot in the corner. Several drummers were up front playing djembes and dunduns, a larger bass drum played with a stick and usually accompanied by a cowbell-like instrument that is attached to the top. The drummers were very good, and included Sekou, one of our teachers, and Amara, our main teacher also drummed for awhile. The center of the circle was for dancing, and people went in individually and in groups and danced in traditional African style for brief periods, then returned to their seats. The dancing was incredible, very vibrant, and when groups were out there well synchronized. At one point a guy began doing cheerleader-like flips and gymnastic moves, which morphed into contortionist moves, moving his body in ways that seemed impossible. A couple of the drummers took turns choosing people to dance as well, and they selected people by handing them a handkerchief, and they then had to go out and dance in the center. From our group, they chose Olu first, and he went out and showed some of his moves. Abena was second, and she exhibited some of her very smooth dance style. Next was David Mason, who jumped around and got the crowd hooting in appreciation. The other members of our group, save yours truly, all got out and danced. I prefered to stay on the sideline and observe (like a good sociologist), and when they tried to coax me to the center I declined -- I have decided that African dance is not my strength. All the other members of our group did well and were appreciated by the crowd, which by the end was quite large, maybe 300 people. Lots of folks who were passing by stopped to watch for awhile. In the end, it seemed almost everyone was out there dancing at some point, and the inclusiveness says a lot about the warmth and sense of community in the Guinean culture.
Before we leave, we'll have our own dundunba, and hopefully will get as good a crowd as at this one. Apparently there are celebrations like this almost every day at some place in Conakry. Quite an interesting event to witness.
Before we leave, we'll have our own dundunba, and hopefully will get as good a crowd as at this one. Apparently there are celebrations like this almost every day at some place in Conakry. Quite an interesting event to witness.
Thursday in Conakry
We are nearing the end of our second week in Guinea, and things are starting to seem much more normal. We've sort of made the house a home, rearranging the furniture and moving in. Many people have moved out of their bedrooms, at least at night, and find cooler places to sleep such as the roof, a balcony or a couch in the living room, which has two doors and more of a breeze. We have not had rain since last weekend and the heat is getting oppressive. We have many fans in the house which help, but it still is very hot, and hotter indoors than out during the night.
Tomorrow we leave for Kindia, a village inland. There are rumors that it is in "the mountains," although which mountains I don't know. But a little altitude sounds good to us at this point, as it hopefully portends cooler weather. We'll be in Kindia for one night, returning on Saturday, then on Sunday there apparently will be a field trip to a piano bar in downtown Conakry, organized by pianist Dr. Fosheim.
Alan Barton, Thursday, June 11
Tomorrow we leave for Kindia, a village inland. There are rumors that it is in "the mountains," although which mountains I don't know. But a little altitude sounds good to us at this point, as it hopefully portends cooler weather. We'll be in Kindia for one night, returning on Saturday, then on Sunday there apparently will be a field trip to a piano bar in downtown Conakry, organized by pianist Dr. Fosheim.
Alan Barton, Thursday, June 11
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Finding New Media in an Unmediated Culture
Our need for an internet connection in Conakry, so that students taking SOC 492/592 in Guinea and students taking the course on-line could communicate, has led to an interesting and at times frustrating ten days. In the 21st century, connecting to the internet seems quite normal in the U.S. – many Americans have high-speed connections at work and home, rely on WiFi at the coffee house, and use their Blackberries or I-Phones when traveling between connected sites. In Guinea, where about 70 percent of the population is illiterate, the business, academic and governing class – those who use the internet – is relatively small, and access to the internet much more limited.
When we arrived we were told internet access would be easy, that there was a “kiosk” very close to our house. Well, it turns out close does not mean walking distance; on our first excursion to the internet site we had to catch taxis and travel for about 15 minutes. The taxis dropped us off, and we walked across Conakry’s tenuous sidewalks, over piles of dirt, around trees and vendors, and into a small room with about 15 computers. We spent about 15 minutes unsuccessfully trying to connect and find a webpage before we decided this place wouldn’t meet our needs. We went out and walked up a very busy street a few blocks to another place, which was much better. The internet café was housed inside a compound with high walls, and we entered through a gate and walked across the courtyard and into the building. They had about 30 computers in three rooms, one of which was air conditioned, a relief in Conakry’s stifling heat. We had varying degrees of success connecting and finding e-mail and webpages – some spent an hour trying with no luck, while others had limited success reading and sending e-mail and checking their Facebook sites. The connection was slow and unreliable, and while we enjoyed the AC, using this as our primary means of connecting to the internet seemed like a poor solution. On a trip to downtown Conakry, at the very western end of the peninsula, we did find an internet café that had reasonably reliable service, but the trip to downtown is very long and somewhat expensive to do regularly.
Our next effort revolved around finding a way to get wireless in our house. Some of us had noticed when we booted our computers that a window appeared saying wireless networks were in range. We clicked and found a website by MouNaInternet, the company that runs the café downtown. On our second visit to the downtown café, on the Friday before we went to the islands, we asked about wireless service and we were told our house was out of range of their service. Apparently they had another office that was closer to our house, but the guy wasn’t sure if we could get wireless there or not. On Monday, I resolved to find out. It took all day to arrange a trip out of our house and to the office, but finally Ballack, one of the drummers here, took me in a taxi to find the office. Some of the students went along to see if they could check their e-mail. We drove in the taxi quite a distance – with each kilometer I became less convinced we would be able to find wireless from this office. Finally, we pulled into a “Total” gas station and went into the little convenience store, and in the back they had a small internet café run by MouNaInternet. They had the prices for wireless service posted, but again the guy there said our house was out of range of their service. They had about 8 computers, all of which were in use, so none of us got to check our e-mail. We did take advantage of the convenience store to stock up on some snacks, though!
A guy who overheard our conversation with the MouNaInternet technician offered another solution. He said the national telephone company, Sotelgui, offers internet service in the house, and that it costs 500,000 Guinean francs (about $120) to set it up. Ballack said he knew the director of Sotelgui, who lived nearby. We decided to pay him a visit. By now it was dark and we set off down the busy boulevard for a few blocks, then turned into a very dark alley and walked a couple blocks. In a small opening there was a group of guys standing around, and one of them turned out to be one of our drumming instructors. We talked to him for awhile, then went to the house of the Sotelgui director. He was watching an address by the president of Guinea on TV, and he invited us into his clean and comfortable house and we sat down. Some people removed their shoes as they entered, but he insisted it wasn’t necessary. He kept one eye on the TV as Ballack explained our situation in Soussou, the primary language in Conakry. The director got up and went into another room and came out with several business cards. He said he would talk to us during business hours and passed out the cards. He was very cordial, and we thanked him and left. We went back and found Sekou, the drumming teacher, who had a portable CD player and he showed us a video of his drumming and dancing company. The dancing was very impressive, and featured one of our dance instructors. The mosquitoes were beginning to get bothersome, so we said good-bye to Sekou and walked down the dark alley to the boulevard, where we found a taxi and returned home.
On Tuesday morning, Ballack and I took a taxi downtown to the Sotelgui office to see about getting our house connected. The taxi ride is long and interesting. Conakry is on a long and fairly narrow peninsula that juts out into the Atlantic, and our house is near the base of the peninsula. Each trip is somewhat different, as there are a surprising number of automobiles in Conakry and traffic can be very difficult. About half the cars are taxis, and among the rest are many large SUVs, Mercedes, and other very nice vehicles. To avoid traffic, taxi drivers weave back and forth across the peninsula looking for the best route. On this trip, we drove right alongside the national mosque, a beautiful building with four tall minarets and five large domes on the roof. We also drove along the southern rim of the peninsula, where there is an interesting mixture of large luxury apartments and shantytowns right on the beach. We finally made our way downtown and were dropped off at the Sotelgui office. Ballack asked for money to put minutes on his cell phone, then called the director. The director was out, but we managed to get by the soldiers at the gate by showing his business card. We went in and found the building with the director’s office, and right outside ran into the director’s son, who Ballack knows. He said his father wasn’t in the office, but that we could go upstairs and wait if we wanted. He accompanied us to the director’s office, and the secretary said he was in a meeting and would be back later. She pointed us to where we could find assistance in getting connected to the internet.
We went back downstairs, and out the gate, then crossed the street to the main post office, where Sotelgui has offices. We went in and found our way to the back and entered a small, crowded office where a guy was talking on the telephone. We sat and waited until he finished, and asked him about internet service. He directed us to the front, where we spoke with a woman who explained their service in French. Ballack translated for me, but somehow I thought I wasn’t getting the whole story. I asked him to translate several questions for me, and each time the answer was a version of “yeah, yeah, it’s OK.” She took my information, which included going outside where a young boy was running a photocopy machine, and paying Gf5,000 for a copy of my passport, and she prepared a form for us. While she was filling out the form, the director called and spoke to her, which no doubt greased the wheels a little. She handed us the form, and we took it, went out, went back across the street, got past the guards again, and went around the back to a window where we paid the Gf500,000. The payment was in bills of Gf5,000, which are stacked in groups of ten – nine bills folded over with a tenth bill folded around to hold the stack together. A woman behind the counter quickly counted all the bills while another entered our info into the computer. She stamped the form and gave us a receipt, stamped and signed, and we went back out the gate, across the street, and presented the receipt to the woman. She needed a copy of the receipt which required another visit to the boy and his Xerox machine, and finally we were done. She gathered the phone and modem, then got out a fancy bag with the Sotelgui logo on it, put the items in the bag and handed them to us. We went out and, again, back across the street and past the guards. The director’s son helped us find a technician to be sure we could get the machine installed in our house. He came with us as we found a taxi and took a ride back to the house.
This ride was pretty eventful as well. We saw a near riot on the way – many young people running out into the street throwing rocks. Ballack said to the driver “let’s get out of here,” and we managed to get away before being dragged into whatever was going on. The driver pulled off the main road and was negotiating side roads to avoid traffic and as we arrived at another main road we were waiting for an SUV in front of us to turn right. There seemed to be a commotion up to the right, and suddenly the SUV began backing up. Our driver, an elderly, devout Muslim man in full regalia, laid on the horn but the SUV still backed right into us. There was a loud sound of crunching metal, which I guessed came mostly from our small taxi against the large SUV. The taxi driver got out and just then several soldiers walked up and directed the SUV to the side. At first I thought it was because of the accident, but as many more soldiers swarmed into view I realized something else was going on. A large contingent of soldiers walked by clearing a path, and then a large throng of people came by, with one clearly important man dressed in white in the middle. This was followed by some cars, some with armed soldiers riding on the outside. I later learned this was a protest to regain a soccer field that had been taking over for parking, and that the man in white was the mayor of Conakry, who was showing his support for the protestors. After the throng passed, our taxi driver went over and gave some strong ideas to the SUV driver, but apparently didn’t have much else in the way of recourse, so he got back in and we went on our way. He would have to live with a dented grill.
When we got back to the house, the technician very efficiently hooked up the phone and modem, installed the software on my computer and showed me how to connect. It is very simple and works reasonably well. He installed the software and configured everyone else’s computers as well. This was then followed by a heated shouting match with several people from our house negotiating the technician’s fee for coming out and installing our service. Ballack thought his services were worth about Gf30,000, and he wanted Gf100,000. This seems to be a typical part of everyday life – negotiating everything, particularly prices. The range between 30,000 and 100,000 seems to be typical of how differently people value their services. I let them argue, not understanding too much but getting the gist, and eventually the technician went off with 30,000 plus his taxi fare back downtown (which is Gf20,000), promising to cut off our service. Such is life in Guinea.
Finding the internet in a culture where people don’t use the media too much, and where the media that exist are strictly controlled, is a challenge, indeed! Negotiating the bureaucracy, paying every individual for their services, and finding the right connection, such as having the director make a phone call at the right moment, help get things done in a culture where getting things done is less of a priority than engaging in the fun and sometimes frustrating rituals of social interaction. One day in Conakry provides numerous lessons in sociology, in viewing the incursions of modernity into a traditional culture, and how interactions in the absence of strong legal institutions always involves negotiations and power. We wouldn’t be able to do it without our Guinean hosts, but trying to figure out exactly what they are up to at times is equally confusing. It all makes for great drama, sometimes great comedy, and always a great education.
When we arrived we were told internet access would be easy, that there was a “kiosk” very close to our house. Well, it turns out close does not mean walking distance; on our first excursion to the internet site we had to catch taxis and travel for about 15 minutes. The taxis dropped us off, and we walked across Conakry’s tenuous sidewalks, over piles of dirt, around trees and vendors, and into a small room with about 15 computers. We spent about 15 minutes unsuccessfully trying to connect and find a webpage before we decided this place wouldn’t meet our needs. We went out and walked up a very busy street a few blocks to another place, which was much better. The internet café was housed inside a compound with high walls, and we entered through a gate and walked across the courtyard and into the building. They had about 30 computers in three rooms, one of which was air conditioned, a relief in Conakry’s stifling heat. We had varying degrees of success connecting and finding e-mail and webpages – some spent an hour trying with no luck, while others had limited success reading and sending e-mail and checking their Facebook sites. The connection was slow and unreliable, and while we enjoyed the AC, using this as our primary means of connecting to the internet seemed like a poor solution. On a trip to downtown Conakry, at the very western end of the peninsula, we did find an internet café that had reasonably reliable service, but the trip to downtown is very long and somewhat expensive to do regularly.
Our next effort revolved around finding a way to get wireless in our house. Some of us had noticed when we booted our computers that a window appeared saying wireless networks were in range. We clicked and found a website by MouNaInternet, the company that runs the café downtown. On our second visit to the downtown café, on the Friday before we went to the islands, we asked about wireless service and we were told our house was out of range of their service. Apparently they had another office that was closer to our house, but the guy wasn’t sure if we could get wireless there or not. On Monday, I resolved to find out. It took all day to arrange a trip out of our house and to the office, but finally Ballack, one of the drummers here, took me in a taxi to find the office. Some of the students went along to see if they could check their e-mail. We drove in the taxi quite a distance – with each kilometer I became less convinced we would be able to find wireless from this office. Finally, we pulled into a “Total” gas station and went into the little convenience store, and in the back they had a small internet café run by MouNaInternet. They had the prices for wireless service posted, but again the guy there said our house was out of range of their service. They had about 8 computers, all of which were in use, so none of us got to check our e-mail. We did take advantage of the convenience store to stock up on some snacks, though!
A guy who overheard our conversation with the MouNaInternet technician offered another solution. He said the national telephone company, Sotelgui, offers internet service in the house, and that it costs 500,000 Guinean francs (about $120) to set it up. Ballack said he knew the director of Sotelgui, who lived nearby. We decided to pay him a visit. By now it was dark and we set off down the busy boulevard for a few blocks, then turned into a very dark alley and walked a couple blocks. In a small opening there was a group of guys standing around, and one of them turned out to be one of our drumming instructors. We talked to him for awhile, then went to the house of the Sotelgui director. He was watching an address by the president of Guinea on TV, and he invited us into his clean and comfortable house and we sat down. Some people removed their shoes as they entered, but he insisted it wasn’t necessary. He kept one eye on the TV as Ballack explained our situation in Soussou, the primary language in Conakry. The director got up and went into another room and came out with several business cards. He said he would talk to us during business hours and passed out the cards. He was very cordial, and we thanked him and left. We went back and found Sekou, the drumming teacher, who had a portable CD player and he showed us a video of his drumming and dancing company. The dancing was very impressive, and featured one of our dance instructors. The mosquitoes were beginning to get bothersome, so we said good-bye to Sekou and walked down the dark alley to the boulevard, where we found a taxi and returned home.
On Tuesday morning, Ballack and I took a taxi downtown to the Sotelgui office to see about getting our house connected. The taxi ride is long and interesting. Conakry is on a long and fairly narrow peninsula that juts out into the Atlantic, and our house is near the base of the peninsula. Each trip is somewhat different, as there are a surprising number of automobiles in Conakry and traffic can be very difficult. About half the cars are taxis, and among the rest are many large SUVs, Mercedes, and other very nice vehicles. To avoid traffic, taxi drivers weave back and forth across the peninsula looking for the best route. On this trip, we drove right alongside the national mosque, a beautiful building with four tall minarets and five large domes on the roof. We also drove along the southern rim of the peninsula, where there is an interesting mixture of large luxury apartments and shantytowns right on the beach. We finally made our way downtown and were dropped off at the Sotelgui office. Ballack asked for money to put minutes on his cell phone, then called the director. The director was out, but we managed to get by the soldiers at the gate by showing his business card. We went in and found the building with the director’s office, and right outside ran into the director’s son, who Ballack knows. He said his father wasn’t in the office, but that we could go upstairs and wait if we wanted. He accompanied us to the director’s office, and the secretary said he was in a meeting and would be back later. She pointed us to where we could find assistance in getting connected to the internet.
We went back downstairs, and out the gate, then crossed the street to the main post office, where Sotelgui has offices. We went in and found our way to the back and entered a small, crowded office where a guy was talking on the telephone. We sat and waited until he finished, and asked him about internet service. He directed us to the front, where we spoke with a woman who explained their service in French. Ballack translated for me, but somehow I thought I wasn’t getting the whole story. I asked him to translate several questions for me, and each time the answer was a version of “yeah, yeah, it’s OK.” She took my information, which included going outside where a young boy was running a photocopy machine, and paying Gf5,000 for a copy of my passport, and she prepared a form for us. While she was filling out the form, the director called and spoke to her, which no doubt greased the wheels a little. She handed us the form, and we took it, went out, went back across the street, got past the guards again, and went around the back to a window where we paid the Gf500,000. The payment was in bills of Gf5,000, which are stacked in groups of ten – nine bills folded over with a tenth bill folded around to hold the stack together. A woman behind the counter quickly counted all the bills while another entered our info into the computer. She stamped the form and gave us a receipt, stamped and signed, and we went back out the gate, across the street, and presented the receipt to the woman. She needed a copy of the receipt which required another visit to the boy and his Xerox machine, and finally we were done. She gathered the phone and modem, then got out a fancy bag with the Sotelgui logo on it, put the items in the bag and handed them to us. We went out and, again, back across the street and past the guards. The director’s son helped us find a technician to be sure we could get the machine installed in our house. He came with us as we found a taxi and took a ride back to the house.
This ride was pretty eventful as well. We saw a near riot on the way – many young people running out into the street throwing rocks. Ballack said to the driver “let’s get out of here,” and we managed to get away before being dragged into whatever was going on. The driver pulled off the main road and was negotiating side roads to avoid traffic and as we arrived at another main road we were waiting for an SUV in front of us to turn right. There seemed to be a commotion up to the right, and suddenly the SUV began backing up. Our driver, an elderly, devout Muslim man in full regalia, laid on the horn but the SUV still backed right into us. There was a loud sound of crunching metal, which I guessed came mostly from our small taxi against the large SUV. The taxi driver got out and just then several soldiers walked up and directed the SUV to the side. At first I thought it was because of the accident, but as many more soldiers swarmed into view I realized something else was going on. A large contingent of soldiers walked by clearing a path, and then a large throng of people came by, with one clearly important man dressed in white in the middle. This was followed by some cars, some with armed soldiers riding on the outside. I later learned this was a protest to regain a soccer field that had been taking over for parking, and that the man in white was the mayor of Conakry, who was showing his support for the protestors. After the throng passed, our taxi driver went over and gave some strong ideas to the SUV driver, but apparently didn’t have much else in the way of recourse, so he got back in and we went on our way. He would have to live with a dented grill.
When we got back to the house, the technician very efficiently hooked up the phone and modem, installed the software on my computer and showed me how to connect. It is very simple and works reasonably well. He installed the software and configured everyone else’s computers as well. This was then followed by a heated shouting match with several people from our house negotiating the technician’s fee for coming out and installing our service. Ballack thought his services were worth about Gf30,000, and he wanted Gf100,000. This seems to be a typical part of everyday life – negotiating everything, particularly prices. The range between 30,000 and 100,000 seems to be typical of how differently people value their services. I let them argue, not understanding too much but getting the gist, and eventually the technician went off with 30,000 plus his taxi fare back downtown (which is Gf20,000), promising to cut off our service. Such is life in Guinea.
Finding the internet in a culture where people don’t use the media too much, and where the media that exist are strictly controlled, is a challenge, indeed! Negotiating the bureaucracy, paying every individual for their services, and finding the right connection, such as having the director make a phone call at the right moment, help get things done in a culture where getting things done is less of a priority than engaging in the fun and sometimes frustrating rituals of social interaction. One day in Conakry provides numerous lessons in sociology, in viewing the incursions of modernity into a traditional culture, and how interactions in the absence of strong legal institutions always involves negotiations and power. We wouldn’t be able to do it without our Guinean hosts, but trying to figure out exactly what they are up to at times is equally confusing. It all makes for great drama, sometimes great comedy, and always a great education.
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