A Cultural Divide

Since it would obviously be politically incorrect of me, and perhaps even racist by some, to generalise about negative aspects of a group of people based on their culture, I figured, since today was full of great examples, to write a post about the massive cultural divide between myself and 2 particular people – they happened to be taxi drivers in Senegal (although the latter, in a sense, drove a car and accepted payment for the ride, I’m not sure if he really was a taxi driver…) In case someone happens to misconstrue this as a generalisation about Senegalese (heaven forbid), I will throw in an example of the cultural divide between myself and a certain aspect of bureaucracy – the other person happens to be an Indian.

Stuck in Friday arvo traffic - downtown Dakar

Taxi!

So after deciding to take a weekend break at the seaside resort of Saly, I flag down a taxi after work to take me to the Gare Routiere, from where I will catch my sept-place taxi to Saly. The conversation with the taxi driver, before I get in, and following the standard pleasantries, goes something like this (I have translated in a way that I assume I would sound in French).

Me: I would like to go to the Gare Routiere. How much?
Driver: blah blah blah blah. Gare Hotel blah blah blah.
Me: No. Gare Routiere (this time, pronounced differently, just in case I got it wrong first time).
Driver: Blah blah blah. Gare blah blah. City blah blah?
Me: Not city. Near Point E. Before Place de l’Indepdance. I want to go to Saly. Sept-place taxi. Gare Routiere.
Driver: Ah, Point E. Ok.
Me: No, NEAR Point E. But Not Point E. Before Place de l’Independance.
Driver: Ah, Place de l’independance?

Musings on Dakar - Part 1 (most likely...)

Welcome to Léopold Sédar Senghor  (Dakar) International Airport 

I have only been here a short time, but I have already noticed so many things that stick out to me. Some of them stick out because I have simply been transformed to a different climate, different culture, different language and different life. Others though, simply do not have explanations because in any context, they simply do not make sense. In no particular order, this is my list of impressions of this hot country of which I have only touched upon...

• The unofficial taxi driver coalition in Dakar believes that if enough of their members honk at you, you will eventually get in one of their taxis and pay for a ride.

• In terms of equal standards, accommodation costs are slightly higher than Scadinavia, yet taxi rides are about one-twentieth the cost, even though the cost of fuel is roughly the same (on the other hand, the standard of the taxis themselves, can't really be compared...)

• It is nigh on impossible to find a self-service laundrette. But there are plenty of "pressing" shops that will clean your clothes (I have a feeling they actually dry-clean...) at a handsome cost per item (a load of basic washing just cost me 16,800 CFA / $33)

A busy round-a-bout with 3 Nescafe vendors (2 seen here, partly
blocked by a ubiquitous yellow taxi)

• Instant Nescafe from a street-seller in a tiny plastic cup is the height of coffee culture, and can be found on every street corner.

• Forget Japanese, European and American cars, Iranian and Indian cars rule the roads here!

• Forget BP or Caltex, here we have OilLibya!

• Like most non Anglo-Saxon Western coutries, the people are some of the most warm, welcoming and genuinely friendly people ever. Spend a day driving a new colleague aroundn to help him find an apartment? No problems. Invite a relative stranger into your house for a meal? Of ourse. Whilst overfriendliness tends to raise alarm bells with me, the worst thing that is likely to happen here as a result is daylight robbery by the street-seller or taxi driver.

A Divided City No Longer

Pariser Platz - named so many years ago to piss off the French

I have always been amazed by the concept of war, especially, past wars. Mostly, because they don't make sense, but also because countries tend to behave in such ways which make even less sense. Even equating countries with toddlers doesn't quite explain things. The results of WWII are evident throughout Germany,  and although Berlin nowadays acts like one city, it is quite clear from how it looks that there are two sides to the coin.

The Opposite of Tears of Joy (Smiles of Frustration?)

I think I get a kick out of things going wrong, finding someone or something to blame, and then investing all my energy into somehow extracting my revenge. This tends to occur in the following form:

1. Me, the helpless victim, tries to purchase goods or services from big business.
2. Big business screws me over by not delivering as promised.
3. Consequently, I suffer some massive injustice. This may be that I end up having to pay an addition $3 to get something fixed, am uncomfortable in a plane because I get stuck next to some person who takes up my seat as well as theirs, or something similar. Either way, the injustice I suffer, is, naturally (when I argue about it), roughly equivalent to WWIII.
4. I pull out the Bacher gene (that part of the chromosome inherited from my maternal side of the family) and complain. This is the part that I may get the slightest kick out of it. I complain verbally or in writing. Whichever way I do it, I don't stop until I get my way. Of course, sometimes the effort is way more than the argument is about. But it's about principle and the satisfaction it brings. It feels little better if I can tell myself that the other party has somehow learnt from their mistake.