The Difference between Darra and St. Louis is enormous.
After checking in one last time on the internet from Bogue, Mauritania, Dana, Diop, Celine (our traveling companion who is a 32-year-old Romy Lightman), our host Kals, his wife Umu and their son Mohammed drove west along the Senegal River which acts as the unguarded boarder between Mauritania and Senegal. All the people here speak Pulaar, which is a beautiful sounding African language that seems as old as the land. It has all the pops and clicks of the French West African tongue, and has left behind the Arabic "ch" found at the end of Hebrew words like Pesach.
We crossed the river and came upon a community in celebration. This past weekend in Darra was the celebration of the prophet's birhtday, and each year Darra hosts more and more people. A town of a few hundred that sustains itself on small gardens next to the river, and the animals that drink from it can host what we guessed was 10 000 people. This region all centres around the Marabu. The Marabu are the most highly respected people in the area. They are the leaders and decision makers. They are regarded as the most familiar with Allah. In the festival we heard people praising Allah, the Prophet and the holy Marabus. The knowledgeable ones recite the entire Koran by heart from midnight to 6am with all the ululation and ferver that one would expect from such believers. We also had the opportunity to dress up in Boo-Boos with our hosts and visit Darra's Marabu. He welcomed us as forigners and said a prayer over all who sat before him.
People in Darra are very relaxed. They light on mats under trees almost all day because it is blisteringly hot, and tress offer the best source of shade as long as you keep moving around it when the sun shifts. They stand for each visitor who comes their way and murmur a huge list of salutations. Each person will say 8 or 10 salutations before movong on. In this respect, women and men are totally equal in hanshake and greeting. Both men and women bathe topless in the river, and work together in the fields.
We ate like Africans, all together sitting around one common bowl making balls of food with our hands and popping it into our mouths. We bathed in the river and washed our clothes there two. Life there seems slow, holy and unchanging. We were the only white people in town, and it seemed like very few white people every make it to Darra. It's extremely hard to get to, and there are no hotels.
Over 200 kms west of Darra, the Senegal River empties into the Atlantic onto an island city that the French colonialists set up as their capital to all of West Africa. The architecture and grid system scream colonial design, and it's rather nice. So too, think the throngs of French tourists who come here to walk the bridges and eat the fresh fish. There is electricity and internet, water from taps and the high fashion you might see on the streets of Paris or New York. But don't be fooled, poverty abounds here as well. Children approach in droves to beg for money. They are no less poor or rich than those shoeless children in Darra, but more caged in and more reliant on "toobap" the Wolof word for white person. "Toobap, toobap, done moi de l'argent," they chime.
I see why the French chose this as their capital, the breeze here is magnificent and it's not oppresively hot like it is in Darra.
People here are still connected to their Marabus. They hand photos of them from around their necks, but it seems a little more distant. In the rush of the cars (of which there are non in Darra) and the hustle of the market, the African spirituality is a little bit lost.
I've found myself intrigued and inspired by both places. Their contrast was so shocking that I thought it might provide a bit of good context for you in this region. Next, we head to Dakar and Gambia before our return to Morocco.
After checking in one last time on the internet from Bogue, Mauritania, Dana, Diop, Celine (our traveling companion who is a 32-year-old Romy Lightman), our host Kals, his wife Umu and their son Mohammed drove west along the Senegal River which acts as the unguarded boarder between Mauritania and Senegal. All the people here speak Pulaar, which is a beautiful sounding African language that seems as old as the land. It has all the pops and clicks of the French West African tongue, and has left behind the Arabic "ch" found at the end of Hebrew words like Pesach.
We crossed the river and came upon a community in celebration. This past weekend in Darra was the celebration of the prophet's birhtday, and each year Darra hosts more and more people. A town of a few hundred that sustains itself on small gardens next to the river, and the animals that drink from it can host what we guessed was 10 000 people. This region all centres around the Marabu. The Marabu are the most highly respected people in the area. They are the leaders and decision makers. They are regarded as the most familiar with Allah. In the festival we heard people praising Allah, the Prophet and the holy Marabus. The knowledgeable ones recite the entire Koran by heart from midnight to 6am with all the ululation and ferver that one would expect from such believers. We also had the opportunity to dress up in Boo-Boos with our hosts and visit Darra's Marabu. He welcomed us as forigners and said a prayer over all who sat before him.
People in Darra are very relaxed. They light on mats under trees almost all day because it is blisteringly hot, and tress offer the best source of shade as long as you keep moving around it when the sun shifts. They stand for each visitor who comes their way and murmur a huge list of salutations. Each person will say 8 or 10 salutations before movong on. In this respect, women and men are totally equal in hanshake and greeting. Both men and women bathe topless in the river, and work together in the fields.
We ate like Africans, all together sitting around one common bowl making balls of food with our hands and popping it into our mouths. We bathed in the river and washed our clothes there two. Life there seems slow, holy and unchanging. We were the only white people in town, and it seemed like very few white people every make it to Darra. It's extremely hard to get to, and there are no hotels.
Over 200 kms west of Darra, the Senegal River empties into the Atlantic onto an island city that the French colonialists set up as their capital to all of West Africa. The architecture and grid system scream colonial design, and it's rather nice. So too, think the throngs of French tourists who come here to walk the bridges and eat the fresh fish. There is electricity and internet, water from taps and the high fashion you might see on the streets of Paris or New York. But don't be fooled, poverty abounds here as well. Children approach in droves to beg for money. They are no less poor or rich than those shoeless children in Darra, but more caged in and more reliant on "toobap" the Wolof word for white person. "Toobap, toobap, done moi de l'argent," they chime.
I see why the French chose this as their capital, the breeze here is magnificent and it's not oppresively hot like it is in Darra.
People here are still connected to their Marabus. They hand photos of them from around their necks, but it seems a little more distant. In the rush of the cars (of which there are non in Darra) and the hustle of the market, the African spirituality is a little bit lost.
I've found myself intrigued and inspired by both places. Their contrast was so shocking that I thought it might provide a bit of good context for you in this region. Next, we head to Dakar and Gambia before our return to Morocco.
posted by Adam Popper at 5:35 a.m.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home