Entry Three

Dear All:

The days are flying by and so much has been happening it is hard to remember everything to tell you. Dakar is simply a wonderworld -- I wish every American could visit here once because it will dispel so many notions of Africa, race, class, religion, everything. It would take only one Memphis driver to destroy the balance of nature among the drivers here. The worst traffic problem I have seen here was at the city's series of few red lights. Road rage is unheard of, and a few mild gestures and shouts settle pretty much all right of way disputes. Instead of whistling for a cab as New Yorkers do, Dakarois hiss, that’s right hiss, at the cabs. Now in all that noise and traffic how a cab driver ever hears a hiss is beyond me, but hear they do and quickly swerve to meet you. Go figure. As I say, the women in West Africa have the reputation for being the most beautiful anywhere. Of course, I have THE MOST BEAUTIFUL woman, but the rest are beautiful as well. And brother, do they know it. They carry themselves proudly, with a haughty gait knowing eyes are upon them (the men never stare or gawk, but sure cut a lot of sideways glances – I never noticed anyone really bothering to look at the two of us strolling down the boulevard together, but Bintou, with a smile, told me that indeed the people were paying us quite a lot of attention). Self esteem problems? Not here. If you were to say to a Dakar lady that she is beautiful, she would undoubtedly reply "yes, I know, thank you." A simple scarf can be made into any type of clothing -- a dress, skirt, top, or head wrap of amazing complexity.

Yesterday I received a primer on how to properly wash clothes from friend Tina's family. They hold American washing machines in high contempt, much preferring hand washing. They also do not like our harsh detergents. Soap, work, that's it, and that is why the colors of fabrics here remain so vibrant. You really would have to see the people and their costumes to see what I mean. No photo would do it justice.

Women, even the devout Muslims, still manage to display their fine figures. There is no hiding them. African women are very proud of their bodies and even though this is supposed to be a third world country, you'd never know it by the attitudes and style. No one is seen in public looking less than splendid. The right accessory, the right angle or tilt of an item, all make Dakar the most stylish city this side of Paris. The influences range from Arabic to French to moderne to hip-hop to American sports to Beyonce to, of course, African. You should see the graffiti and urban murals. They are neat, colorful, and real art. They would not dare deface a building or wall with anything less.

Two interesting realities yesterday: Juju is taken very, very seriously here. It isn't just a word in Tarzan movies. A family friend (Tina’s mother) who was living and working in the U.S. had to return to Dakar for special treatment because of a family rift and bad juju being put on her. With my own eyes I saw how sickly this woman seemed from this black magic. A real eye opener it was.

However, nothing quite compares to my being introduced to a new group of friends and when reaching to shake a hand found that it was missing, the result of a machete in the Sierra Leone civil war. A fine young man with no hands, period. Indiscriminately whacked off by rebels rampaging through Freetown. When introduced and seeing there was no hand I think I gained respect by, without hesitation, shaking what was there. It was my most Hemingway moment in life.

The Africans seem as curious about me as I them and much conversation has ensued over American and African things. Like me they do not like George W. Bush and they think Clinton was a fine man. It seems I have passed the unspoken tests I have been given and everyone feels like family. In fact, brother Mustapha has been getting many laughs imitating me on the edge of my chair being grilled at the family elder's. When asked if I loved Bintou I replied apparently overdramatically "with all my heart," which I thought would win me many points, but is now getting many laughs. (Nota bene: Word got around about my not answering questions with simple yesses or nos. My dramatization and poetic responses endeared me to the family who consider me a true poet of the heart. Laughs aside, they saw this as further proof that God was making the arrangements.) I did pass the test, got the blessing we were seeking, and final approval was phoned to the home village, which accepted and yesterday a village celebration was conducted on our behalf. This beats the heck out of the nice but comparatively tame reception I got with my last in-laws.

By the way, Bintou speaks fluent French, English, Wolof, Krio, and Temne. She just mentioned casually to me today that in Sierra Leone she modeled at a big exhibition. Are we surprised? Of course, I modeled as well when I was a fine figure of a young man. They still have the pictures down at 201 Poplar I think. Or are they at the post office?

Bintou cracked me up the other day when we were both very hungry and getting ready to go out, when we had unexpected company who overstayed their welcome. But Bintou being a true African was polite to all as could be as our stomachs grew louder by the minute. When the door was finally shut behind them Bintou shrieked, ran to me, and literally jumped into my arms with her long legs wrapped around my waist -- gone at last, gone at last, praise God a-mighty gone at last.

I return to Memphis and a mountain of work on Sunday. And Bintou? Well, a ton of papers must be handled, petitions filed, the Embassy contacted, etc., etc., before she will be able to get a visa for the States. We are hoping that with luck and prayers from home, Dakar, and our African village, that approval will come within a few months. Under Herr Bush things have tightened up to the ridiculous, but we have crossed every t and dotted every i, so there should be few if any setbacks, we hope. Folks can you just imagine me and my queen going to Schnuck's together? Should be interesting.

Anecdote for you: I remember asking Bintou early on if there were any of the so-called "gentlemen's clubs" in either Senegal or Sierra Leone. She had no idea what I was talking about, so I described for her the strip clubs that limn the darker edges of the big cities in the U.S. She was shocked, SHOCKED, at such a thing and assured me that there were no naked dancing girls anywhere in West Africa. Okay. While in the Kodak shop in downtown Dakar I was looking for some postcards to send home and saw a whole rack of beautiful bare-breasted African girls, not the old black-and-white out in the bush photos either; these were new ones posed by a photographer knowledgeable of girlie magazines. I called Bintou over and said with a smirk, "Honey, I thought you said there wasn't anything like this going on in Senegal." She waved her hand at the photos dismissively and said, "Those girls are from Mali." End of discussion.

More to come.

Love, Tom and Bintou