Politics

"Now the world don't move to the beat of just one drum..." Theme song to Diff'rent Strokes

Blackouts have no become so frequent that I think I should stop mentioning them. It's much like saying it's hot, although I still say that several times a day usually in conjunction with the fact that there is a blackout and we are sitting in doors at work suffering, sweating, and spraying deodorant. At any rate, they no longer warrant mention considering we had one for at least 5 hours on Wednesday through Saturday, and another yesterday and one again today. They last for such a long time that it makes it hard to do things, like go to the cyber cafe...I am convinced that all cyber cafes should have their own generators. Being a communicator a heart, staying in touch is very important to me. Phone calls are very expensive and if my internet is taken away from me...I just don't know what I'll do.

Mieko took us to her African dance class on Monday night. The leader of the dance troupe is also very involved in politics and there was a meeting of all the heads, (judging from the nice cars in the lot) no doubt to talk about the upcoming elections and the pending strike. Suffice it to say that the dance class never met. Instead we watched as a 30 minute delay became and hour, the mosquitoes started to come out, and a flourescent light was plugged in and brought in to the meeting through the barred window.

Instead we went home and Rodney brought out the doumbas (drums) that he just bought. He says that drums here and in Senegal are better than those made anywhere else in the world. He bought three and they are beautiful, and the sounds they produce are heavenly to me. Of course I have always been partial to bass. So we had a party on the terrace in the dark so as not to attract mosquitoes. Rodney played drums and showed Andrew a few beats and I did some African dances I knew. I said we should do a parade but they weren't up for it. I thought it would be funny to have people join us to see where we were going. As it was the shopkeepers across the street were all looking up to our terrace and some passersby stopped to see what was going on. No wonder people stopped calling Rodney, Moussa his Malian name, and started calling him Doumba.

So the national strike did indeed take place. I got a text from Coumba saying not to come to work. It took me a while before I found out what the strike was about though. Apparently the concern is the exponential rise in the cost of millet, a staple in the common household. But since most people I have seen are entrepreneurs they went to work to keep their businesses open. The only people who actually went on strike are government workers. And in the streets the Sotrames are running and it appears to be business as usual. I wonder if anything was accomplished...

Oh btw...the white mansion next to us belongs to a Reggae artist...Tekka Ja or something like that...he's currently on tour.