I am writing my essay Professor Amadou Camara’s lecture on the Senegal River Valley. I found his lecture especially poignant because of our upcoming trip there, and because it covered so many interests of mine. Traveling to the valley only reinforced the fascinating aspects of the lecture, culminating with meeting the group of village women dedicated to bringing in a wider means of income to their families. This essay will expound on the visible aspects of Camara’s lecture during the Senegal River Valley excursion.
The three goals of the two dams, Manantali and Diama, were optimistic to the point of impossibility. The three aims were irrigation, energy, and navigation; and all of them have failed to a certain extent. Relations between Mauritania, Senegal, and Mali determined the debatable success of the project, as well as the extreme lack of funds. The result has been less land being irrigated than is possible, bad technical maintenance leads to energy cuts, and navigation has been limited thanks to lack of funds and desertification. All the goals have either failed or not reached their full potential, causing vast social and political problems for local Valley inhabitants.
The people living in the valley are experiencing a problem of integration. Farmers have occupied “traditional” lands for many years before colonists came to West Africa. The river was merely a river, at one point, not a border to another country, and families moved freely between nations regardless of nationality. However, with the institution of land rights, families were then confined to their side of the river, even if farmers had land on the other side. The dam’s laws were written without regard to local utilization of the land, and have since disrupted integration and immigration in local communities.
When we met with the village women in Gaye, hearing their position was like listening to a microcosm of the valley’s politics. The government loaned them money to buy machines for increased agricultural production to enable community development. However, it was given at a great cost, which was the near impossibility of paying of the loan in a reasonable amount of time. When we met with them, they had been working for 11 years, making no profit from their farming endeavors, trying to pay off a loan with accumulating interest.
Like the construction of the dams, the government has created an opportunity for local community development, but at the same time has handicapped the people so they cannot realize the full potential of the opportunity. The women have not been able to profit from all their work, selling their entire yield so as to pay off the loan for over a decade. In the same way, the dams have allowed vast amounts of land to be irrigated to hold back desertification. However, only 40% of the dam’s potential has been utilized, making land ownership even more contentious. The dams have also provided power, but the state doesn’t have the funds to maintain them, so power cuts complicate daily life. Lastly, river navigation is theoretically possible, but neither Senegal nor Mali has money to take advantage of river access.
Just driving to Gaye was startling, as it was clear where the irrigation lines were. The scrub desert gave way instantly to green crops and fields, and I wondered how it would look if land was irrigated to its full potential. It shocked me to realize that between the Casamance and the northern Valley (fully irrigated), Senegal could end their dependence on imported rice. It is frustrating to see solutions, sometimes simple ones, to problems that were right before my eyes. It seemed obvious, so obvious what was necessary. And yet, the government continues to make decisions, which inhibit the livelihoods of the local people. Senegal could be completely autonomous from imported rice costs and finally sustain its population on local rice. Decreasing foreign dependency would also mean a decrease in price, since shipping costs are lower, which is also better for the environment. All of these consequences are clearly visible just driving to the valley.
Coming to this conclusion was especially impactful when we came back to Dakar and I saw hungry families with new eyes. It is impossible to know for sure, but would a change in the policies regarding the northern Valley mean this child, or that child, would be fed right now? Coming from the valley, where potential was very real, to the city, where it was abstract, was a shocking experience. There were too many ‘ifs’ floating around my head, trying to figure out how far the politics of the river valley could have an impact.
We traveled in the program bus, a ramshackle affair that we were always slightly concerned about. This was the first time I had to sit in the very back, however, and it was an experience I'll never forget. Sometimes, and on good roads, the back seat is the best place because you can easily converse with more people and sometimes stretch out on the seats for a nap. However, on bad roads.. it became the seat from hell. Our driver would slow down when he encountered a pot-hole but would promptly floor it so the bus could get out of the hole. Thus, we back-seaters were launched (I shit you not) several feet into the air, landing extremely ungracefully in a heap with our bags and books everywhere. It was funny, for the first several minutes. The following 4 hours wore down our stamina, but at least we learned to take the brunt of the bump with our knees and control the levitaton-effect.
We stayed for a couple nights in the village of Gaïe, at the home of the brother of one of our professors. All ten of us slept on mattresses in the courtyard with a couple sheep, ate homemade food, and tried to figure out bucket showers and the Turkish toilet. Now, I feel like adding "proficient at bucket showers" on my resume, because it is a skill that speaks volumes about independence, self-determination, and a passion for personal hygiene. I can say the same for the Turkish toilet...however this time it's more along the lines of team-building and mutual support as most of us needed a pep-talk to try it. Every night was a barnyard symphony as goats, sheep, horses and donkeys (who I have a newfound resentment for) kept us up well past midnight with all their racket. It was like in 101 Dalmations, when all the dogs were barking in that "doggie barking chain." It was ridiculous.
One evening we had dinner and waited until the village set up a huge "lutte" competition, the national sport. Senegalese wrestling outside of Dakar doesn't allow for punching, so we got to watch a less-violent competition than is displayed in the city. First, groups of men came out in groups to dance, and from the dancing, there was some kind of communication between the men that amounted to a challenge. First, the youngest boys came out to display their skills, and the age groups advanced until the competitors were in their mid-twenties and absolutely HUGE. It was so impressive. Pictures shall be posted shortly, don't worry...
It was from Gaïe that we made the trip out to the nomadic Pulaar herding family and I got my cow.. I wrote an essay about it for my Seminar:
My experiences in Senegal have been like a myriad of bright colors flashing across a canvas. They vary between the secretly astounding hidden in the mundane, painful hilarity, and a bottomless sense of wonder. This month has been unforgettable, and I am in the rare position of being faced with 11 more months here. If this program is any indication, then I know I’ve only seen the tip of the iceberg when it comes to Senegalese culture and society.
Hard as it was to choose a single experience to write about, I thought that being given a cow was at least a little distinctive. This took place on the trip to the Senegal River Valley, and we took a short ride outside Gaïe to spend an evening with the semi-nomadic Pulaar herdsman. This community in itself was fascinating to me, with the cattle mingling with the wood structures, and the people going about their chores as the sun set. I think we all fell easily into the relaxed atmosphere and the welcoming blankets, content to discuss our plans for the Gaïe women’s fund.
The relationship these people have with the land and their animals is hard to show and hard to imagine for me. It is far removed from the kind of relationship American farmers have with their livestock. In the United States, with the exception of small family farms, the distance between people and cows is immense, thanks to feed lots and corporate farming. Even small family farms are very removed; living in separate buildings and barns isn’t the same kind of lifestyle. I was struck by how knit these two populations were, how interdependent they are on each other. The people follow the cattle as they wander for food, and the cattle are used for milk, meat, and currency. It was also startling to realize that the herders probably knew all of the cattle by sight, how each one was related to the other, and how old they were. To my untrained eye, I saw white cow after white cow. Their way of life may as well be on a different planet for all that Americans can relate to it. It makes me seriously wonder the kind of things we’re missing.
It was only about twenty minutes after we arrived when Hady asked if any of us had a video camera. Tyler and I said we did, so we followed the leader of the community into the herd of cattle, filming him walking around amongst the herd. I got four minutes of video footage, including a huge steer that came up to my shoulder. It was footage that could never really capture the essence of what kind of life this man leads. I caught a few seconds of his wife milking a cow, of calves lounging in the brush, of the children following us like shadows. Finally he turned to me and indicated a calf on the ground. After a confusing sequence of gestures, some French, and some Wolof, I thought I understood that he was giving me this calf. I tried to verify in French and he didn’t understand. Finally we agreed to return the others and battle out this communication breakdown with Hady.
I was right; he was trying to give me a cow and fully expected me to take this cow on the bus back to Dakar with me. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I took a four-minute video, and he wanted to give me cow? It struck me as another stark difference in cultural conceptions of a “fair trade.” In my cultural norms, taking a four-minute video of somebody walking with his livestock would merit a “thank you” and maybe an invitation to dinner. But in this case, he thought a cow was sufficient. It is an example of how they value a visual representation of someone here. His livelihood is tied up in these animals and each one is valuable. The price of a cow was steep to me but it showed me not only the generosity of this man, but also what that video meant to him in return.
It is almost like we approached each other from opposite ends of a spectrum. On one hand I took my technology for granted, not having the same sense of worth tied up in pushing a button and having something recorded. On the other hand, the Pulaar herdsman saw his cattle differently, and I wouldn’t say he took it for granted, but he had a different set of assumed norms than I do. Giving me a cow was perfectly reasonable to him. I find it a little ironic that the United States is (in)famous for its materialism, yet a passing photograph or video has little impact on us. But for this Senegalese man, with no attachment to materialistic possessions valued the technology that I had access to because it was a verification of his wealth. I find it incredibly interesting that photographs and videos have that kind of importance here.
I can’t help but see how this extends to the rest of my time here. How I need to not see things through my biased lens. I need to appreciate what people find valuable here. My involvement in this society can be significant if I put aside things I find important or the things I find trivial and learn to appreciate their norms. My cow, whom I have since named Filet Mignon, can be a reminder of this. But even here, she is too young, and our bus too small, to take her back with me (and maybe the herder will forget about this whole exchange). I can’t forget that I have a cow wandering around the Senegal River Valley that is intended for me. Filet Mignon is the exact embodiment of the contrasting worlds we come from, and I can never let that go.
The rest of the weekend in St. Louis was spend attending lectures on Senegalese Literature, shopping, and eating excellent food. Tyler, Aloura, and I stumbled upon an amazing Italian restaurant on the river, which served food covered in those metal domes which they lift off in a flourish as they present you with a wine to accompany your meal.. oo la la. The architecture, atmosphere, and people of St. Louis were lovely, and I fully intend on returning for a weekend vacation.
The last part of program-Finals Week.
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