Merci, Merci, Merci!

Many, many thanks to the future President of the United Republic of Tanzania, Baraka Shelukindo, and to Reuben Mwaikinda, Namwaka Omari-Mwaikinda, Sakari Saaritsa, Tchaka Ndlovu, Liam Kavanagh, George Kabelwa, Oswald Mashindano, Pendo Kundya, John, Sarah Hunt, Tamara Plush, Brian Cooksey, Robyn Agoston, Mireille Saurette, Andrew Deak, Andre Reinach, Mwatima Juma, Niranjan Pattni, Hugo Gisler, Donald Max, Joe Kabissa, Ann Yoachim, Sam Wangwe, Gerry Helleiner, Roy Culpeper, Bill Morton, Lois Ross, Darlene Sanchez, Ann Weston, Sunday Khan, Hugo Cameron, Marc Froese, William D. Coleman, Daniel Drache, Eric HAZARD, Sally BADEN, Keba FATY, Mouscouta FATY, Florent ARRAGAIN, Sabrina LEVENEZ, Alexis ANOUAN, Barry ALIMOU, Abdoulaye DIA, Moussa SABALY, Amdiatou DIALLO, Boubacar KAMISSOKO, Tina GASSAMA, Jeff Ballinger, Matias Margulis, Jean Michel Montsion, Murray Wilson, Bob Huish, John Howison, James Hetmanek, Kat Peterson, Gordon King, John & Ann Sneyd and all of the other wonderful people that helped me to find my way over the past six months. This blog will live on from Canada....

The Two Solitudes

The guidelines for a Ph.D. in political ‘science’ at McMaster University stipulate that the dissertation should be 60 0000 words in length. With this fact looming ever larger I have had to make the choice to leave what a friend refers to as my “smiley expat universe” for the time being. I am heading back to the Institute on Globalization and the Human Condition to take stock of the information I have collected over the past six months, throw myself into the literature and get down to drafting. With only a few more interviews to complete before hopping on a flight to what could be just a little bit of a culture shock, I have been thinking quite a bit about the costs and benefits of this choice.

Here in Dakar I have been living my life in a new language. In a sense this experiment has been liberating. Though limited by my tiny vocabulary, I have been able to articulate my real feelings about issues and let my true personality shine through without inhibition. The freedom of this new world is slightly addictive. Growing up in officially bilingual Canada I had basically zero interest in learning French. Through immersing myself in Senegal’s people and its baguettes, street art, poetry and sunshine, I have put an end to my insularity. This of course has partly been of necessity: the legacy of France’s colonial era policy of assimilation is overwhelming. For example, I was actually quite perturbed yesterday when I went to buy a bottle of water (itself a political act) and the vendor did not speak French! However, the generosity of my hosts and the insights of my colleagues at ENDA Diapol have been equally powerful motivators as I have attempted to drag myself out of my Anglophone cave. French-language CBC programming, here I come….

In general, the Senegalese are truly beautiful and exude happiness despite the sad reality that they continue to be what some refer to as the country’s “principal export.” Even so, during my runs from Ouakam down to the coast my interactions with them have not always been positive. During my first weeks here I remained preoccupied with work or lost in other thoughts when I hit the road, and as a consequence, dodging sheep dung, horse-drawn carriages and big Mercedes was a serious challenge. Public buses and private vehicles ceaselessly seemed to veer in my direction and I found myself constantly having to move further off to the side of the roads and into the deep sand of the shoulders. Admittedly, this was mostly my fault. Being part of a toubab minority that constitutes less than 1% of the population, my inattentive presence in running gear on the roads was distracting and novel. These days when I run I endeavor to be aware of my surroundings and typically find that I have a big smile plastered on my face. As a result, my experiences en route are increasingly enjoyable. Making eye contact and flashing a genuine smile seems to disarm people that have a lot of hospitality in their hearts.

On the surface then, it appears that my decision to leave this place will cost me a fantastic lifestyle. In one week my daily post-run doses of sunshine while stretching (and dancing) under the neighbourhood baobab tree will come to an end. I will also have to forgo a search for the two ultimate expat comforts: the perfect motorcycle and the ideal open-air rooftop apartment. The opportunity costs of staying to pursue these dreams are too high at this point. This is the case not simply because going home means that I will not wreck any more pairs of underwear through my vain efforts to wash my clothes by hand, or that I will once again have access to organic veggies and a hardcopy my beloved Financial Times. Staying now would necessarily entail falling apart from the very people and the place that gave me the means to pursue this research adventure in the first place. It is absolutely essential that I return to give back to the community that provided me with the keys to pursue work that – as these pages attest – has honestly enabled a voyage of self-discovery. Moreover, being present at McMaster now will not only ensure that I reap gains from being proximate to top minds in the fields of globalization studies and political economy, but also give me an incentive to perform efficiently: the vision of a returning to sub-Saharan Africa and making a difference.

A Little Rostock in Dakar

One of my friends currently in Rostock, Germany to protest the Group of 8 (G8) meeting describes the police presence there as “the biggest he has ever seen.” While he was on the streets pushing for a new type of global governance and facing the water canons on Saturday, I was in a packed seaside bar watching Senegal’s national soccer team take on Tanzania’s ‘Taifa Stars’ live from Mwanza. The final score was a 1-1 draw, a fitting end to a contest between two most hospitable countries. In the immediate aftermath the din resulting from animated debates over the factors that led the speedy Tanzanians to hold the mighty Lions to just one goal more than drowned out a newsflash that twelve people had died in a stampede following another big match in Northern Zambia.

Escaping to the beach I watched some kids bathe a group of sheep and listened to one person after another as they tried to convince me to buy the beads, paintings or cashews they had on offer. I wondered if any of the young people I saw enjoying their Saturday knew that some of their European contemporaries were at that moment putting their bodies on the line in Germany for the future of peoples and the planet. Later that night I attended an open air, all night party where the fantastic DJ skills and alter ego of a renowned West African cotton expert were on display. As I experienced one of my first truly multicultural moments in Sub-Saharan Africa this year the events at Rostock seemed to be more than a world away. So too did the discussions I witnessed at Wilton Park two weeks ago about the ways and means to build a more equitable global order. Even so, as night turned into day my desire to de-stress remained unfulfilled. After a week of running my “paper writing machine” at full tilt in order to produce a record of the Wilton Park discussion it proved difficult to leave the shop behind. The great tunes and the cool ocean breeze had not put a stop to my worries about the lack of resonance global issues seemed to be having locally.

Fishing off Dakar’s rugged coast with two French expat researchers yesterday these doubts faded. Through a combination of clumsiness and inattention, my line consistently entangled my new friends’ lines, making it more difficult for them to land the barracudas and other large fish they were hooking again and again. The negative ‘externality’ the boat experienced as a direct result of my poor fishing skills and daydreams drew my attention to a political parallel. It seemed to me that the articulation of extreme views on the global democracy and justice movement might have a similar effect. For example, the energetic work of thinkers and activists that has helped the movement to regain the momentum it lost after the September 11th terrorist attacks might be tripped up by rants that focus exclusively on the barriers to achieving change. Similarly, voices that encourage a suspension of disbelief in the movement’s beneficence or strength might ensnare it in an excessive utopianism. At the weekend, my thoughts were firmly at the former end of the spectrum. They were imbalanced and lacking what one prominent US-based self-help guru terms the “power of positive thinking.” In the field of International Relations, students are taught to consider ‘Realism’ and ‘Idealism’ as two separate and competing schools of thought. Beyond this limited and somewhat archaic academic debate, it seems to me that the drive for global equality and intergenerational equity can and should embrace both concepts. Far from being a contradiction, equilibrium between the two – a ‘realistic idealism’ – that foregrounds problems, prospects and diverse policy alternatives appears to me to be exceptionally rational.

If it is not already apparent, the need for balance has become the principal theme and preoccupation of my little adventure…and I am really enjoying every minute of it.

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Pictured: Andrew Deak, André Reinach and the spirit of Dr. Tadzio Mueller