Hope to see this flag in World Cup 2010
Archive for October, 2005
Canadians in the Lions Pen - Senegal vs. Mali - World Cup Qualifier
Every sports fan knows that the pure spectating experience is not found in the expensive chic seats but in general seating behind the nets with the real fans.
Seeing the upper blue seat shananigans at the Garage, witnessing the verbal
goalie abuse sessions at Swanguard and now the hip gyrating, body painted
football fan drummers in Senegal confirms this pure sports fan experience.
Our game was in Dakar was the final qualifying match for Senegal against their neighbour Mali. We arrived an early with an African friend, Moussa, and were greeted by heavy drumming and what seemed like half the Senegalese National Guard with rifles slung over their shoulders. Our eight month travel budget sung praises of the 2.20 CAN general seating entry fee.
In the large corridors leading up to the terraced cement seats were ever
devout Muslims in groups up to 20 turned in pray to the ever present Mecca.
Like the Youssou N’Dour concert the week earlier there was a conspicuous
absence of food and drink vendors. Moussa soon reminded us that Ramadan was upon us and that most of the 30,000 odd spectators and some of the players would not drink or eat anything from dawn to dusk. Considering the searing 35C plus temperature the devotion of these footballing Senegalese is impressive.
Soon enough a stream of painted red, yellow and white bodied men entered the
stadium seemingly sponsored by a cell phone calling card company. Women were
conspicuously absent from the crowd although they soon surfaced mainly as
vendors selling small plastic bags full of frozen milk, water and bissap -a tasty Senegalese drink that resembles a mix of cranberry, raspberry with heavy overtones of ginger.
After a spectacular performance in the 2002 World Cup making it to the final 8
the word from our local Dakar resident Fin was that the team had become cocky
and were on the verge of not qualifying for the 2006 World Cup. Senegal had to beat Mali today and hope that Group Leader Togo would lose to the war ravaged Congolese.
Mimicking the wild frenzy of the thousand jembe drums in the stadium the
Senegalese Lions came out roaring. With some deft tick tack toe passing the Senegal took an early 2 - 0 lead. With the football in the neutral zone the stadium spontaneously erupted with passionate dancing and spectators
sprinting through empty rows of seats with their arms flying in the air as it
was discovered that the Congolese had taken a 2 - 0 lead over the group
leading Togo team.
At half time we retreated from our sun scorched overheated cement seats to
the shade of the stadiums corridors. The corridors were filled with kneeing
football fans and we marveled at their thirst deprived resolve.
The second half resumed with Senegal taking a conservative approach and Mali
coming close on multiple chances. The crowd then let out a collective grown as news spread that Togo had scored in far away Braizzville pulling to within one of the host Congolese.
The Senegal Lions then broke from their New Jersey Devil trapping style
defensive play and bounded down the right side of the field. The on field
magician but off field maverick Diouf expertly initiated a series of four
short passes and Carama tapped the ball past the helpless Mali keeper.
The Senegalese again exploded in a frenzy of bootishaking West Africans style and we exchanged high fives with our fellow Lion Pen spectators.
With the Lions having a strong lead we decided to escape the overwhelming heat
and beat the crowds by heading out. In a feat surely to defy stadium custodian
protocol we went to three different stations and sure enough found the one
custodian who had kept our Nalgene water bottle which the soldiers would not let into the stadium.
Our faithful taxi driver Fallou met us on the highway and we celebrated what
we thought was the Senegalese Lions and their improbable entry to the World
Cup 2006.
Improbable it was as somehow Togo found their touch in Brazziville and beat the Congolese 3 - 2. That Senegalese football jersey will still be a hit when we watch the World Cup matches on Commercial Drive back home in ‘06. Go Togo!
Three Vancouver Old Boys Re-Unite at a Dakar Villa
With maturity comes some wisdom and the realization that old friends are the salt of the earth to be cherished like lush ancient rain forests.
After multiple years of professional development and an unmatched zeal for
adventure in Rwanda, Congo and Nairobery our ambidextrous journalist friend Fin had chosen the sea side Dakar, the most western point of Africa, from a host of opportunities.
FunHog’s Mac and Julie, BC’s lifestyle couple, were on a well deserved
shoulder season vacation from Whistler, BC’s prime playland.
Serendipity’s pendulum had swung in my direction again and I was eager to be
starting a long travel journey once again with Mac. Last time 27,000 km in a storied green van this time Africa, India and Australia with my finance.
I was happy to have Charlene spend time with two of my old and great high
alpine and African rooted friends. Our time at the Dakar villa was a chance to
live it up before continuing on with our rucksacks for eight months. Our
groups of six was rounded out by the articulate human rights lawyer Kim from
New York an ex of one of the old boys and friend of all.
Africa has rarely seen such a gracious host as Fin with his daily planning,
stocked fridge and bottomless scotch. On only our second night we experienced
the unofficial King of West Africa, Yussou N Dour, and his assortment of 20
musicians and dancers. Never have I experienced such a explosion of bold
colors amidst 4 drummers, 2 bassists, 3 guitarist and a horn section that
would make James Brown proud. Yussou and his spastically coordinated dancers
performed late into the night while the Senegalese women in their tropically charged boubou dresses and flowered head pieces danced and threw money on stage.
Our two weeks together saw the Funhog Mac rip across the surf glass while
preforming an unprecedented yogi warrior pose. The lads spent most evenings sipping on whiskey, recounting the on goings of the last seven months since we’d been in each others company and recounting the glory days.
We began to see that their friend Fin had grown a new layer and these arguable metrosexuals delved into the emotional side of life usually the domain of our savvy women partners.
We visited Isle Goree and its tragic monument to the 300 years where it was
the last stop for African slaves before they were shipped to the New World. To combat the crushing negative emotion that dominates this heavily fortified tropical island the Senegalese offer artists free rent in old military installations. Our impromtu Dakar silhouette sunset jam with Mac and a recycling artist left a memorable impressive on otherwise a historically apocalyptic island.
We all enjoyed Fin’s modestly luxurious life with Louise, the chef and Dialo, the security guard and gardener. Our one pronounced trip up to the old colonial city of St. Louis was pleasant except for the feces and garbage strewn western fishing beach. Oh well. We were lucky to experience what Fin calls a typically African experience as our borrowed truck, from the lovely Denver yank Loren, decided to harass us with a leaky radiator. Once in St.Louis most were treated to stunning local cuisine - make sure to ask around at your local West African restaurants for a fish stew called Tieboudienne or Yasa Poisoun and Yassa Poulet. A little hint for your next remote-ish cuisine experience - order the local stuff face the wrath of your intestines.
After a pleasant stay in an old colonial riverside apartment with the blessed AC we heading home all a little quiet. News had come that our heat score villa in Dakar had been buglared. We made the 250 km journey home in a speedy six hours. It could have been anything, including providence, but every time we
broke down there on the side of the two lane highway was fully functioning and able African mechanic. We arrived home to find that the bastards had done well but it could have been worse as they left our travel documents. In retrospect we have our health so what else is there.
Our days stretched out with reading, discussions, sea urchin expulsion, and
surfing breakthroughs. Although we had expected Fin to take off to shoot
Liberian elections we soon polished off a Irish whiskey in memorial of Fin’s gran who we discovered had just passed away. The passing of loved ones is tragic but can be tempered by the presence of friends.
Our upcoming safari and visits to Zanzibar, Jefferies Bay, Kruger Park and the spiritually steeped India will be special. I am certain we will be enchanted by characters and travellers along the way but I doubt that it will compare to spending extended time with old and great friends. Although it’s been 20 years since the three of us spent such a concentrated time together our time reminded me of what really matters in life. Professional achievement and material accumulation can be a sole life driver for some. But dear old friends know you most intimately and time with them reminds can remind you of your strength and weaknesses. Old friends remind you where you have come from and
insecurities that you’ve outgrown or overcome. Like one funhog reflected on
our trip our old group of friends operate in different professional fields but for an unanswerable reason we have a passion for pushing our professional boundaries and make positive change in the world. Mac with his unbridled life enthusiasm and communal professionalism. Fin in his attempts to portray the often desperate African in a dignified manner. And me … well for now I’m
reflecting, writing and travelling until mid-06.
So now the four Funhogs have returned to the New World. Fin is likely
recovering from a lively Irish wake, enjoying a reprieve from African life at his families house and off to Sea to Sky wilderness. Greg and Julie are
through London and back up to Whistler to help maintain professional social
cohesion and enter one race or another. Kim is back to Orange Alert New York to play in her ice hockey teams playoffs and work on her women
prisoners right PhD. Char and I reside at the villa in Dakar charging through
Jared Diamonds recent epic, Collapse, because travelling with hard covers suck.
Louise and the suspect Dialo ramble about and we sprinkle our imagination with the adventures that await us.
Note - see you in November … Charlene is taking over the text for our blog for a while … Diamond only cements my conviction that the world needs some Green Global verbiage … Ciao
Our London Experience - a slight capital comparison.
London sits amongst architectural icons, posh retail spots and a charged
theatre environment. Unconquered since 1066 its modern streets are now full of
stiffish blue, black, and grey work suits that largely ignore the chasms of
the rainbow.
London is bursting with museums that display countless borrowed figurepieces
like the Rossetta Stone which acted as a bridge in understanding Egyptian
hieroglyphics.
Where London is polite and queing Paris is colorful with fountains spewing at every other corner. While London is often gray but largerly intact the footprint of war is still evident in the rambling and modern punkish Berlin.
Paris and sometimes Berlin are microcosims of the UN but London is documented to be more hommogoneous and segragated.
The immpressively reclaimed industrial Docklands of London, where we were
lucky to reside, are a testiment to the Londoners historical resolve to change and adapt. With a conservative edge but outrageous tabloids London remains friendly even to those tube riding backpackers en route to Gatwick and then West Africa.
