I was sitting in one of the obstructed view seats in the old Boston Garden- but it wasn’t your typical obstructed view. I didn’t have a column in my line of vision that made me crane my neck when I wanted to see a particular play- nor was there the typical roar you’d expect at games when the team’s roster included giants like Neely, Bourque, Sweeney and Moog. No, instead I was sitting up high yet directly behind an almost opaque plexiglass that somehow made sense because I was in the middle of a dream. This was my obstructed view.
I look over and around the plexiglass and suddenly was able to see that my brother and dad were sitting just two sections over and watching the same game. “Holy shit!” I think to myself as I get up to go over to greet them. How is it that we’re at the same game- especially when I’m supposed to be thousands of miles away on another continent?
Before I know it, I am over in their section and giving my Dad a big hug. This is a great dream- yet suddenly the nocturnal script deviates from its intended trajectory as I hear a loud pop. I look beyond my family and think to myself, “Was that tear gas?”
Yes, indeed it was tear gas. Good morning Megan- you are still in Dakar. And Boston Garden has long-since been razed.
Sigh.
I look over and around the plexiglass and suddenly was able to see that my brother and dad were sitting just two sections over and watching the same game. “Holy shit!” I think to myself as I get up to go over to greet them. How is it that we’re at the same game- especially when I’m supposed to be thousands of miles away on another continent?
Before I know it, I am over in their section and giving my Dad a big hug. This is a great dream- yet suddenly the nocturnal script deviates from its intended trajectory as I hear a loud pop. I look beyond my family and think to myself, “Was that tear gas?”
Yes, indeed it was tear gas. Good morning Megan- you are still in Dakar. And Boston Garden has long-since been razed.
Sigh.
It was a gorgeous morning outside. Upon hearing the pops I made my way to my balcony with my camera to see what might be disturbing this beautiful sunrise.
Let me back up first.
I get text updates from time to time alerting me of any demonstrations that may be going on in Dakar. I have told you before that the Senegalese are not a violent people, and usually when I get such updates it is more an advisory for foreigners to use common sense and avoid any areas of trouble. To my knowledge we are not really the targets of any contention, and it is best to just stay out of the way.
In my situation, I happen to live near the university (remember, I am an Olmsted Scholar here who was enrolled at UCAD until earlier this year). The university happens to be a place where many demonstrations take place- and this usually means that students are out throwing rocks, burning stuff and generally voicing their discontent when their stipends are not paid as promised (and really, how else are they going to eat and live without these promised funds?). The police respond in kind to their behavior by donning riot gear and generally shooting loads of tear gas at the students.
I’m not saying that either side is right- I’m just telling you how it is.
This is one of the university roads, located just off the corniche. About an hour prior to this moment I had received a text alert telling me to avoid UCAD, due to demonstrations. When I arrived here all I found was a group of students quietly queuing for their stipends. No upheaval to be had.
I always enjoy walking through the university grounds. It’s a big school, and while it was initially constructed with the intention to enroll 15,000 students, over 60,000 now attend. That’s a lot of matriculation, and my first hand experience can assure you that this accounts for many challenges faced by university staff. That said, I also imagine that the payment of bourses becomes an even bigger issue.
I started off this blog entry with my last dream of the night before I awoke- the one that was interrupted by the activity taking place outside my apartment building. I live right near the university, so on many occasions I watch the student activity down below from a pretty decent vantage point- one that most of these students will never get to experience.
Nothing terribly exciting going on- you can see the remnants of many rocks thrown overnight, as well as a fire being put out in the street. The students were all hiding behind the dormitory, and sometimes they were brave enough to run out and lob rocks at the handful of riot police milling about. Really it was demonstrating in slow motion.
See, it’s not like we’re in Tahrir Square here. The presidential elections of Senegal aren’t until 26 February- and that’s the time frame where I’ll really be concerned for the people out there manifesting. For now, these are just students being students.
And these people- well they know how to perturb the already perturbed traffic flow of Dakar. They know where the Achilles’ Heel of this city lies.
The firing of tear gas went on for hours this morning. I opted to forego a planned run because I didn’t want to inhale any of the gas. Instead, I did a workout DVD and then cooked up some tasty Trader Joe’s Multigrain pancakes with bananas and flaxseed (yes, I just said that they were tasty).
As I was cooking breakfast, I could still hear shots being fired at the students down below. The sound was beginning to irk my little cone of peace (and let’s not once again go into my feelings of guilt in living in such an ivory tower), so I finally decided that I had had enough. I reached into my Christmas decoration box (you know, the one that hadn’t been pulled out for decorating purposes this year) and I produced my Charlie Brown Christmas CD. Sorry students, time for some yuletide diversion.
As I’m sitting at my table and slicing into my pancakes, I’m enjoying the soothing sounds of the Vince Guaraldi Trio. It dawns on me that December 25th is practically here, and I really do need to put some Christmassy stuff up in my apartment. With all of this pow pow pow going on down below, I feel the need for a bit of escapism. I return to my Christmas decoration collection and decide to do some decorating…
Voila! It’s Christmastime in Hollis, Queens….I mean, Dakar.
So the students continued their protests until it got hot enough outside to stop and do whatever it is that students do (go to class, presumably). Then, once the sun started to make its way west and lower in the sky, things picked things back up outside my house.
Tonight I had a Christmas party to attend, and when I stepped outside to hail a cab I found myself in bottleneck upon bottleneck- it took a ridiculous amount of time to get 250 meters by car. All the while I can still hear pow pow pow as the students continue their student rock-throwing thing. My taxi driver proves to be simultaneously rule-breaking and awe-inspiring as he cuts off ambulances and then cuts off other vehicles so that the same ambulance can get through all of the traffic with ease. He’s from Guinea, and we have a great chat as I continually trying to stop myself from mouthing the Hail Mary prayer as we move into oncoming traffic to make headway. That’s Dakar for you.
So that was my day, and that’s my attempt to explain to my family that nothing really new or scary is going on in these parts. It’s another day in December- a day where perhaps I should be at a hockey rink or in snowy lands. Maybe soon enough. For now, the students will have their turn.