Another Independence Day

Yesterday was Independence Day in the US. Here in Dakar, the reaction was a little…[yawn]…oh, yeah. Today, however, is Independence day in Cape Verde, an island nation west of Senegal. It’s where Paul’s family originated. It’s the influence for most of Mami’s cooking at our traditional Sunday gatherings.

Cape Verde was discovered by the Portuguese around 1460. Until then, it was uninhabited. The Portuguese colonized the islands and used them primarily as a shipping station for their slave trade. Like the Galapagos Islands, the Cape Verde islands were isolated, which has resulted in a number o endemic species, particularly bird and reptiles, many of which are endangered by human development. The Cape Verde Giant Gecko (Tarentola gigas) is one of those on the short list for extinction.

Independence came late, in 1975, so there are a lot of people around, including Mami and Papi, Paul’s parents, who remember when Cape Verde was a colony or a protectorate or whatever island “possessions” were called in 1975. So we’re celebrating tonight at the French Cultural Institute, where there is a concert of Cape Verdean music, which is a fusion of Portuguese, Caribbean, African, and Brazilian influences. Its national music is the morna, a melancholy, lyrical song typically sung in Cape Verdean Creole. Amongst the most worldwide known Cape Verdean singers is Cesaria Evora, whose songs are a hallmark of the country and its culture. And among those she influenced are Paul Thierry Oliveira…my Paul, as in Paul and Nathalie…who will be performing tonight.

I’ve only heard Paul in his studio. This will be a treat. Stay tuned. I’ll give you a reaction tomorrow.

Flipped!

It’s never too late to learn. I sincerely believe that, even if learning is not as easy later in life as it is earlier. RAM is full. The new information gets stored in less accessible spots of the brain, so the time required for retrieval and recall is longer…even if it’s a nanosecond, it’s time I’d prefer to not be wasting. For instance, learning French…well, we’ve been through my tribulations with French…let’s put it in a category simply titled “Proof That Learning May Be a Challenge”.

But today, I not only learned something new. And I learned it quickly and had a finished product 20 minutes later. I shot my first Flip Video. I made a 2:18 movie of Nathalie talking about the importance of kidney transplantation as a treatment modality in Africa. We recorded, titled the film, added the credits and sent it to Switzerland. Twenty minutes, including the transmission time, which with a weak wireless signal was the longest part of the process.

The image is crisp. The sound is good. The content is excellent, although admittedly, I had little to do with that. And now I understand why the world is over-populated with well-meaning people who think they want to make movies. It’s so easy!!!

And when I figure out how to add a video to my blog, I’ll share my little film with you.

Africa Will

I am sad. With my neighbors, I am mourning Ghana’s loss to Uruguay. After listening to the cheers from the restaurant next door and feeling the collective energy of the regulars who have been watching the World Cup at the little market down the road, I share their disappointment.

Africa wanted to win in the World Cup because in many other ways, Africa is winning. The latest reports showed that the African economies remained productive through the fiscal meltdown of the developed countries. There is construction everywhere. Agriculture is improving. The latest annual data from the World Health Organization shows that the UN’s Millennium Development Goals are being reached: infant and child mortality has dropped; maternal mortality is similarly declining; reported cases of malaria are lower than ever. Educational levels are increasing.

Of course, there are still atrocities occurring. Female circumcision, child brides, domestic violence, sex trafficking and other long-standing problems have not been eradicated. But there is more awareness of these problems today than ever before, thanks to the great work of organizations like Tostan, CARE, and countless others including Half the Sky. This amazing organization was started by Sheryl Wu Dunn and New York Times columnist Nicholas Kristof after their book by the same title hit the best-seller lists and stayed there for months on end. Read it if you want to learn what it means to grow up female in Asia, Africa and the Middle East. (If a young girl is lucky enough and smart enough to survive.)

Africa is an old continent with a very young and energetic population. Unlike the developed world, where aging is a problem because there are fewer and fewer workers available to power the economies, Africa is young. Virtually 41 percent of its population is under 15, as compared to 16% of Europe. By 2050, 28 percent of Europe will be over 65, but in Africa, only 7 percent of the population will be 65.

Youth is optimistic. Youth is confident. Youth believes it can.

That’s why I wanted Africa to win tonight. Because Africa believes it can. I believe it too.

Perfection

There is no toy in the world that can top a cardboard box. Seal got his first box today. It was just luck. When the AC installation guys left the apartment next door, they forgot to take one of the boxes. It was my big chance to introduce my little friend to “le joie de la carton.”

The whole experience was as close to instant gratification as life can possibly. I got in the box and sat down. What a great idea! He got in with me. We closed the top and got scared together. Then we opened the box and laughed. We made train noises. We jumped in and out. Then Seal took over. He put things in the box. He took them out. He turned the box over and made a house. He pulled it, pushed it, filled it up. He loves that box.

I loved boxes too when I was growing up, especially the wooden milk crates that Dad brought home from the dairy. They were our cars, our trains, the houses for our dolls, our furniture in our pretend houses, our desks for our pretend offices. We pushed them, pulled them, filled them up.

They filled us up. And they were free, just like many of the best things in life.

Nothing Special

Sometimes a day just happens. Sometimes nothing about a day seems important. Nothing captures my attention. There are no big moments, big learnings, big metaphors. We are told that we need to live every day as though it’s our last. Inevitably, one day that will be true. But some days really are kinda boring.

Today was one of those days. I got up. I read the NY Times. I started editing copy for the Hospital of Hope website. I had a couple of really excellent and enjoyable Skype conversations and a few funny email exchanges. I practiced my French with Ayam from the toy store. Now, it’s 7:35. The day has come and gone. I have nothing to report.

The night that preceded today, however, was unusual. We had a bad ass thunderstorm, complete with big wind and lots of flashing and cracking. It knocked out power. It blew in around the windows and doors. It flooded partially my bedroom. It soaked the rug in Paul’s music studio. It poured into the solarium that provides circulation and flooded down into the entrance foyer of the house. It was big and it was wild. It was a little like the storms that blow across the prairie. Raw and raging power!!!

Because of the storm, the day has been pleasant. The humidity dropped, the air was fresh and cool. But other than that, it was kinda boring in Dakar.

Raise Your Vision

Each time I have a sense that the hospital project is grinding along, not moving at the pace I would prefer, something happens that gives me hope. This morning, I was working at my computer and noticed that a Skype contact had popped up. This person is from Africa, someone I was introduced to by a mutual friend but know hardly at all. We had a conversation several weeks before I departed New York…we had another very brief exchange as I was checking my luggage at JFK prior to departing for Senegal…and this morning, for no particular reason, I decided to send him a message.

He answered my call immediately, sitting in his Chicago living room…no shirt…dealing with the early summer heat. We had a good laugh about the heat and humidity. Here, even though we benefit from ocean breezes, it is also almost too hot to wear clothes.

Moussa’s curiosity about the adventure here was all encompassing. He wanted to know everything: how we were managing the politics, how we were proceeding with fundraising, who we are meeting and finding helpful, what kind of support he might lend from a distance, who he can introduce us to, etc. His was an endless outpouring of wisdom and advice. He offered stories from his own experience as a trade specialist promoting relationships between American and African cities. He told about ways he had been surprised and dismayed by the African culture. He revealed that nothing ever moves forward in a straight line in Africa. He encouraged me to not take personally any of what is happening.

But the point Moussa stressed that I most desperately needed to hear was this: “Raise your vision. Look at the goal. Remember that this hospital is for the people of Bargny, for the people of Senegal. They need your help. Remember your goal always.”

And then I learned that our conversation was occurring in spite of the fact that Moussa and his family are facing a day of intense challenges: his daughter has sickle cell anemia, and this morning his son would be donating his bone marrow for her bone marrow replacement. It’s the best therapy for fighting the disease with a 90 percent or better chance of success. Inshallah, Moussa, inshallah. I just had an email from him at the hospital. All is well.

Moussa and others like him are my best therapy.

Thinking about Closets

LGBT Pride 2010…in New York, in San Francisco, in Boston, in Los Angeles, Chicago, Seattle, Washington, Philadelphia, Portland, Dallas…all over the US. In Barcelona, Istanbul, Sofia, Lisbon, Mexico City, and Buenos Aires.

But not in Dakar. Or Uganda or Malawi or Nigeria or Kenya or Cote d’Ivoire or Ghana or Morocco or Russia or China or any of other of the 73 countries where it’s just not ok to be gay.

After I arrived here in Senegal, it was fairly easy to disassociate from my sexual orientation. Bigger than my desire to spend time with LGBT people was my desire to communicate, to be known, to begin to speak French well enough that I could converse with others. As the conversations proceeded and we began to be familiar with each other, I expected that my need for connection would be satisfied.

It wasn’t. I was becoming familiar to and with people in the neighborhood, in the shops, in the family, but not known. Not really. Last week at Mami and Papi’s Sunday gathering, there was a fluent English- speaking gentleman who is also Senegalese. He was curious about who I am and what I think. We had a long conversation about issues and ideas: President Obama’s election, immigration reform in the US, the war in Iraq and Afghanistan, etc. Not insignificant issues when everyone is speaking the same language. He was uncowed by the language differences. Throughout, he translated my thoughts to other family members, to whom I have essentially been a mysterious non-French speaking, pleasant-enough, happy-looking American for the past three months. They haven’t had any idea who I am or what I think about anything.

As we talked back and forth as a group, with Dominic translating, I felt the connection begin to glow. Paul’s sister Ida (pronounced EE-da) said through Dominic: “Oh, this is wonderful. I’ve been wondering who Stephanie is and what she thinks.”

“I’ve been wondering who you are.” How many times have LGBT people heard that from someone close to them…after revealing fully their sexual identity?

Now, for the first time in 36 years as an out lesbian, I understand how it feels to be in the closet, to be carefully choosing what I say and to whom I say it. For the first time, it’s not a concept but a lived experience. I understand emotionally, as well as intellectually, that, as my friends from IBM communicate so aptly, there is a “cost of thinking twice.”

In the closet, it’s dark and hot and cramped and lonely. It’s uncomfortable. It makes me long for freedom. Today, for anyone who is in any closet for any reason, where they are hiding, only partially known, feeling unsafe and insecure…for all of us, I wish a crack of freedom that gives us courage to step out into the light and the air.