Jewels

Abdoul Aziz Mbaye

 

 

Dusk was just settling in when we sat down to watch the spectacle in the park. It was Culture Week in Kedougou, in honor of the arrival of the Minister of Culture from Dakar, and we were here for the rap concert. And what a concert! Lyrics in every language and every topic - some lambasting the government for not providing much-needed resources, others against the foreigners for stealing what resources they do have. We were up on our feet clapping and laughing and hooting and hollering when who appeared, but our Jaxanke language instructor all the way from Pre-Service Training in Thies - Falaye! With his 50/50 hat that read "OBEY," he was easily the coolest kid in town. And not just cool, but a man who can make things happen. So during a lull in the music, I leaned over to him and whispered "Can you help me get an interview with the Minister of Culture?"

This is how, the following day, I found myself sitting in the restaurant of the nicest campement in town, craning my neck to see if Abdoul Aziz Mbaye was done with his breakfast. Falaye and I ordered orange sodas and tried to look like professional journalists. Eventually the Minister finished his omelet, dabbed his mouth with his napkin, then he and his entourage headed our way.

When he got near our table, Falaye and I stood up. M. Mbaye took one look at Falaye in his OBEY hat, and said "Ah, c'est toi le rappeur d'hier soir!"

"The biggest wealth isn't gold, but knowledge."

I smiled. "Non, M. Mbaye. Moi, je suis une volontaire de Corps de la Paix et lui, c'est mon collegue."

"Et qu'est-ce que je peux faire pour vous?" he asked.

"Si c'est possible, je voudrais faire un interview avec vous."

"I think it would be possible," M. Mbaye responded.

I paused, taken aback. "Do you speak English?"

In his deep, gravelly voice, he replied "Of course. Fluently."

At this point, one of his entourage stepped forward. "I'm sorry. The Minister doesn't have much time. He has a flight to catch to Dakar. You may ask one question."

"One question?!" I thought about how I had stayed up late into the night with my flashlight and my notebook, formulating bleary-eyed questions. "What about 8 petite questions?"

"One," he answered sternly.

I opened my notebook. I gulped. "Juuuust ooooone question," I said slowly, filling the silence that ensued while I tried to choose the best question. I began, "Peace Corps has three goals. And two of those goals stress the importance of cultural exchange." I explicated. I amplified. I hemmed and hawed. If I was going to be granted only one question, I was going to be eloquent. I ended by asking, "What is the one thing you would want us volunteers to share with Americans regarding Senegalese culture?"

M. Mbaye answered without hesitation. "I would want Americans to know about our expertise in urban culture. Just yesterday before the rap concert, a graffiti artist named Doctah did a mural on the stadium wall. Check it out! When it comes to urban culture, Senegal ranks #3 in the world." [N.B. I did not ask for sources to confirm this. What I can confirm is that Senegal is a pretty cool place.]

Something in Wolof.

At this point, Mbaye's bodyguard had turned his back to us to take a phone call. I took advantage of this moment to slip in a second question. "In terms of culture, how does Kedougou stand apart from other regions?"

Mbaye gave me a sly smile, acknowledging that I had broken the rules. But neither of us could help ourselves - he wanted to answer the question as much as I had wanted to ask it. "Kedougou is a melting pot of all the ethnic groups that exist in the countries surrounding Senegal [Guinea, Mali]. There are more jewels on the land here than there is gold under the land."

"A government minister AND a poet!" I declared.

At this point, the bodyguard had ended his call. He walked over to me and took the notepad and pen out of my hand. "For the rest of your questions, you can email them to me." He copied down his contact information.

Later, after the entourage had left, I went up to the bar to pay for the sodas. Leon - the bartender - and I had become friends after an incident in which I had tripped over his friend's motorcycle and broke the mirror off. As I was handing the money over, Leon asked if I had had a chance to talk to the Minister.

"He was in a bit of a rush," I said.

"Well, he had a late start to his day," Leon explained. "He was at the rap concert until midnight. Then he came back and sat around the pool until 4am chatting with his friends."

As I walked away, Leon called out "Watch out for those motorcycles!"

Falaye and I walked out into the stifling Senegalese day, passing by Doctah's mural.

When I leave here, I won't miss the gold in the ground and all the problems it has brought. But I certainly, certainly will miss the jewels.