Hi guys! I’ve got to do a lot of catching up on my blog since I was in Dakar for the holiday break (which meant I actually had something to do, so I was out and about for most of the past couple weeks.)
3em Festival Mondial des Arts Negres (also known as Fesman3) was happening in Senegal, and apparently other countries in Africa (although I can’t confirm this.) There were concerts, cinema, literature readings, theatre performances, dance exhibitions, art galleries, and architecture conferences all relating to African roots and all free to the public.
I had a chance to go to three of the concerts. One was a hip-hop concert located at an old cookie factory (this was by far my favorite concert.) Another was at Place de l’Obélisque with the ancient rap star Busta Rhymes and also at the Obélisque I attended a concert with Magic System, a group from Cote d’Ivoire.
The Magic System and Busta Rhymes concerts were both awesome. Busta Rhymes played a bunch of old school rap that my friend Bamba had a great time shouting all the lyrics to. Magic System was a great group that played more traditional music- impossible drum beats, on-stage dancers who danced mbalax better than I have seen anyone dance, and rhythms so infectious the only thing you can do is dance. [Mbalax is a type of Senegalese dance that involves ridiculous flexibility, very sultry lower body movements, and lots of energy. I will try to find a video to post of some mbalax dancing. It’s truly incredible. On a relevant side note- every Senegalese I have met has been born with rhythm in their blood. I have not met a Senegalese who doesn’t know how to dance. I don’t know how they do it. I look like I have hip dysplasia compared to these people. My friend Modou is going to try to teach me how to dance mbalax before I come back home, inshallah.]
The best concert, by far, was the hip-hop concert at the Biscuiterie. Featured were: Tigrm B, Nixx, Matador, Daara J Family, and special guest Rick Ross. Kate and I came with her host brother and sister. Bro was working for the festival so he was able to get backstage and get pictures with some of the artists. He decided to see if he could get us backstage too, so he disappeared for a while. In the meantime, Kate, Sis, and I danced and had a great time listening to hip-hop in French and wolof. Bro returned with two guest passes. Success!
We walked behind some port-a-potties that way he could give us the passes without the guards seeing. With passes in hand we attempted to enter through security but the route was barred so we had to find another way to get in. Right next to the aforementioned port-a-potties was an open window that led to the security room. Kate, Bro, and I hopped on through and said hello to the security guards eating dinner before casually walking out the other door that lead to the back area. Gotta love Senegal.
One security checkpoint down, two to go. We sauntered past the second set of guards but were stopped at the third, the last hurdle standing between us and all-access-backstage-awesomery. Bro was able to pass since he had a worker’s badge, but since ours were mere guest passes, we were not allowed back because there were too many celebrities, or something like that. Bro disappeared for five minutes while he tried to finagle our entrance, but with no success. We walked back through the maze of old warehouse buildings and back to the security room to jump out the window, but not before the old security guard manning the video monitors managed to throw out a marriage proposal because he wanted a tubaab wife. I used the standard line of “I’ve got a Senegalese husband from _________. His name is __________. Next time though.” [I’ve found that if I try to use an invented American husband that usually prompts the proposer to claim I need a Senegalese husband because they are better.] I was also conveniently wearing my fake wedding ring, so that sealed deal and I was allowed to hop back through the window.
So it looked like backstage access was out of the question (I wasn’t about to try and sprint past the very muscular and very intimidating guards blocking the only other entrance) but that didn’t mean I wasn’t about to dance like a crazy fool. I got a few weird looks from some Senegalese girls, but who cares? I was having an awesome time dancing like there was no tomorrow.
The rappers were excellent, although I did have to question their street cred because they would address the audience by saying: “Faites du bruit biscuiterie!” which translates to: “Make some noise cookie factory!” I found it quite hilarious that these large and very hip rappers were holding a concert at a cookie factory, but c’est la vie.
Much to my surprise and excitement, my friends Modou, Joleen, and Andrew showed up out of the middle of nowhere and joined us in crazy dancing. (Apparently the concert was full by the time Modou showed up so Joleen had to pull a sassy Senegalese move and argue with the guard for about a half hour before they let Modou in on the grounds that he was Joleen’s fiancé. Not really true, but all in the name of hip-hop.)
During one of the sets, one of the rappers shouted: “Raise your hand if you love being African!” Kate and I sort of just stood there looking awkward (we were one of only a handful of white people surrounded by a bunch of Senegalese people at a hip-hop concert. It’s like we were the minivan attempting to hide itself in a Porsche dealership. Not possible.) Either way, Kate and I just sort of stood there not knowing what to do, until the guy in front of us turned around and said, “Why aren’t your hands raised? You’re black on the inside!” That got a chuckle out of us and we put our hands up and joined in the festivities.
Crazy dancing by all of us until 3am. Rick Ross had been rumored to be the final artist appearing, but no one was really sure if he was actually going to show. At around 4am he finally rolled on stage (literally… he’s quite large.) His publicist didn’t do a very good job of informing him of where he was because he decided that “I am going to dedicate this song to the people of this city, in this country!” Way to be specific, Rick Ross. He also kept asking the crowd “Can I get a Roseeeeeeeeeee?” (referring to the wine.) No sir, you may not, this is a Muslim country.
And so, after about seven hours of dancing, I was exhausted and the concert finally ended around 4:30am. Walked home on my tired, tired feet and passed out within a matter of minutes of putting my head on the pillow.
I’ve included the link to my favorite song from Daara J Family that way you can get a taste of the concert (click here) (Bayi Yoon translates to something along the lines of "Fathers of the Past" it's about remembering your roots.) That concludes this very long post about 3em Festival Mondial des Arts Negres. Congratulations if you read the whole thing. I hope all of you are enjoying the beginnings of 2011 (even if we did lose the Rose Bowl…).
Love,
Hannah
