Art of Action, Birds of Freedom

The first day in Senegal was packed to the max with activities. A man with a box full of finches arrived at Mere-bi’s house to sell us his wares. Our Senegalese leader explains that you pay this man to release one of his birds while making a wish. He gets to sell the same birds over and over though, because they’ll fly back to him later. Sneaky! My bird was so tiny and delicate as it struggled in my hands. We bonded for a moment as I confided in him my wish and, as I released him, he flew straight toward the sun. Freedom at last, little bird- at least for now.

After lunch around a communal bowl of rice, vegetables, and fish, we headed out to visit an artist who has received quite a bit of publicity for his artistic creations (here’s his interview on YouTube). This man scours the city looking for inspirational garbage—litter is never more than a step away in the city—in order to resurrect these materials as bird sculptures. He calls this “art of action,” because he’s saving materials that would otherwise be lost or forgotten. “Why birds?” one student asks as we stand shoulder to shoulder crowded in front of his market stall. “The bird is the sun’s messenger that announces the arrival of the day,” he poetically responds. “These birds share with humanity the victory of a new day.” It’s almost hard to digest the beauty of his words as we crush against one another trying to rub the dirt from our eyes, keep from stepping on one of his precious creations, and move out of the way so passersby can navigate through our awkwardly large group. The run-down shop behind him, packed to brim—past the tops of the window sills—with bits of paper and scraps of garbage and the loose reddish-brown dirt beneath our feet give way to a collection of bird statues composed of old computer mice, a woman’s pleather sandal, and a set of old brillo pads. Each one unique, he lays before us a collection of masterpieces that make their way into the possession of group members. My advisor claimed the flock of brillo pads; another student, a peacock-like flattened soda bottle. Dakar is a hub for African artists like this architect of birds constructed from the trash of the city.

After the quick market visit, we headed out to a nearby beach to watch the sunset. As in many countries, men selling their wares hounded us. “How much for these necklaces? No? You tell me the price, and I will give you a nice set of elephants! Hippos? Monkeys? Masks? No? How about these necklaces? You just look, you don’t have to buy—just look!” A pathway is marked in the sand by tall posts and crowds of young men jog, jump, walk (backwards) and strut by. “Why do only men exercise on this beach?” “That is simple,” our Senegalese guide says, “In our culture, full women are beautiful women. We are not motivated to exercise to lose weight, because then we will look too skinny! Some younger women now exercise, but at a different beach, but in general, women do not feel the same need to lose weight as American women.”  I wonder why the men do it then…perhaps it’s all the free time they have while the women are home cooking and caring for family members?

Another communal bowl, this time full of lamb cooked under the ground for days and something resembling french fries. Whatever it was, it was delicious. To sleep now in preparation for Goree Island tomorrow!