DakarSoFar: There are no Bees in Dakar
            I got stung by multiple bees this weekend. In the way of an explanation, I should introduce you to Binyavanga Wanaina who I met at an Akuwa Naru concert over a month ago. He originally came to Senegal for a conference but decided to stay indefinitely. I was mid-headbop when I recognized him walking past in the crowd. The experience of recognizing a face in a city I had only been in for a week was a little surreal and it took me a minute to place which one of my many homes I knew this one from. Twitter.
           That evening I approached a legend and instead found one of the most effortlessly genuine people I have ever met. Either because of his big eyes or because he is actually interested, you get the sense that Binya’s listening to you. We shared beers, talked about South African Traditional healers, the Senegalese Murids and the ancient Bantu migrations to the South of Africa.
            I bumped into him in St Louis during the jazz festival and we were both of the mind that we were simply not going to sit and listen to jazz. We preferred to dance. After that weekend he invited me to Saly, an hour South Dakar, where he is renting a beautiful, resort-like 3-bedroom house with a pool. There were several other friends spending the weekend when I went and this made for a lively house with flowing Gazelle and Marlboro reds. This time we discussed everything, from spirituality to the exchanges back and forth between Africans and the descendants of African American slaves, to new African states, all subjects Binya knows a great deal about. Here I was, chilling and talking to one of Time’s 100 most influential people in the world, who easily refers you to twenty books in one conversation, casually mentions Chimamanda Adichie, his friend, and in the next second is talking passionately about hair and sex and football. We spent the rest of the weekend talking, chain-smoking, swimming and going out.
           I'm still getting to the bees. My trip was so relaxing and awakening and fun that I went to visit again this weekend. On my way back from the Saturday night party session, while drunk as anything, I saw the lit, aqua-blue pool. And it looked incredible under the full moon. So I stripped down to my underwear and jumped in. For about three seconds I marveled at the beauty of the world and the incredible order of things- and then I got a sharp sting in my arm. There turned out to be hundreds of half-dead bees floating in the water beside me. And behind me! And all around! I half swam and ran out of the water. With each step, a sting. Five stings on arm, thigh, back and most annoying of all, under foot.
            By the time I got back to Dakar and to work, I had developed a limp from the sting under my foot. It was swollen now and the itch was maddening. “What happened?” asked every person that saw me, since there is no such thing here as one’s own business. “Des abeilles,” I responded each time, “Bees.” Invariably everyone followed with, “Where!?” and a confused look.
            Apparently there are no bees in Dakar. When I say I was in Saly everyone “ahhh’s” with understanding. One woman not only guessed that I was in Saly but asked if I was in a pool when I got stung. So that’s it for Saly. I’m staying in the desert of Dakar. I am safe here in the offices of Niyel. Fuck pools, and full moons and interesting writers-come-friends who decide to be based in towns that are renowned for having bees.      Â
