a weekend in Paris

Various factors came together to make me spend a weekend in Paris, but the trip was based around a concert by the Malian singer Fatoumata Diawara in the town of Savigny-le-Temple, a nondescript place some 33km from the capital. Not only would I see her perform for the first time but I was also to meet her after the show, an opportunity that had come about unexpectedly when a facebook post had revealed that an old friend knew her husband.

Paris was cold and covered by a blanket of grey clouds, and I came down with a cold immediately (in fact it started en route - in anticipation of the awful weather?) as I usually do when I visit somewhere cold. & the Fatoumata Diawara concert wasn't to be, as I arrived at the venue to discover that she was in bed suffering from dengue fever. But there was a replacement, called in at the last minute, an unknown (to me, at least) Malian singer called Nanou Coul. She was good (although not really good enough to justify a trip from Panama to France) and listening to her griotte-style singing and the band playing the djembe, balafon and ngoni made me reminisce about the happy times I have spent in Mali.

Once again the usual thoughts went through my head. How I detest the cold and could never again live in a cold climate. How much I adore West African music, especially that from the Sahelian region. How much I adore the climate of the Sahelian countries. So why not retire there? Then the usual thoughts about the negative side: lack of decent medical facilities, the lack of a 'social space' for the unmarried, childless woman, and most importantly my status there as an outsider - someone who would always be stared at, and asked for money, because of the colour of my skin.

So what to do? The next day, back in Paris itself, I ended up as I usually do at the Musee Quai Branly, going around the wonderful collection they have from Africa, and then being tempted by all the CDs and wonderful coffee table books they have in the museum shop. This time they had a special collection of exhibits related to initiation amongst the Lega tribe of the Democratic Republic of Congo - headgear, masks and other implements as well as a good deal of very interesting information about the various levels of initiation. It was fascinating but I was well aware that I was looking at things I could not see if I went to the DRC to visit the Lega as most of the exhibits (collected by some old colonialist many decades ago) are only brought out for secret ceremonies for the initiates themselves.

It is a strange paradox that the best of traditional African culture - the masks and the music - is more easily available to the outsider in Paris and London than it is in Africa. The trouble with working as an expat is that it loosens the ties to your original home but does not necessarily provide an alternative. So the question for me remains unanswered - where do I plan to retire to?

Not that I'm ready to retire yet, but I really would like to know where 'home' is to be - and to buy a house or apartment there and start transporting my books, my masks, etc (those things that cause such difficulties through either their weight or their fragility in moving from country to country) to that home. Any suggestions welcomed!

birding the Pipeline Road

After the disappointment of last week's independence parades, I was pleased to accept an invitation to spend this morning at one of Panama's most impressive places - Pipeline Road.  This is a 17km dirt road through tropical forest, and one of the best-known bird-watching destinations in the world.

This is a very short post as so few of my readers would be interested in a list of the birds I saw, but here is a photo of just one of them, the black-throated trogon, to give an idea of how beautiful many Panamanian birds are.

Independence Day

05:45, and fireworks in the old city signal the start of Independence Day in Panama.  Or rather, the start of the first of five independence-related days.  This, the first, celebrates independence (or separation) from Colombia in 1903, tomorrow the secret manufacture of the country's first flag and the day after that the successful prevention of a fight back by Colombian soldiers.  Then we get a few days back at work, before next week we celebrate the first cry of the fight for independence from Spain, and then finally at the end of the month the actual independence from Spain in 1821.  I hope they don't all start off with a 'wake-up call' at 5:45 in the morning.

After the fireworks we had a flypast of three jets, then another of seven helicopters.  I was wondering how many people get up to watch this, but by the time it finished the sky was flushed pink with the first light of the morning so I didn't go back to bed but made myself an early breakfast.

With my boxes having arrived from Senegal just before my last trip, I had borrowed a drill for the weekend from a colleague, so prepared myself for a day of putting up hooks for pictures and masks.  Only - the first obstacle - the flex of the drill was not long enough, so I went out to the DIY store to buy an extension cable.

On the way back I could hear drumming coming from the streets behind my building, so the DIY had to wait as I went to take a look at the Independence Day parades.  To Panamanians all this is of huge significance.  Apparently a few years ago the government made some noises about reducing the number of independence-related public holidays and there was uproar all over the country - not because they didn't want to lose a public holiday but because they didn't want to lose opportunities to express their patriotic fervour.

On that basis you might expect a lot of pomp and ceremony, or at least a lot of cheering and celebration, but really the only demonstration of patriotism is the proliferation of Panamanian flags at this time: flying from all the buildings, sticking out of car windows, hanging from backpacks...  The parade itself was quite dull, I thought.  Lots of drumming, but not in the African way that makes you want to sway your hips and tap your feet, but rather columns of school and college students in uniform banging out military style rhythms.  Between the drummers were girls dressed like cheerleaders, twirling batons, and with each group at least one woman dressed in the frilly white national dress, the pollera.

A couple of Panamanian colleagues have told me how beautiful their national costume is, but I'm afraid frilly white dresses don't do it for me.  I'm also disappointed at how much it seems to draw on their Spanish colonial heritage, resembling to my inexpert eye a white version of a flamenco dress - they also wear peinetas in their hair and many were using Spanish-style fans.  & the marching bands and cheerleaders draw so heavily on US culture.  There was no hint of local instruments or rhythms, nor anything I could see in the dress that drew on the customs of the various indigenous groups in Panama.

So I went home again, and back to my DIY.  I must say the flat is starting to look much more homely!