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!