Guinea Ginge: We fell in love in a hopeless place

Now, you may be asking

Why Rihanna?
Kelsey, don’t you hate Rihanna?

Answers:

Because Rihanna is given “royalty” status in Ditinn.
I’ve seen the error of my ways and now wish to listen to Rihanna almost every waking moment of every day.

There are two reasons for this.

Reason the first: I miss American music. There are so many wonderful songs in this wonderfully musical world, and yet it seems that only 5 of them are played regularly in Guinea (mostly on mix-tapes or on phone ringtones). They are as follows:

1. She shup my money” (courtesy of an English Creole singer from Sierra Leone)

2. Something I’m calling the “Arabic Britney Spears” (literally ¾ of all Guineans have this as their ringtone)

3. "I’ve got a secret to share”

4. “Make you my wife” (another Sierra Leonean song)

5. "Welcome to Fouta”

Though I know all the words and sing these songs constantly, “Welcome to Fouta” is quickly becoming my favorite, as I hear it (on constant repeat) nearly every time I’m in a taxi in the Fouta Region. The song consists of listing different villages and the names of various female names.

Fatoumata Binta Barry is the most memorable, I think perhaps it's because I have at least 3 Fatoumata Binta Barry’s in my classes.

However cheerily I tried to adapt to this new music, when I found myself humming the tune of the Guinean national anthem while I cleaned my floor, I knew I was going through musical withdrawal. I stuck my itty-bitty solar charger outside (THANK YOU wonderful parents) for a couple of hours, and then charged my iPod. That night I had myself an epic solo dance party.

Friends, it was glorious.

Reason the second: Rihanna reminds me of Machine nights with my Boston posse. In an effort to get out more and socialize with my host sisters, I went out with them to a night club in Dubreka. I repeated this experience in Ditinn, and the two nights were eerily similar…

Upon entering Club Serima, the DJ yelled into the microphone to announce my arrival. At various points throughout the night, he would again speak into the mic to call attention to the fact that “Foté peut dancer!” (The white girl can dance!)

Here's a sample of the type of song generally playing in the nightclubs...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AqpcdsacZlw&feature=related

I sat down after a while to scope out the place. Imagine my surprise when I found a very pale redhead looking back at me from across the room. It took me much longer than I’m proud to admit to figure out that it was a mirror, and that nearly every wall and banister was composed entirely of mirrors. It was then that I witnessed the most peculiar Guinean phenomenon; SO many people here love to watch themselves dance. In the club, there was a line of men and women of all ages, dancing alone, in front of a mirrored wall. Not once did they seek a partner, not once did they look around to see if anyone was paying them any attention – they were just boogying down with their bad selves.

My giggles soon gave way to genuine appreciation. In the U.S., I took for granted the fact that I could look at myself whenever I fancied. Heck, I was berated with images of myself even when I didn’t want to be subjected to them (thank you, Facebook). We have mirrors in our bathrooms, on our walls, by our doors, in our living rooms, in our cars, our purses, in our offices – even building windows are sometimes just as reflective as a mirror. At clubs, it seems that a lot of us will do everything in our power to escape our own image and sense of individuality (I know I enjoyed the anonymity), and just sink into the crowd. Here, mirrors, cameras, computers, camera phones and, heck, windows are in short supply. If I didn’t have the luxury of self-image awareness you’re darn tootin’ I’d want to dance with myself when given the chance.

Who knows, perhaps I’ll get to that point after a few more months here.

I miss you all beaucoup, and wish I could bring you over here for a quick trip. Life is insane, dizzying and wonderful all at once. For now, I’m going to take solace in my ability to draw the curtains and dance up a storm every once and a while.

If you want to join me in spirit, just put your iPod on “Where have you been all my life?”