Mango Season

There’s an enormous mango tree at the university, its branches nearly in arms’ reach from the window of the nutrition lab. I’ve been waiting, impatiently, for the fruit to turn from green to yellow and to drop. Finally, the first mangos of the season appeared in the markets last week. Although mangoes signal the sticky hot weather to come all too soon, they’re abundant and sweet, and so delicious that it’s hard to resist eating one daily. They might, just might, be a trade-off to the unbearably hot days ahead.

I recently finished reading The Shadow of the Sun, an engaging portrait of Africa written by Ryszard Kapuscinski. In the book, he describes Dakar: “A beautiful coastal city, pastel-colored, picturesque, laid out on a promontory amid beaches and terraces, slightly resembling Naples, the residential areas of Marseilles, the posh suburbs of Barcelona. Palm trees, gardens, cypresses, bougainvillea. Stepped streets, hedges, lawns, fountains. French boutiques, Italian hotels, Greek restaurants.”

Recalling a train ride leaving Dakar, Kapuscinski continues, “The lush, flowering gardens have disappeared, swallowed beneath the ground, and a desert has commenced, but a populated desert, full of shacks and lean-tos, sand upon which sprawls a neighborhood of squalor, a chaotic and swarming district of slums, one of the depressing bidonvilles that surround most African cities.”

Indeed it is beautiful, with sweeping views of the Atlantic, which is dotted with fishing boats (pirogues) off the coast. Dakar is Mediterranean-like and there are several upscale venues catering to European tourists. Last week I attended a work-related cocktail reception at a hotel (which happens to sit on the most western point of Africa) with at least two swimming pools overlooking the ocean, a golf course, polished tile floors, and immaculately manicured lawns and shrubs. After some nibbles around the pool patio, my daily routine seemed oddly distant since this hotel was so extraordinary.

While commuting through largely expat neighborhoods with a variety of restaurants and shops en route to downtown each day, we pass other neighborhoods constructed of recycled materials – corrugated metal roofs, scrap wood, and cardboard. The markets are overflowing with people looking to sell and trade goods in overwhelming numbers. People selling sunglasses by the dozens try to coax a sale, “Madame, you like these! They’re not expensive! They’re very pretty!” Groups of people are seen sitting. Sitting along sidewalks, or under a tree, presumably without work. A taxi driver told me one day, “People here are tired. Tired of no jobs.” Living standards are comfortable, if not luxurious, for some who live here, and seeing this contrasted with the urban poverty is consistently jarring in highlighting the disparity in living conditions.