Us and Them

Senegal is about 95% Muslim. Some people will tell you Jews and Muslims don’t play well together in the sandbox, but I take a longer view of history. I know we both come from the same ancestors, even though you wouldn’t think it to look at me next to my neighbors. Here at least, our similarities abound and our cultures are simpatico. Our core values are identical: 1. high fashion, 2. giving the “thank-you” wave when someone lets you in traffic, and 3. (tie) familial love and not paying retail. Therefore, it is the marginal differences that seem the most noteworthy.

For example, Senegalese are not time-conscious like Americans and the only thing devout Muslims here do punctually is pray five times a day. Many rely on the muezzin to tell them when it is time to pull out their portable rugs and prostrate themselves facing Mecca. The muezzin ascends the minaret tower of the mosque and chants melodious prayers over the loudspeaker. In the afternoon, the calls are a rich way to experience the heart of the local culture. However, when the first prayer pierces my skull at five in the morning, I find it somewhat less a-muezzin.

As part of their Koranic education, young boys are sent into the street to beg for money and food to defray the cost of their education. These talibes swarm cars stopped at red lights hoping to raise about a dollar per day. The best schools require kids to do this a couple of hours each day, but the worst schools are run like a business, bringing in kids from foreign countries and doling out harsh abuse for missed quotas. Begging is supposed to teach them humility. However, in a country with 50% unemployment and even more living in poverty, I posit that humility is not what they are lacking. One could argue that marketable job skills might be just as valuable to teach.

Perhaps the most significant difference in our cultures is how we choose our pop icons. In Western culture, our most important non-baby person is Paris Hilton. We love her because she is cute, rich, and slutty, all the things we value in our celebrities. In Senegal, their values are all backward. The most famous people here are the aged and wise religious teachers called marabouts. Their images adorn buildings, children have marabout trading cards, and their titles often appear scrawled across buses and taxis. I saw one marabout at the gas station who was mobbed by his excited, screaming public. I half expected to see panties being hurled at him in Elvis-like adoration. Imagine what a mixed-up state our own country would be in if we praised those who offered intellectual and spiritual guidance instead of what really matters.

The thing that gives me the greatest hope for world peace and inter-faith harmony is that often those same buses that pay homage to marabouts and talibes also have stickers in the back window of our own Madonna, circa 1984 from the "Like a Virgin" era .

Until next time, peace to all.
Omi, Baby Adventure Traveler

Keeping an eye out for good stories to report.

Terrible "Twos"

You may have heard the phrase, “terrible twos” referring to a period of time when a baby tests her boundaries, is given to short fits of rage, and is generally uncooperative for the pure joy of causing displeasure in others. The reason they call it “terrible twos” is because “terrible one and a half years” doesn’t have the same literary ring to it, but in fact, that is what it is. Either that, or I am extremely advanced for my age.

Previous impressions of me garnered from reading my exploits in this forum or, for the lucky few, from personal meetings no longer apply. My patience has been whittled down to a nub; the time I will politely and quietly wait for all my earthly wishes to be fulfilled has been slashed to fractions of a second; my inability to get a puzzle piece neatly in its place after a cursory effort is grounds for a spittle-flying rage equaled in fury only to Hurricane Katrina.

This journal entry is a full confession and was not coerced or edited in any way. I am Omi and I make no apologies about that. Anyone who can’t live with this truism will be disinvited to the opening night of my new play, The Elephant Says Ppppppphhhhhhhttt!!!, which Andrew Lloyd Weber keeps calling about for rights to do the score. Admittedly, the dialogue is still a bit weak and lacks verbs in some places, but if performed as written, I will actually be able to deliver all my lines as Penelope, the fetching baby debutante on safari with the Queen of Andorra (central casting is thinking Angelina Jolie for this role). Here is a snippet.


Curtain opens with Penelope, the Queen, and a guide in a safari buggy circa 1918 surrounded by lush African savanna.

Queen (after a jolt): Bloody hell! What on Earth was that?
Penelope: Turtle.
Queen: Oh, I thought they put a speed bump all the way out here.
Guide: I think it is still stuck under the…uh…how do you say it?
Penelope: Car
Guide (getting out to look under the wheel): Yes, car. Thank you, wise baby.
Queen: How long are we going to sit here? I’m hungry, don’t we have anything to eat?
Penelope: Apple.
Queen: Apple? I want some filet mignon with a bowl of spaghetti and a side of ice cream!
Penelope: Cow.
Queen: How dare you, I’m the Queen. You take that back or it’s off with your head.
Penelope: Moooo!!
Queen: Oh, that’s it. Wait here while I look for my guillotine.
Penelope (waving): Bye! (exit stage left laughing and running pigeon-toed on her chunky little legs, arms flailing)

I know many other words too, but couldn’t figure out how to work in “Mama,” “Daddy,” “up,” “please,” “agua” and all the others. Maybe in the sequel. Hopefully, by the time that comes out I’ll be back to my usual sweet, wonderful self. For everyone’s sake, let’s hope so.




Until next time, peace to all.
Omi, Baby Adventure Traveler

Happy Hollidays

It’s that time of year again. Can you believe that I am already old enough to have traditions? My first Thanksgiving was spent with family in Minnesota and I got so attached to the idea that I had several of them imported for the big feast again this year in Senegal. Grandma and Grandpa made the long trip across the water and they liked it so much they just kept right on going. Baby Adventure Traveler had a big impact on them and they decided to conduct their own investigations into Tunisia, Egypt, and Kenya. They saw wonders ancient and modern including a plethora of great African animals but I believe their greatest pleasure was seeing one pudgy little human.




















This time of year is a good time to reflect on the past, look at old photos and hear stories of how everything came to be the way it is today.




















It is also a time to play and be joyous and the spirit of the season really brought the kid out in all of us.

Grandpa especially.
I really wore him out.















Not all traditions are easy to follow. Last year in December we lit Hanukkah candles and sang “Rock of Ages” quite poorly. This year there was a fat man in a red suit. I feel a bit conflicted and suspect there is some sort of a cover up going on. The guy with the obviously false beard and exaggerated paunch certainly had something to hide. I will see if I can figure out a way to meld these odd rituals in future years because they both had some interesting parts. But frankly, it matters little to me if we are eating potato pancakes or drinking egg nog, as long as I get to spend time with people who want nothing more than to laugh at my delightful antics.

I wish you all the best during this time of year and I hope that you too are surrounded by people who take ridiculous amounts of pleasure in watching you do something as simple as putting on sunglasses or helping sweeping the patio.












Happy Hollidays and as I say to every airplane that passes overhead, “Bye bye!”

Peace to all,
Omi, Baby Adventure Traveler

BANNED IN CHINA!!!

BABY ADVENTURE TRAVELER CENSORED -- 1.3 BILLION CHINESE LEFT IN THE DARK
It's true, Dear Readers, Baby Adventure Traveler is closer than ever to taking down the corrupt Communist regime terrorizing China with an iron fist. My messages of peace and adventure struck fear into their hearts and they no doubt envisioned their cushy way of life crumbling around them as their downtrodden country-men rose up and said “Yes, peace to all, including us!” This is an exciting moment in history. Not since that guy stood in front of the tank has one person come so close to derailing that trainload of totalitarians and their massive military machine. Of course that guy ended up wearing cement sandals at the bottom of the Yangtze, but that won’t deter me.

Upon receiving the news (see the comment section from my last post), I wrote a harshly worded letter and dispatched an envoy to the United Nations in Geneva to file my formal complaint. Naturally, there was much diplomatic hand-wringing at the Palais des Nations and I believe they are drafting a resolution at this moment which will also probably be banned in China and that will be the end of that.

In stark contrast to the oppression in the land of Confucius, life in that Alpine nation could not be more pleasant. In Switzerland the serene beauty of the mountains jutting up dramatically behind Lake Geneva has led the Swiss to just sit down and enjoy the peace, according to my envoy, Assistant Number Two. As a result, they set up a system of democracy and neutrality where anyone could speak their mind and the army would never get involved in any imbroglio so bad that it couldn’t defend itself with those handy little knives.

When the Swiss first adopted this simple weapons platform they could have been overthrown by a marauding troop of Boy Scouts who, according to my intelligence, would have been greeted as liberators. But in truth, the Swiss Army was so inept with traditional artillery that the phrase “Swiss Miss,” which has been corrupted over time, originally referred to their targeting acumen. Now, however, after years of practice they have become quite good at defending themselves using all the little attachments on the knife, especially the eyeball remover, a device people generally mistake for a corkscrew.

The important point is this: free speech and a meager investment in defense technology has not resulted in anarchy, poverty, pestilence, or attack. Au contraire, the Swiss have become so advanced that they are able to charge $10.00 for a box of Cheerios and sell watches that cost more than my Honda CR-V. I implore you brave souls living in the icy shadow of the Great Wall to keep reading your smuggled copies of Baby Adventure Traveler. Spread this message to your neighbors and together we will shine a light into the darkness.

Until next time, peace to all, including the Chinese
Omi, Banned Baby Adventure Traveler

Puppy Love

As some of you have surmised by now, there is more to being a celebrity than catwalks and champagne parties. There are tribulations associated with our position in society that ordinary people often don't understand. One of the challenges I find myself coming up against is figuring out who my true friends are. I am often asked to appear in public and each time I do I am surrounded by the most lovely people. But always in the back of my mind is the nagging question, do they like me for me, or because they see me as a cultral icon? From time to time I call my agent to arrange public relations events with some of the lesser known babies in Dakar. I've come to rely on my agent and sometimes call her several times a day. It seems that every time I pass a phone I just have to pick it up and give her a quick "hello," or as we say in Senegal, "awa." She is a good agent and I appreciate the fact that I am always able to reach her, whether I am calling on a traditional land line or the air conditioner remote control.

Recently, I've been working birthday parties. I am often asked to put in an appearance so I can be photographed with the birthday baby, demonstrate how much cake I can eat, and show off some of my more risque dance moves. I am also available for Bar Mitzvahs, weddings and Iftars. "Iftar" is a dinner ceremony held during the holy month of Ramadan after Muslims have been fasting all day. The dinner is preceded by prayers and appetizers of dates, bread and coffee. It is a solemn, deeply religious event and people dress their best. Why they thought an amusement park would be an appropriate venue for this continues to baffle me.

As you can see from the photos below, I have come to rely on the council of two colleagues, Lefty and Righty. Unlike those I meet at my public events, they seem little interested in photo ops or the glamour of being associated with me. The three of us are beginning to develop a good relationship and we go almost everywhere together. Like a devil and angel sitting on my shoulder, they are my conscience, advising me on all manner of decisions. Lefty tries to steer me toward the light, urging sweetness, patience, and fewer tantrums while Righty fosters darker urges such as playing with the remote controls, furiously wiggling out of my high chair, and voting Republican.

Of course there are other minor characters in the drama that is my life. Ralphie, Jackie Jr., Adriana, and Tony B. often join me for tea. They are cute and lovable and they receive many kisses from me. But ultimately, like the Sopranos victims they were named for, they are unanimated and expendable.

For true friendship, there is no one like Gazelle. She is always looking out for me, even when she is accidentally knocking me down. She licks my face, follows me around and is a permanent fixture underneath my seat at the table because she knows I'll drop the most food. Whenever I see her or another of her ilk, I yell out as much of her name as I can pronounce -- "Ga-ga!" She is warm, loving, and faithful. My puppy wants nothing more from me than hugs and sometimes I get the feeling she doesn't even realize how big I am in the Baby Adventure business. Those things just don't matter to her and for that, she is my best friend in the world.

Until next time, peace to all.
Omi, Baby Adventure Traveler

Africa Through the Eyes of Others

How does an adventure traveler know she is having an impact? What keeps us going day after day, slogging through the ticks and the heat to bring you comfortable readers in your dens and internet cafes news of the Third World? It certainly isn't by cashing your subscription checks (as you can see from this photo, I've had to resort to the odious Hollywood habit of product placement). For me, the measure of a successful adventure traveler is the number of readers she can entice up out of that plush chair and into her realm. I am pleased to say that I am already at three with two more scheduled for later this fall. But these visits are more than just a testament to the transcendental works I've penned, they are also a rare opportunity for me to re-experience Africa through their eyes. The first-time traveler to Africa has a sense of wonder and bewilderment which I find sweet and childlike.

Patricia was the first to be wooed by my words. She came from Switzerland and spent much of her time assisting my assistant in her classroom. I also was invited by the school to conduct symposia on topics ranging from "Deconstructing Mass Media in Contemporary West African Society" to "How to Fit a Dozen Goldfish Crackers in Your Mouth at Once."

One thing that Patricia thought was remarkable was the segregation that is nowhere more obvious than on select beaches in Dakar. In this photo, a resort hotel's private beach abuts a popular public beach. A (Senegalese) man in a kayak rows back and forth along the border to make sure no locals cross onto the pristine, abandoned beach. At first glance, one wonders how such blatant segregation can be tolerated. On further reflection, however, I wonder who is discriminating against whom. The guys on the left look to me like they are having a lot more fun.

Next came Curt and Sarah all the way from Wisconsin. As you can see from this picture, Curt is wondering why he thought it would be a good idea to come to Africa. Spending time with them helped me see just how much I have adapted to here and how trying every day life can be. For example, I witnessed the deleterious effects of food not properly prepared. When served perfectly wrong it can take down a full grown adult for three days. I also was reminded (here I'm being diplomatic as the following fact is not generally forgotten) that it is anatomically impossible to apply sun block to one's own back. People in Wisconsin may have the luxury of forgetting this fact, but people near the equator do not.

Curt and Sarah's visit coincided with Ramadan, the holiest month for Muslims who spend every sunlit hour fasting (clearly not the religion for me). They even deprive themselves of water until after sundown when they may refuel for the next hungry, thirsty day. My Midwestern guests found out that this is not only a time for quiet, serene prayer and communication with Allah, but also a good chance to steal stuff. Crime always goes up during Ramadan and the wary tourist must fend off those who hope to pickpocket their way to a virgin-filled heaven. But mostly my guests were confronted with those on a slower path to carnal nirvana, the shysters and hucksters who merely try to talk you out of your money by offering a variety of products and services including windshield wipers, glass chess sets, underwear, acting as tour guide, and the small donation they need to refrain from keying your parked car.

But then there's my assistant Number Two -- a simple man, some say Gump-like. He sees a beautiful woman sipping coconut juice on the beach in the sunset and he just thanks Allah that he has everything he needs in the world. So dear readers, I will put my boots back on and ride off in search of more adventures to write about in the hopes that you will come see Africa through your own eyes.

Until next time, peace to all.
Omi, Baby Adventure Traveler

Mail bag

I have received so many great letters from my fans since starting Baby Adventure Traveler. I am no longer able to reply to all of them individually so I decided to post a few of the most commonly asked questions.

Dear Omi,
My husband and I are redecorating our house and we can't agree on curtains versus blinds. Just about the only thing we do agree on is that we both trust your judgement. Any suggestions?

Signed,
Pam from Scranton, PA

Dear Pam,
You were right to come to me with this dilemma. While it is true I am not an interior decorator per se, I feel passionately about window dressings and as qualified to give opinions about them as fellow celeb Tom Cruise is about psychotherapy. Long flowing curtains that reach the floor are the covering of choice for me. In my own abode, I can spend an afternoon twirling around in the curtains, running through them, and hiding behind them waiting for someone to say "Where's Omi?" only to rush out into the room laughing at their always startled expression by the fact that I was hiding in the curtains all along. You and your husband are in for hours of fun if you go with curtains.

Dear Omi,
If you could be any kind of animal, what would it be?

Signed,
The Claw, Stillwater Correctional Facility

Dear Claw,
Definitely an elephant. I've gotten quite good at imitating the elephant sounds that my assistant taught me how to make. I regularly stomp around the house practicing.

Dear Omi,
My favorite character is Assistant Number Two. He seems delightful and intelligent, whimsical yet deep, and just fabulous in general. And don't get me started on his Adonis-like good looks. My girlfriends and I all want to know more about him. Please feature him more prominently in your stories and maybe include some pictures of him doing push-ups without a shirt.

Signed,
Babs in Tulsa

Dear Babs,
This blog is called "Baby Adventure Traveler" for a reason. I am the star and the only one who will be figured prominently. I admit I briefly toyed with the idea of creating a spin-off series but ultimately decided no one would tune in to a blog titled "Adventures with Number Two." On an unrelated topic, is the city of Tulsa still adding fluoride and psychotropic acid to the drinking water?

Omi,
I'm a long time reader, first time writer. I'd like to see your column venture more into politics. What is your suggestion for Middle East peace?

Signed,
D. Cheney, undisclosed location

Dear D,
I don't claim to have all the answers, but I do know that a nap after lunch, a warm bottle of milk before bed, and plenty of hugs all day long make me feel warm and loved. Perhaps those things should be worked in to the roadmap.

Dear Omi,
Most babies I know spend their days making things wet or dirty or both. By contrast, you seem fairly articulate and have visited a list of places as long as your leg (or as thick, which ever is bigger). In this information age where anyone can clog the internet with "mediatainment," the pressure to create ever more interesting and titillating articles pushes some beyond the bounds of journalistic integrity. One must wonder if there is any embellishment in your own journal or if in fact, you really ever went anywhere at all. I saw a chubby baby in K-mart last week down on County Road 9 that looked suspiciously like you...

Signed,
Ray in Davenport, IA

Dear Ray,
It comes as no surprise to me that denizens of a town named after a sofa would tend toward the sedentary. However, I can assure you and any other doubters that the stamps in my diplomatic passport bear witness to my wanderings and all the anecdotes are real. As for embellishments, well, all important people have secretaries and assistants that are expected to fill in the details when we end dictation with "et cetera, et cetera." But I can assure you, my assistant's most frequent editorial contribution is translating my erudite vocabulary into simple-speak so the good people of Davenport, Iowa can follow along.

Dear Omi,

I can't get a strait answer from anybody else and I figured you must know. Where do babies come from?

Signed,
Ricky Wong, Mrs. Johnson's third grade class

Dear Ricky,
It is an age old quandary, but I think the more relevant question in today's world is "where are babies going?" Today, babies are found on every continent and represent all walks of life. Some are actors, some are criers, and even a special few are adventure travelers. I predict some day we will put a baby on the moon. There is no stopping us.

Thank you all for your lovely letters, please keep them coming!

Until next time, peace to all.
Omi, Baby Adventure traveler

African-American

I try to blend in by wearing the latest African fashions. My assistant had to cut a wider neck hole so my bulbous melon would fit through. It was very humiliating.

I have been living in Africa for over half my life and I think I am now turning African-American. My bloodline is all American – a rich combination of North and Central which will ensure I grow up to be both practical and passionate. But now the air I breathe, the food I eat (almost constantly), the dirt I roll in, the music I hear, and much of my adoring public are all African. I must admit I have never fully understood the term “African-American,” which is nothing more than two distant spots on a map bound together by a hyphen. Even though it makes no mention of the color spectrum, it seems to denote skin pigmentation. I find this curious and I wonder if I share similar experiences with others who use this label.

For example, now I eat African-style with my hands whereas before, I recall sipping genteelly from a boring, sterilized bottle. Africans are famous hand-to-mouthers, literally. Some of the favorite dishes are yasa poulet and tiebdienne. The first is chicken, the second is fish. They both are mixed with rice and share a similar tomato-onion sauce. It is a wet, messy meal and Senegalese grab it with their right hands, squeeze it into a sticky ball and pop it in their mouths. I find this utterly squishy and entirely delightful. I’ll never go back to the bottle again.

I wonder also how many people can say they have experienced the unique African plague of mango worms. These are not actually worms but big, disgusting larvae from some kind of fly or other menacing bug. They grow from eggs that hatch right under your skin. This is a joy usually reserved for pets and my poor Gazelle gets them regularly. But I was lucky enough to experience first-hand one of the little suckers holed up in my own head in an apparent attempt to ride to fame on my coattails. He grew silently but painfully right in the back of my skull and we shared many adventures together until I awoke from a nap one day to find he had left me just as silently as he came. It turns out my assistant smothered the red welt with Vaseline so the poor larvae had to come up for air and then when he did, my assistant pulled him out with tweezers. Sometimes life can be difficult here for adventure travelers, but even more so for mango worms who think they can live a comfortable life stowed away in a celebrity’s noodle.

You can see that I have also abandoned the American and possibly Australian transportation method of riding up front like a baby kangaroo. Now I ride African-style in the back of the bus where all the cool kids sit. I kick back in my comfy wrap and let my assistant catch all the bugs in her teeth for a change.

I don’t know, maybe being African-American is more complicated than all that. Besides, there will probably be too much explaining to do if I check that box on my college application forms. All I know is I am grateful for having the opportunity to sample the best and worst life has to offer on both continents, no matter what my skin color. And I may never be a master of race relations, but at least I don’t have one of these in my parlor.

Until next time, peace to all.
Omi, Baby Adventure Traveler