SARAH HICKSON

As my taxi driver swerves deftly into the left-hand lane, stopping with barely an inch to spare behind the lorry ahead, he turns to me and says, “Good driving?”

“Of course”, I reply, without hesitation, rather keen that he takes his eyes back to the road ahead. “A little different to the driving in London though”.

He drops me at the Prince Polonia hotel in Pahar Ganj, just round the corner from the crumbling Imperial Cinema. To give you an insight into this establishment, this is how the owner and founder of the hotel is described on the website:

The Owner of the Hotel Prince Polonia, Brij (Prince) a self made man started his struggling career being as a Scooter Driver and then become a Guide, then things changed and with the Grace of God he started the business of Travel Agents, but now finally come up with the Hotel i.e. Hotel Prince Polonia

Well, the bed is comfortable, the air conditioning is efficient, it’s 42 degrees outside, so I’m going to have a couple of hours sleep, before going for dinner, re-organising my bags and setting off to the airport again at 2.30am for a 5am departure to Leh, the capital of Ladakh. I’ve reserved a seat on the right side of the plane to get spectacular views of the mountains as we approach.

So, here’s to the moment when we turn the page from 2012 to 2013. Wishing all my dear family and friends much happiness, joy, health and success - a year full of inspiration, love and creativity. 

What are you waiting for - let’s dive in! On your marks….

Mamy announces that she has to leave the studio promptly this evening as she’s performing with Baaba Maal at Le Must in town. (I love the way that places with an English name in Dakar somehow makes them seem more ‘chic’). True to form, everything is running later than planned, and Mamy makes a couple of anxious calls in the car as we drive across town to her house.

We wait while Mamy puts the final touches to her make-up and chooses a pair of intricate yellow-gold earrings and an enormous ring from a large jewellery box. She skillfully wraps a length of fabric round her head, and takes one last look in the mirror to check her lipstick before we set off.

There’s a crowd hanging out at the entrance of Le Must, and Mamy pushes through to speak to the guy on the door. She tries to wangle free tickets for us, but to no avail. At 10,000 CFA each, it’s not cheap, but I’m excited about seeing Baaba Maal perform in the intimate setting of a Dakar club. We climb the narrow staircase, standing back against the wall to let a stream of others pass on their way down. Le Must is crowded and buzzing with anticipation. Cigarette smoke already hangs heavy in the air. Two chairs are squeezed in for us right at the front, literally at the foot of the low stage. The manager of the club sees our cameras and makes it clear that we don’t have permission to film or photograph - despite the fact that he knows we’re with Mamy. I manage to sneak in one shot before Mamy goes on stage.

Baaba Maal starts his set alone on stage, and is quickly joined by his kora player, Mamy on vocals, and another singer - an elderly, blind man who makes punchy declamations that complement Mamy’s elaborate improvisations. Within half an hour the full band of 10 musicians is crammed onto the tiny stage. The elderly ngoni player is a small man wearing a shiny dark grey suit that’s at least two sizes too big for him, and black patent shoes. His ngoni looks worryingly fragile, and he struggles to plug in the amp, but like all the other musicians on stage, he’s a really fine player.

As the performance gets into its stride, members of the audience make their way to the front of the stage to present Baaba Maal with money to show their appreciation. Some notes are scrumpled and simply thrown at his feet. Others make more of a conscious display, carefully producing crisp new notes from their wallet one by one and presenting them to Baaba Maal in a deliberate manner, ensuring that the audience witnesses their display of wealth and generosity. Baaba Maal’s manager gathers up the cash at regular intervals, replenishes his pot of tea and leaves notes written in heavy capital letters to indicate, for example, that the Minister for Communication is in the house.

The concert draws to a rousing conclusion and we leave to join Ngnima, Cheikh and Jules at Almadies - the ‘Las Vegas strip of Dakar’, as Daliso describes it. Everyone is dressed up for a night out on the town.

“Young women here automatically assume they need to wear something short to look sexy”, says Ngnima.

Right on cue, a young woman in an impossibly short skirt takes a tumble down the four concrete steps ahead of us. The gold ankle strap on her precariously high heeled shoes snaps, but she gets to her feet, apparently unhurt and continues on her way.

“I want to show you the bunker” says Ngnima excitedly. “I used to go there all the time as a kid. From the top you get the most blissful view of the sea”. The bunker is the reason that Ngnima suggested I put jeans and trainers on this morning. “We need to scale a wall”, she tells me. “But don’t worry, it’s easy!”, she adds, obviously sensing my anxiety. Scaling walls has never been my strong point.

Leaning against the bottom of the wall is an old cupboard door. And about a third of the way from the top of the wall are two rusty metal brackets. Ngnima climbs up effortlessly - bare foot, skillfully hitching up her skirt as she goes. She’s at the top and over the other side in no time.

“There’s no way I’m doing this”, I say, laughing. “I know my limits!” Ngnima and Daliso spend the next five minutes coaxing me. “I want you to see my secret view of the sea. Trust me - you won’t regret it, ” Ngnima promises. Somehow I make it up there and then immediately start worrying about how I’m going to get back down. But the view takes my mind off things. It’s stunning - enhanced by the feeling of being somewhere we shouldn’t.

Ngnima’s conversation is animated as she talks rapidly about how she used to sit up here looking out to the islands.

The kora and drums are in place and the kids are gathering round Noumoucounda.

We’re treated to a series of dances, first by the young girls, and then by the teenagers.

Noumoucounda and some of the other senior members of the family talk to us about the Griot tradition and what it represents for them.

Time and time again we come back to the importance of knowing who you are and where you’ve come from - understanding your shared histories. There’s a sense of regret amongst the elders that it is becoming harder and harder to maintain these connections between generations. Judging by the few hours we spent here, musical and cultural traditions seem to be alive and well in this family community.

The afternoon is slipping away and we still have to visit Mamy’s extended family across town in Patte d’Oie. It’s dusk when we arrive and I’m wondering how we’re going to find enough light to shoot anything worthwhile here.

We’re surrounded by several  generations of this renowned Griot family descended from the Kanoutés and the Cissohkos.

Bannaya means ‘Bana family’ in Mandingue and is a tribute to the kora player Bana Cissohko.  Noumoucounda Cissoko is thrilled to see us and anxious to introduce us to uncles, aunts, brothers, sisters, cousins, nieces, nephews…

Rightly anticipating that we’re going to be entertained with some more music and dancing, we identify a good spot to film and take photos - a small, sheltered area under a tree in front of a house with access to electricity. Wires are trailed across the paving, wound round the branches of the tree and into the house through the open window to a dodgy looking plug, and suddenly we have some bright fluorescent light.

As we’re setting up the lamps, a group of young people run excitedly down the alleyway, shouting and gesticulating. It’s as if they’re chasing someone. Some of the adults follow, but no one knows what’s going on. Word filters back that there’s a thief in the neighbourhood. There’s a further altercation between two brothers. The younger brother is intent on finding the alleged culprit and beating him up. His older brother tries to rationalise with him. Traditionally, as the older sibling, he should have the final say. What happens next is so fast that I’m still not sure it really took place. Without warning, Daliso suddenly pushes me backwards and I look up to see a large stone flying through the air in front of us. There’s a low brick wall immediately behind me, and I stumble backwards over it. Amazingly the stone has hit no one. I pick myself up off the ground, still unclear about what happened. The stone was apparently thrown by the younger brother - wanting to vent his frustration at his older brother. The commotion continues as night falls, and there’s a tangible edginess in the air, but no one is able to tell us any more about the incident, or what, if anything was stolen.

Mamy then takes us on a walkabout in the quartier. We’ve asked her to introduce us to the people who play an important part in her daily life.

First stop is the shop next door, although I really don’t think that Mamy brings them much business……

I just love this wall display, however.

Next we call at her tailors - Khalil Creations, chez Gueye Styliste. This is someone she definitely keeps busy.

Mamy’s son seems perfectly at home, flicking through the style magazines in the shop.

Opposite the tailors is a tiny general store, brimming over with stock. The guy who runs it tells us with great pride that Mamy has one of the best credit records of all his customers.

The next shop has to be my favourite - it’s like an old-fashioned Boots the Chemist. The floor to ceiling shelves behind the counter are packed tightly with bottles, lotions, powders, hair products and accessories. The other wall displays a range of braids and hair pieces.

Walking in the sandy, unevenly paved street in the heat of the afternoon is intense. But Mamy’s firing on all cylinders, loving every minute of our whistle-stop tour. She performs as if she’s fronting a TV show, professional to the end. To escape the heat we visit a neighbour - one of Mamy’s oldest friends, who moved to Dakar with Mamy from the village where they both grew up. She’s a shy, beautiful woman, and talks about Mamy with great affection.

Our final stop in the street is at the house of an elder - clearly someone who Mamy and her mother-in-law respect enormously and to whose words they listen attentively.

As Awa clears lunch, Mamy’s three year old son and his cousin entertain us.

Such style and attitude at such a young age! This is the Griot musical tradition in action. Once the adults join on kora, vocals and drums, some furious dancing follows.

All this, and it’s barely 3pm in the afternoon.

Partly inspired by seeing Noumoucounda Cissoko play in London last week, I’m finally re-immersing myself in images and stories from Senegal a couple of months ago. Noumoucounda is from the same Griot family as Mamy Kanoute, one of the two singers at the heart of the residency in which I participated.

During a busy week in the recording studio, we negotiate some time out for Mamy - to spend a day with her in the city, find out more about her life, and to get a different perspective on Dakar. Mamy seems excited about introducing us to her family and her local neighbourhood. We’ve arranged to meet her at home - at her husband’s family home, that is. We’re greeted warmly by Mamy’s mother-in-law who shows us into the living room on the first floor. I feel as if we’re in the equivalent of a Victorian parlour - a room reserved for visitors on formal occasions.

There’s a buzz of activity around our arrival. Two electric fans are carefully positioned and switched on at full blast. A tray with a chilled bottle of mineral water and four freshly rinsed glasses is placed on the floor at my feet by a shy girl of about ten years old.

Mamy has gone to change, and re-emerges wearing a flamboyant dress and headscarf.

“Lunch first”, Mamy declares. “Then we’ll play some music as we always do after prayers on a Friday”. Lunch has been prepared by Awa, Mamy’s sister-in-law. Awa is also a singer and has been doing the backing vocals on the recording. But she’s clearly a great cook too - her jollof rouge is one of the best I’ve tasted since being in Senegal.

Several of my recent images of the Malian National Swimming Team photographed on location in the dry Olympic swimming pool in Bamako have been selected for the London Independent Photography Annual Exhibition at the Strand Gallery in London. This one has also been chosen for the cover image of the catalogue.

16 - 28 October 2012

The Strand Gallery, 32 John Adam Street, London WC2N 6BP

My alarm goes off at 7.30am and I hit the snooze button. I’m sure that the others won’t be ready to leave before 9am. There’s no response when I first knock on Daliso’s door. I try again, a little harder this time, and there’s a vague, non-committal groan in response. I figure he’s heard me, so I go back upstairs and make coffee. An hour or so later and we’re all set. Except for Cheikh, that is. Cheikh’s still in bed and can’t be roused. He has the car keys.

Today Ngnima is taking us to the house where she spent a large part of her childhood. Her father was a Colonel in the Army and her family lived for a number of years in an apartment in the French colonial-style military barracks in Dakar. The buildings and grounds are a little shabby these days, but other than that, not much has changed about the place, Ngnima tells us. She greets the caretaker sitting outside the entrance and explains that she’s come to show us round her former home.

“That was my little brother’s room”, says Ngnima, pointing to the first floor shuttered window on the end of the building. “And we played for hours in the shade of that tree over there”.

Ngnima runs into the entrance hall of the block on our left. “We used to do the washing here and we’d trail a long lead down the stairwell so we could play music on our ghetto blaster.” I look up and see an old socket hanging from the first floor ceiling.

Ngnima talks affectionately of her childhood days spent here, as she stands in the stairway outside her old front door.

“I want to show you my secret view of the sea next,” Ngnima says excitedly. “I haven’t been back there for years”.

The morning after the gigs at Just 4 U, two of Ngnima’s brothers turn up at La Factory for lunch. We’re already quite a crowd, as three musicians have just arrived to join the recording sessions - Alix on drums, Therese on bass and DJ Charlie. Their arrival brings a new focus to the recording schedule, as there’s so much to do in a short space of time, and Herve the producer keeps driving the energy forward.

Ousmane has been under pressure to get the second studio and rehearsal space at La Factory completed in time for the musicians’ arrival. Technically it’s finished, but there’s no air conditioning installed as yet, and the five fans do nothing except push hot air around. It’s like being in a tumble drier, and impossible for the musicians to work here for longer than a ten minute stretch. 

A spontaneous jamming session after lunch lightens the mood - Ngnima’s brothers on guitar and harmonica, Ngnima and Alix on calabash, and vocals from both Ngnima and Noumoukounda.

It can take anything up to an hour to drive from La Factory in Golf Sud to the centre of Dakar. Tonight several of Ngnima’s brothers are performing at ‘Just 4 U’, one of Dakar’s most popular bar-restaurants hosting a regular programme of live music. We’re supposed to be there around 10.30pm, but we’re late leaving, as the recording session in the studio doesn’t finish until 11pm.

Fatou then wants to

Just 4 U is a spacious and airy outdoor venue, with tables grouped under Moroccan style canopies. Ngnima is delighted to see her younger brother’s band still on stage. He catches her eye, grins, and shrugs his shoulders as if to say, “You’re late – what kept you?”

Ngnima comes from a family of eight children – five boys and three girls. She’s in the middle. She explains that it was her eldest brother, a writer and economics professor, who opened doors for all his younger siblings to follow artistic paths.

The second band featuring two of Ngnima’s other brothers comes on stage around 2am. It doesn’t take long for Ngnima to join them, followed by two other brothers, so by the end of the night there are five Sarr siblings on stage. There’s a strong physical resemblance between them all, and an engaging edginess to their performances.

The evening comes to an abrupt end after the band comes off stage. Everyone leaves the club and hangs around outside as fleets of yellow and black taxis pull up to tout for business. The mosquitos are feasting. Alioune from La Factory has called to say that he’s already in town and that he could come by and pick us up.  We’re not far from La Factory when Alioune stops the car and says, “I’m getting out here - I live just across the street. So I’ll leave Cheikh to drive you home.” Cheikh protests, saying that he’s too tired, so Daliso offers to take the driving seat. “I have my licence and passport on me”, he adds, noticing the concerned look on Alioune’s face.

“I’m not convinced this is a good idea. What if you get stopped by the police?  I take my responsibilities seriously”, says Alioune earnestly. Daliso reassures him that it will be fine and starts the engine. “Where’s the handbreak?” he asks, revving the engine. Alioune opens the driver’s door. “Hey, what are you doing? You’re driving with both feet!”, he exclaims. Daliso bursts out laughing. It’s an automatic vehicle and he’s trying to move off with his feet on the break and the accelerator pedals at the same time. His mistake rectified, we set off, leaving an anxious Alioune watching us from outside his front door.  We make it home safely, with only one small incident when Daliso drives across a roundabout, rather than round it. Luckily we are in a quiet neighbourhood with very little traffic. 

Somewhat behind with posts this last week…

It’s 5am and we’re about to head out of Dakar to visit the family villages of Ngnima and Mamy, so we’ll be without Internet for a good few days I suspect. But there’ll be lots to catch up on when I’m back at La Factory on 28th.

Ngnima still doesn’t have her suitcase, but she seems able to maintain her stylish yet effortless look just with a few strategic pins and tucks of a t-shirt and a colourful cotton scarf.  An enviable skill.

Both Mamy and Ngnima have an instinctively playful side to their personalities, although at first glance, Mamy is more serious, and has a quiet wisdom about her, despite the fact that she’s a few years younger than Ngnima. Ngnima is spontaneous and engaging, whereas Mamy’s character emerges as she tells stories, holding her audience with theatrical flair.

Late in the afternoon we decide to take Mamy and Ngnima out of the studio environment and away from La Factory for a couple of hours, so we ask Alioune to drive us along the sandy road that runs parallel to the sea.

Mamy spots a group of drummers on the beach and asks Alioune to stop the car.

“I’d like to dance”, she says. And instantly, we see a different, more flamboyant Mamy.

Daliso is sure there’s a hotel nearby with a terrace that serves beer. We find a place on the sea front - just beyond the mosque. We seem to be the only customers and we persuade the restaurant staff to set up a table for us outside, rather than under the orange plastic awning attached to the front of the hotel. We’ve been sitting there for at least 40 minutes, and no one pays us the slightest attention, so I go in and ask the young woman for a drinks menu. She looks vaguely surprised at my presence.  The first disappointment is that they don’t sell alcohol. There’s actually very little choice, so I finally settle on 3 pineapple juices and a tea, and return to our table and the conversation between Mamy and Ngnima.

They talk about how they both came to be involved in this residency - it was Ousmane, the director of La Factory, who convinced them both as artists he trusted and admired to come and work together on the project.

Mamy talks about the importance of people knowing their history - and understanding where they come from. 

“The Griot tradition is on my mother’s side of the family and I inherited my love of music from my grandmother who raised me”.

She looks at life wisely, reflecting with great insight on the different phases of life, and stressing the importance of the opportunities of ‘now’. She acknowledges that Ngnima has a very different set of life experiences and priorities, but that this doesn’t affect how they work together musically.

Ngnima explains that her life is in France currently, having moved there to continue her studies in 2000.

“Life is like that. It doesn’t mean I’ll stay there forever, but I don’t have a life in Senegal anymore. This project is an opportunity for me to build something here musically. This is what I want to do - to live as an artist”. 

“I can’t imagine doing anything other than singing for a living”, Mamy says. 

When the drinks finally arrive, about 20 minutes later, we all fall about laughing - on the tray are three 1-litre cartons of pineapple juice - and no tea.

I wake around 10.30am. Or perhaps it’s 9.30, or even 11.30. I’m not too sure - it all depends on which piece of technology I want to believe. In any case, there’s not much sign of activity from anyone else, so it doesn’t much matter. I help myself to Nescafe and instinctively put a lump of sugar in - for some reason I always do this in Africa.

I wander downstairs to the offices and meet Ngnima, who has just arrived from Paris. Ngnima is the other principal Senegalese artist in this residency - a writer, slam poet and rapper - much travelled and currently living in Paris. Unfortunately her luggage got diverted at Algiers airport and didn’t make it to Dakar. Ngnima is trying not to stress, but at best it will take a couple of days for the suitcase to be located and re-routed.

So what are we all doing here? Ousmane Faye, the director of La Factory, has brought together a group of artists - singers, musicians, photographers, writers and film-makers for the first phase in a new project to support the artistic development of young women artists in Senegal.

This first stage focuses on the story of two young Senegalese women - Mamy and Ngnima - both passionate about music and performance, both bringing very different life experiences and musical traditions to their work. Mamy comes from a ‘Griot’ family of singers and musicians and is steeped in traditional music and culture. Ngnima, on the other hand, came to performance later - using poetry and language as a way of expressing her understanding of the world.

A recording of new songs is at the heart of the residency, but the overall aim is for the artists present to explore their own visual, musical or literary narrative, sharing ideas and creating a multi-textured, multi-dimensional piece of work that reflects Mamy and Ngnima’s stories. After two weeks at La Factory we’re all heading out of Dakar to spend some time in Mamy and Ngnima’s family villages.

The first recording session has barely got underway when the power goes out. There’s no generator at La Factory yet, so to diffuse the situation we decide to take a walk to the beach before the light fades and to take the first pictures of Mamy and Ngnima. 

Back in the studio later that evening, Herve, the producer, encourages Mamy and Ngnima through one of the tracks. Ngnima’s fast-paced and slickly delivered words weave a thread of urgency through Mamy’s rich melodies. I will need to ask Ngnima to  translate the text which is a mixture of Wolof, French and English. I love Herve’s words of encouragement to Mamy and Ngnima at the end of a take - “Très nice!” Or in Wolof -  “Nice na” (That’s nice).

Nice na?

From the Paralympics Closing Ceremony with the British Paraorchestra, to an artistic residency at La Factory in Dakar, Senegal.

I arrived in Dakar on Monday night, having slept through most of the flight. Ousmane, the Director of La Factory and Alioune, his Administrator come to meet me at the airport. The drive to Golf Sud takes about an hour, and takes us through dark suburbs, past neon-lit market stalls and along sandy, pot-holed roads, some of which are still water-logged after the recent flooding in many of the newly built-up areas of the city. As we pull up in front of a new two-storey building, I can see that the whole area is in darkness. Ousmane leads me up the tiled staircase to the 2nd floor terrace, and introduces me to his wife Awa, who has a large neon torch in her hand. The power has been off for a couple of hours already, apparently.

I’m feeling a little dazed and gladly sink into in the enormous red armchair that Ousmane manoeuvres out of the small living room for me. It’s hard to make out much in the darkness, with just a few candles struggling to stay alight in the soft sea breeze.

Daliso, a young American of Zambian heritage introduces himself. He’s a film-maker. Mamy and Noumoucounda come and join us. Mamy is one of the protagonists of this residency - a young Senegalese singer, and a regular collaborator with Baaba Maal. Noumoucounda also performs regularly with Baaba Maal - on kora and guitar - and it turns out they were both on stage with Baaba Maal at the Royal Festival Hall recently, so we already have a connection. Noumoucounda starts playing his guitar and Mamy’s rich alto voice joins in a gentle jamming session. An hour or so later we eat - fish, spicy vegetables, and a fresh salad in a separate bowl which Ousmane insists is for me - in case I don’t like the fish, he says.

The power is still off when I finally get to bed, but I’m so ready to sleep that I don’t much care that there’s no fan to cool the warm night air. My room is at the front of the building, and the music from a radio on the street below drifts in and out of my dreams. I’m not sure what time it is - I have no watch, and my i-phone and laptop show conflicting hours, so I just decide to sleep until I wake, and to see what tomorrow brings.

This photo is currently on show at Linear House in Greenwich, as part of a wide-ranging and imaginative exhibition of work by members of the Greenwich satellite group of London Independent Photography.

It’s one of my images from the project I started working on in Bamako towards the end of last year - featuring members of the Malian National Swimming Team shot on location in the dry Olympic-sized pool in Bamako.

The exhibition is on until 25 August. Do drop by:

Linear House,

Peyton Place, Royal Hill,

Greenwich, London SE10 8RS

And there are a couple of nice pubs just down the hill!

So just a couple of hours before the Opening Ceremony of the London 2012 Olympic Games, I’m posting my own modest Olympic contribution - a couple of images of Mamadou Soumare, from the Malian Olympic Swimming Team. Despite the current political situation in Mali, Mamadou made it to London with his colleague Fatoumata Samessekou from the Women’s Team and their coach Ian Lyons. They’re here with four other Malian sportsmen and women competing in Judo, Taekwendo and Athletics (800m).

I took these images at the end of last year on location in Bamako, as part of a photographic project to help the Malian National Swimming Team’s PR and fund-raising campaign. 

Go guys - thinking of you, and have a great Olympic experience!

Today is my gorgeous sister’s birthday, so I’m posting a photo of Annie and my wonderful nephew Xander taken a few weeks ago after a boat trip on the Thames.

Both looking radiant.