Cities and Mountains

It's been a while since I traveled in Latin America. I'm remedying that to a certain degree over the next couple of days in Monterrey in northeastern Mexico. 

My first memory of Latin America was descending into the São Paulo airport in the early evening over the low mountains that surround the city, marveling at the clusters of favellas that stretch up the hillsides. Since then, I've come to appreciate the ways in which urban areas and mountains seem to collide in so much of Latin America. Bogota and Medellín, Colombia; Santiago, Chile, São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro, Brazil; Guatemala City, and Quito, Ecuador all come immediately to mind. Perhaps I've simply missed similar landscapes in other regions, but I think that there is something about this admixture in Central and South America. 

Cerro de la Silla (from Wikipedia)

Monterrey is another one of those cities. It is dominated by soaring sierras, with the city clustering along a valley and up the hillsides. The most impressive is the Cerro de la Silla (Saddle Mountain). The home where I am staying sits on one of those hillsides with a rather spectacular view of the mountains and the skyscrapers downtown. This afternoon, as we drove from town up the hill, one of these soaring mountains was draped with a cloud-tablecloth not unlike what I've seen in Cape Town (ok, so there's a non-Latin American city that has an incontestable urban-mountain mash up). Stunning. 

Monterrey is a bustling, orderly city, Mexico's third largest. It has long been known as a center of business and innovation, strategically placed on the trade routes between Texas and Mexico City. You see this in the soaring skyscrapers of company headquarters (some of the country's largest companies are headquartered here). You also see it in some of the beautiful public art, including a large factory complex that has been very artfully turned into a sprawling public park with a broad artificial canal. The old downtown -- the barrio antigua -- is filled with a grid of narrow streets with low-slung buildings, markets, and churches. Some of the oldest Protestant churches in Mexico are located in Monterrey, including the Baptist church, which dates to 1864. 

The view from my room 

This is only my third visit to Mexico, and all of my visits have been short. Yet I continue to sense that this country, perhaps simply due to its proximity, is one of the most misunderstood. While I think that there's a growing disconnect between what I hear in US news and what I see in the rest of the world, this contrast seems especially stark in Mexico. This is the kind of vast, complex, diverse country that you could devote a life to, and still walk away befuddled. 

Dining in Monterrey

In recent years, the authentic taco, with its soft, warm corn shell, some meat filling, garnish of crunchy vegetables, and sauce, has become more common in the United States. I recently had a taco from a food truck in Grand Rapids that rivaled anything I've had in Mexico. Granted, that particular memorable taco was Korean-themed and garnished with homemade kimchi, but it still had the soft, bitey wonderfulness that characterizes a genuine taco, albeit a bit globalized. And speaking of globalization, I do still have a soft spot for those North American hard-shelled tacos with red sauce, enjoying them as a culinary tradition all their own…

A real Mexican chips-and-salsa

There is no escaping the tortilla at the center of Mexican cuisine. Made of corn masa or wheat flour, they appear at most every meal in some form. The dining table is always graced by at least a couple of kinds of salsa as well, generally freshly made and of varying spiciness. 

My lunch yesterday was in a decades-old large restaurant in the center of Monterrey that prides itself on having been open continuously for 50 years (it is open 24/7). After convincing my hosts that I really do eat spicy food, I ordered enchiladas en mole. This dish is composed of chicken wrapped in tortillas, smothered in a thick and spicy brown sauce. While there are more recipes for mole than stars in the sky, most brown moles seem to share a kind of spicy denseness that comes in some recipes from the combination of several kinds of ground, dried chiles and a bit of chocolate. In reality, this particular mole was not all that spicy (or, to be honest, all that tasty). 

Cobrito - on the right side

One of the local specialties in Monterrey is a dish called cabrito. Cabrito means, literally, baby goat. Cabrito must be prepared from a goat less than three years old, which is the age when most goats begin to eat grass (or so I am told!). The meat is smoked and served with tortillas, fresh onions, tomatoes, lettuce, and chiles, cooked onions, and a variety of sauces. Pieces are wrapped up in a tortilla. While I am not certain that I'd add it to my daily diet (largely because I struggle with the idea of eating baby animals), it was a mighty tasty piece of meat. 

Perhaps the most interesting aspect of this dish is its historical origins in Jewish (!) cooking. Prior to the Inquisition in Spain, Jews composed a sizable minority. A few of these came to New Spain, including several prominent families that came to Nuevo Léon in the late 16th century. Although Judaism was banned in the Spanish Empire by this time, a number of these families remained "crypto-Jews" for centuries, secretly practicing the faith of their ancestors. This has apparently influenced the cuisine of Nuevo Léon, in both the presence of cabrito and the absence of pork from most local cooking. 

Few things testify more to globalization than food, whether Jewish-inspired smoked goat in northeast Mexico or Korean-themed tacos in Grand Rapids.

Dining in Bénin

Food is always a bit confusing to me when I travel in West Africa. Although there is quite a bit of similarity across the region in culinary terms, the terminology differs from place to place. The base is some kind of starch -- rice, various forms of cassava, corn meal, various forms of yams, potatoes, bananas, etc. -- served with some sort of stew (often made of a wide variety of greens), perhaps grilled or fried chicken or fish, and hot pepper sauce (piment) as a condiment. 

Benin is no exception. I've experienced several variations on the West African theme, including a very tasty stew made from friend cheese (not unlike Indian paneer) stewed together with a very bitey green leaf, tomatoes, and onions. Fried and stewed fish are common, given the oceanfront nature of Cotonou. Yet I'm told that the quintessential Cotonou meal is based on a cornmeal cooked until thick with tomatoes, peppers, and other seasonings (amiwo) , served with a savory stew of onions and tomatoes, and fish or chicken, with a bit of piment on the side. A variety of western soft drinks are available, yet something called "youki" which involves fresh grapefruit juice and carbonation, seems a common choice. 

Pounded yams with fish stew

At another meal, I chose a fish stew in a red sauce served with pounded yam, what is called fufu in Ghana. This dish is eaten by taking bits of the starch in your fingers and using it to scoop up the fish and sauce. It's one of my favorites, and is quite difficult to find in the US. 

Chicken with amiwo and stew

Dessert is fruit -- the bounties of a tropical land -- mangoes, pineapple, oranges, grapefruit, bananas of all shapes and sizes, watermelon. This is the height of mango season, and you see people selling mangoes all over the city. At one point, I saw them being sold from the back of a dump truck. While some resemble the kinds of mangos we find in a US supermarket (small and light yellow or variegated green, orange, and red), others are like nothing I've seen elsewhere. Some of them are nearly the size of a football and must way 5 pounds. For a mango lover, this is like a window into heaven…

Timmy Tiger with a Bénin mango 

The Elephant in the Room

You can't spend much time in coastal West Africa without being reminded about the issue of slavery. This is especially true in Bénin. I read in several places here that 40% of the slaves that were part of the Atlantic slave trade in the late 17th-early 19th century came from what is now Bénin, through a series of agreements between the local rulers of the Dahomey kingdom and the Portuguese, French, Dutch, Danish, and British traders who traded on the coast near the city of Ouidah. The predominance of slaves from this part of Africa was critical in the development of voodoo (which derives from the Fon word for god or deity) in Brazil, Haiti, and Cuba. 

I had a chance today to visit the city of Ouidah, a sleepy little place between Cotonou and the Togolese border. Ouidah is filled with architectural remnants of the 18th and 19th centuries. A Portuguese trading fort is well preserved and serves as a local museum, chronicling the history of the slave trade, the Kingdom of Dahomey, and the Dahomey diaspora spread across the western hemisphere by the slave trade. 

Memorial on the ocean front at Ouidah

Ouidah sits several miles north of the ocean. On the south side of the town is a large square that once served as the city's slave market. Traders would come here to inspect the "wares". After contracts were sealed, the slaves were then chained together and forced to walk to the coast, where they were crammed into ships and sent around the West African coast to the Ile de Goré in Senegal, where most transatlantic voyages commenced. 

Today, a large monument stands overlooking the ocean, serving as a monument to those who passed this "point of no return." The slave trade during the Dahomey period remains a live political issue today, as some in the country's north continue to resent the fact that the Dahomey kings were very much complicit in the slave trade that took place 200 years ago. 

Museum of Ouidah - an old Portuguese fort

Aside from these sad reminders of human history, Ouidah is a beautiful place to visit, with a quiet culture far removed from the bustle and dust of Cotonou. I am thankful for these opportunities to visit places a bit off the beaten path. 

The coastal highway in West Africa

There is a highway that runs along the coast of West Africa. I have only encountered it in sections between Lagos, Nigeria in the east and Abidjan, Côte d'Ivoire in the west, but if I understand correctly, it creeps up the coast in both directions for thousands of miles and in various states of repair. At times, it fronts directly on to some of the world's most beautiful white-sand beaches, lined with majestic palm trees. My first trip along this highway, in 2006, was on a bus with a group of Nigerians traveling from Lomé, Togo to Lagos, Nigeria. I was the only non west-African on the bus. So as we approached each border, the west Africans generally just tossed their passports into a bucket for "group processing," while I had to physically get off the bus and go through controls at each border. Each time, as soon as I got off, the bus would leave to go to the other side, and I would have to cross the border on foot. For anyone who imagines a tame and calm border crossing, think again. The border crossing from Togo to Benin was perhaps one of the largest markets I have ever encountered, filled with people selling everything under the sun, from goats to cloth to princess toys. It was a loud, rambunctious, zestful sort of place. Had I not been modestly concerned about my bus that had driven off, I might have enjoyed it. After two such border crossings and many hours sitting in traffic coming into Lagos, we made it to our destination, six hours late. 

A market along the highway

Today's trip along the highway was much less eventful, although it did involve one car breakdown that was fixed fairly quickly. The stretch of highway from Cotonou, Benin to Porto Novo, Benin (very close to the Nigerian border) is not the most picturesque, although it is probably one of the best in terms of road quality, with a double carriageway in both directions in addition to a lane for motorbikes. I am fairly well convinced that just about anything that can BE purchased is available for sale on the West African Highway, including possibly some things that SHOULDN'T be purchased. Another trip, this time to the west toward Lomé, found a road recently widened to two lanes going in each direction, but not yet paved. 

Some things that it is hard to miss:

- the enormous SUVs with license plates from Lagos, Nigeria

- the random herds of goats crossing the highway

- enormous roadside fabric markets

- mangos being sold out of the back of truck

- the often elaborately woven palm leaves and stalks that form buildings along the highway

Queuing for the toll booth

Porto Novo and Cotonou, Benin's twin capitals, fade into one another, connected by the aforementioned highway. Porto Novo is the home to the national parliament, while the president's offices are in Cotonou. Cotonou is also the business capital of the country. Porto Novo (New Door in Portuguese) is a sleepy, lakeside town with some lovely old architecture, quintessential views over Lake Yewa, and thriving markets. The parliament, currently located in an unassuming building in the center of town, will soon move to a new lakeside capitol building. Porto Novo lacks the bustle of Cotonou and appears to be a place worth exploring further. 

A quiet street in Porto Novo

There's no doubt that a 90 minute flight from Ouagadougou to Cotonou makes a huge difference. I left temperatures in the mid 30s centigrade at 9:00 am to land around midday in Cotonou with a temperature of 30. The difference, however, is in the humidity. Cotonou is a place where you soak your shirt with sweat in a matter of moments. The lush, green vegetation seems to drip humidity, and water (oceans and inland lakes) is everywhere.

Travel in West Africa is, without question, not easy or uncomplicated. But it never falls short of being fascinating. 

Africa Rising?

Every few months, the world's finest newspapers and magazines seem to do an in-depth cover story on Africa and its prospects. Almost invariably, they reach one of two conclusions:  that Africa is rising and that we are entering an "African century" or that the continent's challenges remain so vast that any sense of progress on the surface is fleeting. Certainly, there are more nuanced versions (the Economist's special report, last year, is a good example) that take into account the diversity of the 50 nations of Africa and the internal tensions and contradictions that characterize African nations (and all nations!) 

I write this sitting in the comfortable departures area of the Ouagadougou Airport, awaiting a flight on a African airline to Cotonou. I booked this ticket several months ago online in the United States with my credit card through an international site (at the suggestion of my travel agent). I payed a very reasonable price. I arrived at the airport, presented my documents, my record was found, and I was quickly and efficiently checked in for the flight, one of about 20 departing Ouaga for 15 cities in Africa today. Immigration and security checks were quick and efficient. Although there are still horrific airport experiences to be had in Africa (my own experiences in Bangui, Bunia, Douala, and Lagos come immediately to mind, some with a bit of a shudder), this kind of connectivity would have been quite rare even 10 years ago. The world is indeed changing. 

On the edges of Ouaga stands the independent municipality of "Ouaga 2000," the new center of Burkinabé government. The legacy of the French remains strong, with the broad boulevards of the new city, dominated on either end by the "Presidence" buildings. New government ministries, many built in a distinctively west African style, line the boulevards. Embassies and the homes of the rich dot the landscape, many still under construction. A number of buildings stand half completed, including an enormous new mosque. Why? Because the resources for some of these buildings were coming from Qadaffi's Libya before his fall. The flow of Libyan resources into Burkina, which was significant, has now dried up. Yet the broader influence of the North African and Middle Eastern world remains strong, and is probably growing as the percentage of Muslims grows (largely due to demographic issues). France, the United States, and Canada, also have a palpable presence. 

Monument des Martyrs in Ouaga 2000 (from wikipedia.fr)

I visited yesterday a "center for development" attached to a local Pentecostal church. This center serves about 200 children from ages 3-16 every day, providing them with schooling, very basic food, and, perhaps most importantly, a sense of care and belonging. Many of these children are orphans, being cared for by relatives who lack the financial and/or emotional resources to properly care for these children. The stories of grinding poverty are sobering, as tales of lives truly without choices unfold. Public schooling is available in the neighborhood only on Thursday mornings, and that is if the teacher shows up. The only options for regular schooling are to travel to other parts of the city by foot or bicycle and pay school fees that are far beyond the reach of most of the residents of the neighborhood. 

Children at Development Center in Ouaga

How encouraging it is to see communities of believers, with few resources themselves, reaching out in whatever way they can. Although the students study under make-shift tin roofs hold up with tree branches, the make-shift walls are lovingly painted with biblical scenes, encouraging words, passages of scripture, and cartoon characters. I encounter this kind of holistic vision more and more as I travel in Africa, especially Francophone Africa. Yet the truly systemic issues of poverty seem a mighty wave flowing against a meager stream. 

At the same time, stories abound about the effectiveness and character of the mayor, under whose watch most major city thoroughfares have been well paved, with barriers dividing 3 lanes for pedestrians, bicycles, and lanes for car traffic. I heard numerous stories of all-season roads reaching remote parts of the bush that have never had roads before. Anyone who has set foot in Africa can see the value of this. Young, bright people cluster around the university, and I'm told that the "back-flow" of many Burkinabé educated abroad is growing. I met several of these people, educated in the United States or Europe, who have chosen to return and invest in their nation. 

"Moto" parking in Cotonou

Africa is undoubtedly changing. Is it for the better? It's impossible for me to say. Is it easier for a foreigner (or a relatively wealthy African) to travel in Africa today? Unquestionably. Are more commodities and better infrastructure available to wealthy urban Africans? Unquestionably. Are systemic issues that leave millions in grinding poverty being addressed? Are these infrastructural improvements allowing for true development at the community level, or merely facilitating the extraction of agricultural commodities? It is very hard to say, and I'm sure that the answer differs from country to country and even from community to community. 

But one thing that is clearly untrue is that Africa is static. Africa, as always, is moving, albeit with contradictions. 

Ouaga

Ouagadougou (Pronounced wag-a-DOO-goo) or Ouaga in short (pronounced WA-ga) is the capital city of Burkina Faso, a former French colony located just north of Benin, Togo, Ghana, and Côte d'Ivoire. It is a city that has grown rapidly in the past twenty years, now flirting with a population of two million. Although I've traveled quite a bit in coastal West Africa, this is my first time in the interior of this vast and complex region. There is a lot of cultural similarity with points further south in terms of dress, cuisine, and culture, but the climate is markedly different. Burkina is a hot and dusty place, another step in the slow transition from the verdant tropics of the Atlantic coast to the blazing deserts of the Sahara in the north. 

A roadside café outside of Ouaga, made of magically heat-beating woven grasses

Like much of Africa, Burkina experiences wet and dry seasons. The rains generally begin in late May-early June and last through September or October. I'm told that when the rains come, the dusty, brown world springs to life with grasses and crops. It's kind of hard to imagine the verdancy people describe amidst the dusty brownness of the end of the dry season. The dry season tends to peak in April, which is also the peak of temperatures, when daytime highs can easily reach 50 degrees centigrade (about 125). 

Although the worst of the April heat has passed, temperatures are still averaging around 40 centigrade (104 F) with nighttime temperatures falling to around 30 (86 F). Although April's heat, I am told, is dry desert heat, Ouaga today is also experiencing a bit of humidity as the rains draw near. It makes for quite an appalling mix. Life largely shuts down in the early hours of the afternoon, when most people can be seen resting under an awning or tree or, in some cases, sprawled out on a cool stone floor. Every conversation seems to turn at some point to le chaleur (the heat). It does make me wonder why the hymn "blanc, blanc plus que neige" (white, whiter than snow) is so very popular in the church here, akin to "Amazing Grace" in the United States of "Velikii Bog" in Russia and Ukraine. I've puzzled over that one every time I come to Francophone Africa, and will continue to puzzle. 

A well with banana trees growing from the runoff

One of the fascinating things about Africa is the seemingly near-magical cooling power of its trees. Large mango trees dot the Burkina landscape and serve as parking spots for cars, motos, and bicycles, as well as a place for people (especially mothers and babies) to rest. There is something magical about stepping under one of these magnificent beings, as the temperature seems to drop precipitously. 

This cooling power also seems to extend to grasses. The long grasses that grow up during the rainy season are dutifully harvested and then carefully and artfully woven into mats, roofs of shelters, granaries, and wind-blocking walls. They are everywhere. Again, buildings covered by these grass roofs seem somehow magically cool, while more "modern" metal-roofed buildings feel ready to bake a pie. 

A bicycle parking lot

While all hotter climates clearly have an appreciation for water, this seems especially pronounced in Burkina, where water is carefully collected during the rainy season for irrigation of crops in the dryer months. I am told that it is not uncommon for people to walk 8-10 kilometers to a deep-water well in the end of the dry season for water, as sources closer to the surface gradually dry up. I visited yesterday the site of a recently drilled deep-water well about 10 kilometers outside of Ouaga. A new community is sprouting up on what was once a desolate plain. A mother stood bathing her two young children from a bucket for freshly drawn, cold water. Somehow, the phrase "water is life" takes on a whole new meaning here. 

Water is Life