Throughout the year in Senegal, but especially during Ramadan, the traditional toothpick, the sothiou, can be seen in almost every mouth. In addition to cleaning your teeth and freshening your breath, it is also seen as a sign of piety, distracting you from the evils of smoking, keeping your mouth pure for prayer time, and fooling your stomach by chewing something during the fast period.

Just as with the baffling range of toothbrush technologies in the north, so in West Africa are there different twigs for different folks. There’s the Saudi “siwak”, highly prized for its pain-killing effect; the myrobalan, tamarinier, cola, or my favourite, the “mate xewel” (meaning “bite your luck” in Wolof), which will supposedly attract money to its masticator. During Ramadan, however, the “nep nep” is king. One young salesman explained,

It’s the dryest one. It doesn’t make you salivate too much. It prevents bad breath, treats toothache, calms irritated gums and heals infections with its antibiotic power.

With these claims and a price tag of only a few cents, the big toothbrush manufacturers should take note.

Oh, and they don’t come in day-glo green, orange or pink.

Girl in a hurry on Christmas Day, Ngor beach, Senegal.

As with most public offices in Senegal, the Service des Mines is in terminal decline: the walls are almost completely black with years of dirt; 8-foot-high stacks of forgotten files line the corridors; broken windows, shelves and lights are left unrepaired.

The Service des Mines in Dakar has surprisingly little to do with mining — its principal activity is checking the roadworthiness of vehicles. Given the decrepit state of the majority of cars in the city, it is obvious that many deals are done in this office in order to keep unroadworthy vehicles on the road.

It is obvious in the way the staff deal with visitors, either reading the newspaper while ignoring the simple man, or else running out to greet un grand chef, pumping his hand enthusiastically.

In the midst of dealmakers and dear friends reunited run the young talibés, so-called Islamic students whose main activity is to beg for their master.

Sugar lumps are the most common donation, collected in the large tomato tin that every talibé seems to carry.

See blog post for details of this latest political graffito in Dakar, Senegal: The son still rises.

I first spotted Pape “Nene” Ndiaye climbing up a perillous ridge on his way back to his bunker/studio with a bucket of fresh fish and mussels.

On top of the bunker, actually a gun emplacement from early colonial times, was daubed, “Fucking forbidden”. It would have been quite an experience nonetheless, overlooking a 200 foot drop to the surf-smashed rocks below.

Inside the bunker, I met Pape crouching over a little fire, cooking large mussels in a covered pan. The space was full of smoke and the ceiling was blackened, but I was immediately drawn to the large paintings on the cement walls …  (to be continued)

The Senegalese festival of Korité, known elsewhere in the Muslim world as Aïd-el-fitr, celebrates the end of the month of fasting, Ramadan.

It is an occasion to feast with your family and, more importantly, wear new clothes.

This photo is of my neighbour, normally running barefoot in the sand, transformed today into an elegant young gentleman by his proud parents.

The reversed baseball cap was the boy’s own touch. (Read more)

Note on the right arm, the gri-gri, or amulet charm, believed to protect the wearer from ill will. In an animist past, the gri-gri would contain a number of objects such as herbs, bones, hair or grave dirt.

In modern Muslim Senegal, it is more likely to contain a small text from the Koran, the verses chosen and written by a marabout (Islamic teacher) based on a consultation with the subject about his fears of evil magic from those who wish him ill.

Aram relaxing shortly before a performance with the Yoff women’s dance group at the Ouakam Regatta, 10 May 2008.

Visible face powder is a strong fashion statement here in Senegal.