"We're covering WHO during the Islamic Summit?" I yelled into the phone at my friend and fellow journalist Kari Barber. I was in a cab riding along one of Dakar's dusty roads and the driver's music -- a blend of Wolof, French and maybe a little Arabic that mixed to sound like a call to prayer -- was blaring loudly.
"The Kingdom of Bahrain," she replied. I thought the music must be too loud, and I didn't hear her right. But after a few repetitions (and I must admit, some later Google searches), Kari and I were ready and informed to meet Foreign Minister Shaikh Khalid bin Ahmed Al Khalifa photograph and film his moves during the weeklong event.
Now, please don't misunderstand -- The Organization of the Islamic Conference Summit was a serious event. Islamic heads of state from around the world convened to discuss their concerns and issue resolutions. One topic was Islamophobia -- one I'm extremely interested in as a Western woman who, after moving to a Muslim country, has realized just how estranged our view of the religion actually is.
There are poignant realizations and insightful commentary I could (and eventually will) discuss about my week spent swimming amid Islamic heads of State and gaining access to various meetings.
But, as many journalists tend to do, I saw my situation as a bit surreal. We were running around all week throwing out phrases like, "Have you spoken to the Bahrainis, yet?" and "What time did the Bahrainis want us to get there in the morning?" It sounded like something out of a James Bond movie, and it was so absurd that two American girls were hired to follow around officials from this tiny country nestled in the sea between Saudia Arabia and Iran.
So I'll save the deep thoughts for another day and instead provide a brief rundown of humorous situations Kari and I found ourselves in during the Summit.
The Summit took place in one of Dakar's more up-scale hotels, and when we made it past the row of metal detectors on the first morning, we entered the high-ceilinged hallways were greeted by a sea of men dressed in Thoubs (the Arabic robe -- white and long, with a head scarf), Boubous (the West African robe -- colorful and long, with a circular hat) or military uniforms (yeah--I think you're familiar with this one already).
We immediately went to the fourth floor to find OUR foreign minister and his staff, nearly all of whom were dressed in the Thoubs. There Kari and I were in our slacks and long-sleeved button down shirts, our cameras strapped across our bodies, and we were to spend the next week following those flowing white robes that gracefully and lightly touched the ground as we ran around the hotel meeting up with Islamic heads of State. I thought it was going to be an interesting week, and it didn't disappoint.
Day 1: We meet the Foreign Minister of Bahrain. As his secretaries and aids (the Bahrainian contingent, as Kari and I would later dub them) quickly shuffle us into an elevator with the entire group, he asks us where we're from, and why the heck would two American women CHOOSE to live in Dakar? After Kari tells him she's from Oklahoma, he throws her the Texas Hook 'em Horns sign. Turns out he likes Texas. I take this friendly exchange and AS a good way to start the week.
Day 2: In a crowded pressroom, a distinguished looking man signals for Kari and I to come hither. He (in a very friendly way) wants to know who we are and what the heck we're doing in Dakar (again with this question?). The man, who introduces himself as an ambassador from Mozambique, then calls us two "American Flowers." That was nice.
Day 3: It is Wednesday, and we have the day off from coverage. This is also nice.
Day 4: The morning begins with a group photo of the Summit attendees, a version of the class shot you would get in elementary school -- if you went to elementary school with the Presidents of Iran, Egypt and Palestine (Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, Hosni Mubarak and Mahmoud Abbas). Journalists from all over the world sit in the sun for three hours waiting for said dignitaries. I'm squeezed in between a photographer from Mauritania and a group of four Indonesian television reporters. It's hot, and I'm thirsty and hungry. The Indonesian journalists, sensing my discomfort and fatigue, offer me pieces of coffee-flavored candy periodically during the wait. I fear I will become addicted to this candy, and I will later have to move to Indonesia to satisfy my cravings.
Day 5: The last day of the summit is spent following the Foreign Minister throughout his meetings with various other head honchos. First on the list is the president of Turkmenistan. I find this funny for some reason. When the foreign minister later bumps into a representative from Libya and poses for a photo op, the Libyan is a bit confused as to why two American girls are following around a half-dozen Bahrainis. When the Foreign Minister explains that we are indeed his press for the event, the Libyan representative laughs hysterically. Good times had by all.