I live between Quebec and different territories, rooting myself elsewhere for a few months each winter.
I am often asked questions about my lifestyle.
This text is a fragment of an answer, but also an immersion: a sincere testimony of part of what allows me to live this way concretely, and what nourishes the creative vision that unfolds through my images and photographs.
I live primarily between Canada (Quebec) and Senegal, the culture of my mixed-heritage children. Senegal is an important anchor in my life, without being exclusive: I also travel to other countries depending on projects and periods. During the Canadian winter, I settle and root myself elsewhere for a few months. This year, for the winter, I am in Senegal. For me, meeting the other in their difference is also a path toward unity, not through uniformity, but through sharing.
Over time, one discovers what connects us: our humanity, our emotions, and our universal gestures, sensitive and similar. I move through cultures, inhabit landscapes, follow movement, and my creativity opens. Surface travel, often brief, opens the door to the new. Immersion, on the other hand, creates a bridge: a shared space of transformation.
By choice, I invest heavily in travel. This is where my connections, my images, and my creative impulse are formed.
How I Prepare
What Is Not Seen Before Departure
Before each departure, I spend a great deal of time making lists, especially for my work tools, but also for clothing, personal care products, kitchen accessories, and more. Even when one is used to it, leaving still requires extensive planning, both for the place one leaves and the place one is going to, because this is not a brief leisure trip, but a life that continues elsewhere.
I open my two suitcases several weeks in advance and gradually place the essentials inside.
In Montreal, I live in an apartment with my children. In order to leave for several months, I must rent out a room to offset the cost of my rent during my stay in Senegal. This requires organization and is always a source of stress: posting ads, finding the right person, accepting that someone will live in my home during my absence. My son can also help with follow-up.
I save throughout the year for the plane ticket, insurance, and, if possible, a small surplus for travel. I own neither a car nor a house. In Montreal, I live a simple, minimalist life: I get around by electric bike and spend only on essentials.
Over time, I have understood that this preparation is already part of the journey: it forces me to clarify what is truly necessary, materially and inwardly. I try to remain light, both in Montreal and in Senegal.
Do I Have to Work?
Finding a Balance Between Necessity and Desire
Yes, I do work during my stay. I work remotely on cultural projects, even when I am in Senegal. I also develop my online shop, my artistic practice, and various projects still in progress. I do this out of passion and a desire to share. I am seeking a new income model that unfolds gradually, bringing diversification and freedom.
Remote work is a major advantage: it allows me to extend my stay up to four months. During the fourth month, I try to discover a new place, take photographs, and engage in artistic residencies that I initiate myself, spontaneously. On my last trip, I went to Egypt.
I have a family and elderly parents; for now, this is the right balance. I have gently redirected my career toward arts and cultural management to adapt it to this remote-work model. This happened in stages. Changing one’s life takes time.
Traveling extensively over long periods was easier in my twenties, without obligations. Later, with family life and career, I had to slow down travel significantly. At that time, remote work was not an option. Moving a family is no small task.
Today, I accept the different cycles of my life as part of a whole, constantly readjusting. One must learn to work with reality while continuing to support one’s dreams.
Adjusting the Rhythm of Life
Changing Tempo Without Losing Oneself
There is a strong contrast between the Canadian rhythm and the African rhythm.
Life in Canada is more individualistic: one goes out when one wants, sees people when one wants. My social and family life there remains simple, by choice. In Canada: speed, a lot of work, voluntary withdrawal, simple leisure, family, loyal friends, minimalism.
In Senegal: gathering material, continuous discoveries, an expanded network of human relationships in everyday life, community, slowness, and constant adaptation to the environment.
In Senegal, arrival is an event. One must greet family and friends, accept invitations. Shared meals are an honor. There are weddings, celebrations, Ramadan, visits to Touba, the holy city. The heat slows both body and mind. Daily organization requires constant adjustment.
This change of rhythm is not a luxury; it is a re-education of the body and the gaze.
Resting, contemplating. In Mbour, dogs are friendly and sometimes come to lie beside me, gazing at the sea.
Settling In
Starting Over, Each Time
By choice, I live slightly removed, near the sea, in Mbour on the Petite Côte, close to where my extended family lives. Each winter, I must rent a different studio. I need calm to work and affordable accommodation to sustain long stays.
With each arrival, daily life must be re-established: a new kitchen, new habits, a new environment. I always bring the essentials for the first week in my suitcases, including coffee. Here, coffee is often instant, so I bring my small portable Outin espresso machine.
I also bring what I need to cook my daily meals in a Western way. When you arrive, you don’t want to run after necessities: the journey is long and tiring, with a long layover in Casablanca.
Dish towels, nonstick pans, tissues, towels, everything can be found here, but it takes energy to acquire them. We drink bottled water. There is no hot water for the shower; I have to heat it. I therefore purchased an electric kettle, a small burner, and a blender for juices, with European plugs, which are the same as African plugs. I leave this basic equipment here for future visits.
The stoves are gas-powered, and the kitchen is open and communal. With this mini-equipment, I remain autonomous; sometimes it’s easier to cook an egg or reheat a meal myself.
These adjustments should not be underestimated: they can be energy-consuming, especially at the beginning.
The traditional pestle becomes an improvised base: here, adaptability is essential.
A morning omelette and a fresh smoothie.
Daily Routine
Creating Continuity Within Instability
I try to carry my foundations with me: my morning espresso, my favorite mug, my yoga mat, my yoga–pilates app, my musical universe, my usual work tools.
It may seem trivial, but these elements maintain a link between my two lives, a solid thread.
I begin my days the same way: grounding, meditation, singing with nature.
Each day, I readjust to certain discomforts: water outages, poor Wi-Fi connection, slowness of simple tasks, heat, organic time management, and appointments. Here, time stretches into the present. Sometimes I sleep a lot to recover. These discomforts are not obstacles to eliminate; they become teachers.
Nomadic espresso, meditation under the trees, a few minutes of yoga-pilates and chanting. Simple anchors I carry with me wherever I go.
Food and Supplies
Between Habits and Adaptation
In Canada, grocery stores and amenities are nearby; organization is simpler.
In Senegal, there are traditional markets, rich and vibrant, but energy-intensive and sometimes far from home. There are also European-style supermarkets such as Auchan and Carrefour, with certain imported products, mainly French. Neighborhood shops offer basic necessities for convenience: eggs, oil, sugar, drinks, etc.
Normally, I am mostly vegetarian and eat a bit of fish. Here, I adapt: I eat what is served to me with gratitude, meat or fish. Senegalese cuisine is delicious, but I rebalance at home according to my needs: less rice, less oil and meat, and more raw vegetables, pre-soaked in vinegar so they can be eaten safely. Fish, monkfish, and lobster remain staples. Small local restaurants offer excellent meals for about 1,500 to 2,500 CFA (3–6 USD).
A home-delivered meal, kindly sent by the family via a Jakarta (motorbike taxi).
A local meal — braised thiof (grouper), 2,500 FCFA (about 5 CAD).
Finding One’s Way and Getting Around
Working with the Terrain
In Senegal, addresses are rare; finding one’s way takes time.
I live in Mbour, not Dakar. Taxi drivers often need to be guided through neighborhoods, which requires knowing where you are going, which is rarely the case. Sometimes, the GPS must be forgotten. I know, for example, that to return from the beach, I must turn at the yellow pirogue. Last week, it was repainted, which caused a small navigation error.
I travel by car, taxi, motorbike taxi, local buses, or Dem Dikk buses, air-conditioned, modern, and comfortable. One often has to walk to the main road or intersection to find a taxi. Transportation organization is slower and more demanding, but affordable and efficient.
View from the studio, in the heart of the fishermen’s village of Mbour.
The Studio
Living with less, but living fully.
I am currently living in a small studio made up of two huts, with a mini fridge.
The second hut serves as a guest room, it welcomes my daughter, who came to visit with her dog, Hermès. On the ground floor, there is a shared outdoor kitchen with a gas stove. I rarely use it, only when I have visitors.
The rent is about $675 per month. I could afford more comfort, luxurious villas are easy to find here, but I choose this simplicity. It allows me to preserve resources for discovery, activities, and travel. Next month, I will have access to a slightly larger place. I navigate with local opportunities.
Because the space is small, I have to tidy up every day; sand gets everywhere, we are in the Sahel. I deliberately live a little away from tourist areas. I prefer places that feel as authentic as possible.
At the moment, I am in the Résidence neighborhood, in the heart of a fishing community. I do not hire anyone for cooking or laundry for now, although that is common here. I manage with small restaurants and wash my own clothes. Everyday gestures take more time.
I live out of two suitcases.
It is sometimes tiring, but it is also a deeply inhabited life.
Hermès, watching the birds from our balcony.
Money and mobil phone
Adapting to Local Practices
The currency is the CFA franc. Ideally, one uses the Wave app. I send myself money via Western Union to my Orange Money wallet and then transfer it via MyTouchPoint to Wave on my phone with a Senegalese number. Everyone uses Wave here, making it possible to pay almost everywhere. Otherwise, one spends time searching for and withdrawing cash. There are fees, of course, but I find the system simple and efficient.
Senegal is somewhat less expensive than Canada, but the difference is less striking than one might imagine. Daily life balances itself differently, without being truly cheap.
Language and Communication
Being Present, Even Without Words
French is the language taught in schools, which generally facilitates communication. But within families or villages, this is not always the case: people who were not schooled do not necessarily speak French. In groups, Wolof is mainly spoken; in my family and village, Serer is also spoken.
I can therefore spend long periods understanding nothing of the conversations, which is part of my integration challenge. In my neighborhood, fishermen rarely speak French.
I will eventually learn Wolof. I already know the basic words and greetings; this is a minimum of respect.
Despite the language barrier, there are smiles everywhere, hospitality, a genuine joy in sharing. I am not a tourist: I live with them, and we often share the same challenges.
Plane Tickets and Insurance
Planning the Essentials
Plane tickets cost between $1,300 and $1,600, depending on the time of purchase.
Long-term insurance with Desjardins costs me about $1,000 for annual coverage, or $200 per month (life, accident, baggage, repatriation, and emergency return, as I have elderly parents). Good clinics are available.
I insure my luggage. I have already experienced losing it. In my carry-on suitcase, I therefore keep what is essential and valuable, as well as a small survival kit and my backpack with my equipment.
Work and Creative Tools
My work equipment is deliberately light: a MacBook Air, a Samsung Galaxy S23 for mobile art, travel tripods, headphones, two phones for cultural mediation, batteries, and two Samsung SSD hard drives with my files. I carry many adapters and spare cables. I remain in voluntary simplicity and lightness. My mini creation studio fits in a backpack.
My contracts are handled on my MacBook Air. I communicate with Canada via Google Meet and use the Google ecosystem for shared files.
I capture and create whenever inspiration arises, spontaneously. I avoid, as much as possible, overly rigid schedules and excessive performance, favoring deep quality over forced production.
Cultural and Social Life
One must learn Wolof greetings, etiquette, and ways of behaving. At first, mistakes are made, but here there is Teranga, hospitality.
Still, it can be socially demanding. We are not accustomed to so much proximity and conversation. But the smiles, the children, the everyday joy make it truly worthwhile.
In the neighborhood, there are celebrations, music, drums, baptisms, weddings, fishermen heading out in pirogues. In the morning, we wake to birds, wind, cooking smells, and the sweet scent of flowers.
Sometimes, in the evening, I fall into bed in joyful exhaustion.
My close family lives in Mbour, and I sometimes share the community life of my Senegalese family’s traditional village, rooted in Serer culture.
Long-Distance Bonds
There are also those constant goodbyes. Leaving, returning, leaving again. Saying “see you soon” more often than “farewell.” These are repeated gestures, sometimes light, sometimes heavier. Over time, I have learned that these separations are part of the movement: they require presence, honesty, and the ability to love without holding too tightly. One becomes attached differently when nothing is fixed.
We then spend hours on WhatsApp or Messenger, maintaining long-distance bonds, learning detachment. This is probably the most difficult part for me.
Conclusion
This life is not freer than another. Not more perfect, nor easier. It is simply different. It requires sobriety, adaptation, and deep honesty with oneself.
It is also this difference, this movement, and these contrasts in ways of living that nourish and stimulate my creative impulse.
I chose it because it resonates with me: it feeds me, it resembles me. I am not selling a dream. It is truly not always easy, but it is full of everything.
I am still building. I adapt. The path is what matters; it progresses a little more each time.
I am not seeking an ideal life, but a just one.