Suba, maa ngi dem ca all ba.
Demain, je vais aller a la brousse.
Tomorrow I am going to the bush--also known as the village.
I realized last night, when I started to cry while saying bye to my dance teacher who is also a friend, that I am sad to be leaving Dakar. This is my home now. I feel confident and capable here. I have a social network, a family, a sense of location and direction. I have a purpose when I walk around. I can go running in the neighborhoods and not get lost or feel unsafe. I have adjusted to this way of life. I love eating from a large family dish with everyone around it. Getting my hands messy and greasy eating fish makes the meal that much more satisfying. Things like the squatter toilet with no toilet paper don't bother me. In fact, I prefer this method to a real toilet. I communicate in French easily without too much thought. I feel wanted and welcome amongst my friends here.
And now this is all about to change. I am heading to the bush. I will be doing my internship in the small village of Mbam, in the Kaolack region. All they have told me is that I'll be working on reforestation efforts and biomass fuel projects. I guess I'll know more very soon. And though I am sad to be leaving Dakar and the friends I have made here, I think it is good for me to go. I came on this program because I was attracted to the village internship component. This semester is supposed to be about growing and learning and developing, so it is a good thing to shake myself up again, now that I am finally comfortable here. I do not know if I will have internet access or phone reception. In some ways, I hope not to, but we will see. I guess I should be careful what I wish for. There are always land line telephones, though, so I do have access to communication. When I ask people about Mbam, all they can tell me is that it is very hot there and they have lots of mosquitoes. They also have a lot of greenery, so that will be pretty. And there will undoubtedly be incredible stars! I cannot wait for those.
The reaction I get from people from Dakar is interesting. When I tell them I'm going to a village for 6 weeks, they ask why I would want to do that. They say the life is boring there. Essentially, one boy told me, the routine is this: you wake up, go to work, come home, eat dinner, talk or walk with someone if you want to, then go to bed, and repeat. I think it will be wonderful to live this lifestyle for a few weeks. It will be a nice break.
On other topics, I went to dinner with the Elyse, Matt and Callie (all from Mac) the other night and we had a really interesting discussion about poverty. I don't feel like I am exposed to the poverty here. Or, well I guess I see it, but I am used to it now. It is interesting because, prior to my experience here, I think I objectified the poor. But now that I am here I realize that we are all humans. I hope this is not a terrible thing to say. But now I have first hand contact with people living in real poverty. And they are living. It's been a hard struggle in my head to try to comprehend the situation. Is it not so bad after all to be poor? The kids are still playing and dancing and lauging. They are living and eating and sleeping, just like me. What does it mean to be poor? But then Matt made the comment, that just because they can live the way they do, doesn't mean they should live that way or that it is okay thay they live in this poverty. And I think his comment was a really good way of putting it. There's just a glimpse of the thoughts I have here.
So now I must go. Go home to dinner and go off to the village. I cannot believe I've already spent 8 weeks here. The time goes too quickly, that is for sure. So goodbye to my family here, goodbye to Dakar and it's busy roads, goodbye to my friends, goodbye to the ocean, goodbye to dance classes with live music and children lining the windows dancing and singing with us, goodbye to my Wolof class, goodbye to my rooftop terrace, goodbye to the life I have grown so accustomed to over the past 8 weeks.
Ready or not, Mbam, here I come!
Reasons I love Senegal
The following are small elements of daily life that make me happy:
1) boutiques every 50 feet that sell everything you could possibly want or need
2) the call to prayer 5 times a day
3) the Muslim brotherhoods that chant Allah's name for hours on end
4) the men in the park outside Baobab center that sell cafe touba by the cup and make their batiques
5) fresh bread for breakfast and dinner
6) buying the fresh bread and doing it completely in Wolof
7) women roasting and selling peanuts, or slices of watermellon, along the street for 25CFA (5 cents)
8) hole-in-the-wall restaurants that only offer the plat-du-jour and it costs less than 500CFA
9) the tradition of making and drinking attaaya (tea)
10) the sound of the djembe
11) dancing under African skies
12) walking everywhere
13) the close bonds between people and families
14) the goats and sheep tied to every tree
15) the beautiful clothing
16) talking in French and making complete sentences in Wolof
17) to be continued... it is a growing list that will never be complete.
Def naa ko. Je l'ai fait. I did it!
So I always told myself that I would know I really belonged here when I was able to take a car rapide by myself. And I finally did that. I feel like I belong here in Dakar. I have friends, both guys from the neighborhood (des mecs du cartier), and my dance instructor and his friends. Unfortunately, it is extremely difficult to get to know the women here. They don't hang out like the guys do, they also don't have much interest in getting to know tubaab yu jigeen (white girls).
But anyway, here are my tales about the car rapides and Marche HLM.
Last Saturday, I went to the market with Jayna. I bought a couple shirts, an outfit for Korite (end of Ramadan), and a pair of heels. It was excellent trying to bargain in Wolof. They appreciate it when you make the effort. The market was filled with vendors and people. The term that comes to my mind is always, bustling boubous. That's what the market is like. You see women hovering around stands wearing the most incredible clothing and foulards (head scarves). It's a fabulous sight, so many vibrant colors. After the market, Jayna and I got instructions from a guard about how to take the car rapides back to Mermoz, our neighborhood. I was able to navigate the way. It was really satisfying to feel capable like that. We had to take two different cars and we ended up at home. Alhamdulilaay. De plus, it is so cheap to take these forms of public transportation.
On Friday night, after a lovely Thai dinner with the Mac contingency in Dakar, I took a car rapide for 75 CFA, which is all of 15 cents. The funny part though, about the public transportation is that the cars are prone to pull into a gas station and fill up with the engine running while on route, or it will stop at a big intersection for 10 minutes in hopes of getting more passengers. And the apprentis love to pack the cars full. On Friday, I sat in the car, inhaling the blue exhaust fumes of the car in front of us for at least 10 minutes. It was miserable, but it was safer than walking alone. When I hissed (to get the apprenti's attention) and said "Taxawal!" (Stop!) every passenger in the car turned to look at me. They were shocked that I spoke in Wolof. It was funny.
So those are my stories about car rapides.
Come to Joal with me.
This past weekend, I travelled to Joal, a small fishing village along the coast of Senegal. I went with four other people from my program--Lindsay, Sara, Rose, and Matt Petcoff (from Mac). We were escorted by Ibou, a family friend of Lindsay's.
Getting there was quite the experience. We met outside our school and took two cabs to the "garage." The garage, as it turns out, is a huge field filled with hundreds of old station wagons. From the moment we stepped out of the cabs, people flocked to us--drivers offering us a ride to any destination, vendors selling fruit, phone cards, jewelry, crackers, cookies, clothing. As we made our way into the "garage" the vendors followed us, new ones arriving every minute trying to get our business. Fortunately, Lindsay's brother, Alex, and Ibou were there to negotiate for us. They finally found a driver to take us to Joal. It was a "sept-place" car, a station wagon with 7 seats. We got to the car and placed our bags in the small trunk. Then three of us were squished into the back row, three more in the middle row, and finally another passenger travelling to Joal sat in the front seat. We remained in the garage for several more minutes. Looking out: faces surrounded the entire car, vendors reaching in through the windows offering their products. Men and women with large baskets of fruits and cookies balancing on their head. One man leaned in to tell us we owed him a favor. They kept opening the trunk, putting things in and taking things out. It was sheer madness. Finally, we left, not totally confident the car was going to make it all the way to Joal.
Traffic going in and out of Dakar is always terrible. There is only one road that connects the Dakar peninsula to the rest of the country and they are doing construction on it, so you can just imagine what the traffic is like on a Friday afternoon. Fortunately, or unfortunately--however you want to look at it, our driver seemed to be a professional aggressive driver, using the dirt median as a passing lane, and sometimes crossing over into the lanes of oncoming traffic, in order to get around the traffic jam in our lane. Every time I get in a car, I'm never quite sure that I'm going to get out of it alive. Part of the adventure of Senegal, I suppose. Once we were out of Dakar and the first ring of suburbs, traffic cleared up. Night settled quickly. We bought dates and water from vendors along the road for the driver and other passenger to break their fast. We made a pit and prayer stop at a gas station. When we returned to the car, after buying snacks, we found the driver praying next to his car on the silver sun visor for the windshield.
Back on the road again, the three of us in the back seat, nestled in, making ourselves as comfortable as possible in the very small space we had. We cruised down the road to Joal. Out my window were the most incredible stars; out the right window was a terrific lightning storm. It was hard to decide where to look. Often I opted for the stars, occasionally being rendered temporarily blind by the bright flashes of lightning. The sky would flash a purplish-white, the stars disappearing, then quickly returning to their original positions. It was a very happy moment with the wind on my face, the stars and lightning above, the comfort of night, and the music on my iPod. The headlights illuminated the tall grasses lining the road, and beyond that the land was dark. On the return trip on Sunday, I was able to see that the land we drove through was mostly open--the countryside, speckeled with baobab trees, and small farms. Corn plants look the same everywhere in the world, but these are not the huge farms I'm used to in the midwest. Here, the plants do not grow in uniform rows and columns, but rather in a more helter-skelter fashion.
Joal was in a black out when we arrived. Everyone was outside, escaping the heat of their houses. By the light of a flashlight, Ibou led us to the house where we were staying. Lindsay's host family owns a second house in Joal; her aunt lives there to take care of the house. We payed for the food, and she prepared the meals. It was really lovely. Like most Senegalese houses, it had an open courtyard. With the lack of electricity, there was not much to do, so we sat in the small courtyard and gazed at the stars through the rectangular opening in the ceiling. It was perfect. There were more stars than I've ever seen before. Dakar has terrible light pollution and so do most American cities, but here, in the small African fishing village experiencing a blackout, there was nothing blocking the ancient light from shining through. We went up to the rooftop terrace and gazed some more.
Eventually dinner was ready. We ate fried fish and fries by candlelight. (Fried seems to be Senegal's national flavor.) Then Ibou wanted to take us on a tour. It seemed a bit silly, since without electricity you can't see much. He seemed to know everyone he passed and he doesn't even live there. He's from Dakar, but spends the month of August in Joal every year. We went to a hole-in-the-wall bar with room for only one table, and had a beer, again by candlelight. We sat outside where the air was a bit cooler, and chatted with the couple other residents also enjoying a drink. I was proposed to by an older man who supposedly works for the mayor. He was either really drunk, or has a bad slurring speech impediment. The power came back on, and after our beer we continued our tour. But the storm we watched on our way to Joal, arrived in the village. The winds picked up, and for the first time since arriving in Senegal, we all felt cold. We turned back to go home. The yellow glow of the streetlamps illuminated the eerily empty streets ligned with a solid wall of store fronts. Dust and trash rose and swirled in the wind. Fast moving rain drops and dirt stung our eyes. The image of the street in the storm is another that seems permanently imprinted in my mind.
The storm continued for a couple hours. Back at the house, they collected the rain water in buckets to be used to clean the walls and floors later. Nothing is wasted in this society. The power went out again and we enjoyed the sounds of the rain and thunder by candle light.
The next day we got an early start and went to Leopold Senghor's childhood home. It is now a museum. It was good to learn about the country's first president and one of the founders of the Negritude movement. Following the museum, Ibou gave us a tour of the Catholic cemetary in Joal. He unlocked the gate, and inside, in addition to all the graves, were 3 sheep and a donkey. Their owners put them in there to graze on the grasses. This way, too, the grounds are maintained. It's a win-win situation.
Then we walked to Fadiouth or Ile des Coquillages--an island created by seashells from fishers. A native of the island gave us a 3-hour long tour for $2. Highlights of the tour included the big mosque, several churches, and saint's shrines. We concluded at the cemetary, on it's own island. The caskets are buried beneath sea shells and it has a section for Catholics and a section for Muslims. One day I will get around to posting pictures. I think they will be a much better way of describing the sights of this island.
Exhausted we walked back to the house and enjoyed a delicious lunch of chicken and rice. I went to town, as I often do these days when eating meat, and cleaned off the meat of every bone. We then returned to the beach and enjoyed a bottle of wine and the fresh air.
As I've remarked in other posts, I have a different value set here. Well, my values are the same, but I behave differently. (Take for example, the fact that I eat meat.) I was telling my friends that sometimes I litter my coffee cup while I'm in Dakar. (After every dance class, we buy cafe Touba, delicious spiced coffee, to break the fast with our teacher and drummers. They toss their cups to the ground when they're finished, and sometimes I find that to be a very convenient option.) So my friends got upset with me, and lectured me about littering. Which is funny, because I'm normally on their side of the conversation. So to make up for my actions in Dakar, I did a little beach clean-up. It was a futile effort, because there was way too much garbage strewn about, but it felt good to get back in that mode of thinking and acting. The whole way home I continued to pick up litter.
The sun set as we walked home. Huge puddles from the rain storm reflected the palm trees and beautiful pinks and purples of the setting sun.
Once back at the house, we took bucket showers and had dinner--beef and spaghetti. Then we went back to the bar from the night before. We invited our tour guide from the Senghor museum to join us. Many hours later, we returned home and went to bed, exhausted from our long day.
Sunday, we woke up and packed our belongings. After eating 3.5 baguettes amongst the 6 of us and a cup of coffee each, we hit the road. Before leaving town, we made a stop at the fishing port. You could see the fishers in their pirogues (long colorful fishing boats). Inside, men brought in baskets of fish and dumped them onto already-huge piles. It was quite a sight, and a smell.
We finally got back on the road, again crammed into a 7-place station wagon. By daylight, I was able to see what I missed on the way to Joal. There are all types of scenes to be remembered, the helter-skelter corn farms, the baobabs dotting the landscape, two young naked boys playing by the side of the road, colorful building fronts, horse-drawn carts on the same road as us, donkeys, goats, sheep.
I love weekends in Dakar with my family. It's fun to be home to see how the household operates and observe all the preparations for each meal, but it was really nice to be able to travel. It was good to see another part of the country, especially a city that is not Dakar. Joal is an adorable town. I've traveled a few other times here via class field trips. As you drive, you go through the country and occasionally pass through small towns. I was happy to discover what is beyond the walls of the buildings lining the roads.
You wouldn't even recognize me
It's hard to believe that we are already heading into October. Since there has been no change in season, I still feel like it's summer. I do miss the fall foliage of the midwest, but I love being here more. The temperatures are hotter than ever, though my maman promises it starts to cool off in October. I actually think I'm adjusting to the climate. The Senegalese seem to complain about the heat more than me, but I think it's just a way of making conversation with the "tubaab" (whitey). But regardless, the constant layer of sweat perseveres.
It's funny how quickly you can change your ways. The other night, while lying on my rooftop terrace talking with Amelia, I commented on the fact that for dinner we had a big bowl of beef and macaroni, and at one point I was scooping up macaroni with my piece of baguette. Mmmmm, meat and carbs. I eat them like it's my job here. Fiber, I've decided, is for the weak and should be eaten only in moderation. Who needs whole grains, fiber, nutrients, and vitamins anyway. Also, I take a secret pleasure in littering my peanut shells or lollipop sticks on the ground. There is a major lack of public garbage cans. When possible, I save my garbage and throw it away at home, but sometimes, I just do like the Senegalese.
And so you ask, how do I stay in shape here since all I ever eat is meat and carbs? Despite my fear of gaining weight due to excessive amounts of oil used in the cooking, I think I may actually be losing weight here. I walk at least 1h15m every day, sometimes I walk up to 2 hours. I dance for 3 hours a week, and regular household chores, such as doing the laundry and mopping the floor work up a good sweat (as simply being awake does) and gets your heart going. Last night, I spent 2 hours hand washing, rinsing, and hanging my clothes to dry. Cleaning my room entails sweeping with the hand held broom, then bringing a bucket of soapy water and a towel upstairs. I get the towel wet, bend at the waist and use my hands to make semi-circles with the towel on the floor. I fear it looks like an awkward dance to anyone observing through my open windows.
And yes, I am much more domestic here. It is part of being a woman, and sometimes I have a hard time accepting that. I was at a birthday party on Sunday. After the 5 men I was eating with were finished, I asked my male cousin where I should bring the dish. Rather than just offering to bring it in himself, he showed me where the kitchen was so I could take it. Later, when we were back home, he wanted to know who was going to bring him a glass of cold water. The maid and I were the only ones in the room. I kindly and playfully explained to him, that he who wants the cold water should get himself the cold water. Ultimately, I think Kine, our maid, got it for him.
So women work their asses off here, but they are more respected here than they are at home. While talking with my neighbor, he said he would like to come to the states, but he will never move there. He has to stay close to his mother. All men love their mamas here. It's incredible.
I've had many a frustrating conversation here about politics and homosexuality. These are usually the two topics over which I disagree the most with the Senegalese. Many people here think Bush is a great president because he's a strong leader who knows how to make decisions. He is also against gay marriage. At the same time, when Bush came to Senegal, people were not even allowed to be on the street when his plane flew over. The residents of Goree Island were all locked into a basketball court while Bush visited the island. It is so embarrassing to be American at times. So anyway, my neighbor, Jules, was explaining to me why homosexuality is so wrong and dirty. He can't stand the thought of two men being together, but he can understand two women. Women, he explained, are beautiful, soft, pure, smart, caring, kind. (It's nice to be thought of in such high regard.) Men are cowardly and weak. He, in fact, thinks it's amazing, that a woman would choose to be with a man rather than another woman. I thought this insight into their opinion on homosexuality was worth sharing.
People here are wonderful. All bodily functions are normal and a valid topic of converstaion. For example, my brother came home Saturday night and explained to me he had a bad case of the runs. The next morning, Kine also had diarrhea and explained it was because she ate too many hot peppers. There is no shame or taboo for these topics. Underarm and leg hair doesn't bother men in the least bit. And men appreciate women with a fuller, rounder figure. "Jaay funde" (probably spelled incorrectly) is a compliment, meaning you've got a big ass or that you've put on weight.
As for Ramadan, it is well underway and manifesting itself in a very interesting way. The night life in all of Senegal is dull. The clubs just shut down for the entire month. Personally, I fasted for 3 days and decided that was enough. It was nice to be in solidarity with most of the people I see in passing, but waking up at 5 for breakfast and having to explain myself to my Catholic family was getting a little overwhelming. I also realized it's not good for my health, I'm not completely adjusted to this climate, and I have no religious or spiritual obligation to fast. I also just did not feel good after I fasted (no food, no drink) and then danced last Wednesday. But there's still plenty of time left in the month if I decide to give it another go.
So other ways in which I am aware of Ramadan include the scolding I received yesterday for drinking on the street since people are fasting. Or my neighbor explained to me that he doesn't wear his earring for the fasting month. But at the same time young Muslim men still make advances or invite you "to their bed" and don't worry "they'll bring the condom." I"ll tell ya, the novelty of being a white woman gets old pretty quickly. I also think this weekend serves as a funny anecdote about living in this predominantly Muslim country.
Friday, I went to a soccer game between two neighborhood teams. The electricity went out at the stadium, so the game was cut short. We returned to my friend Jayna's house and hung out with her brother and his friends until 4am. I did this again on Saturday night. The only thing I had to drink was Attaye, their delicious tea. Then Sunday, I went to a neighbor's birthday party with my family. The neighbor was Catholic, mind you, and so by 3pm on Sunday, I found myself more than tipsy. Ohhhh, Ramadan. I also had a meal of what I thought was fish and chicken. After the meal, I asked my cousin what type of fish it was and he explained it was all pork meat. I asked why the difference in textures of meat, and found out that all the fish I thought I'd been eating was actually the fat of the pig. Ironic that this was the last meal I had before the beginning of Yom Kippur. On that note, I feel a severe lack of Jewish identity here. I was going to fast, but since I'd been sick the night before from the pork and didn't start the fast properly, I decided it would be in my body's best interest to eat rice and drink water.
And on being Jewish in a Muslim country. I think I wrote this last time, there is nothing to worry about. For many people here, I'm the first Jew they've ever met. The other night Jules, my neighbor, told me that before he met me he'd had a bad concept of Jews and he was ashamed he'd thought that way. But now I have opened his mind. So I guess my journey here is more than just a personal one of growth and development; it is two-fold, if not three- or four-fold. I came to Senegal to learn and make connections with new people different from myself. In the long run, it seems that these connections are invaluable and seem to serve a greater purpose than just the friendships I develop.
And now, for some random thoughts and moments.
I wake up every morning to the sound of our maid using a hand-held broom whisking away the dirt on the sidewalk. A kind of futile effort if you ask me. Now I don't think twice about the goat bleating in my neighbor's yard. I actually find it comforting.
Amelia (one of my best friends from home) is off to her month-long retreat in Joff. It was so fabulous living 5 minutes from her here in Dakar.
Being a white female makes you a hot commodity. Therefore, many men introduce themselves and I have lots of "friends" in the neighborhood. Sometimes it can be frustrating, but it's comforting that while walking down the street, every 100ft, there's another group of guys saying hi. I feel safer that way. Being a white female also means the vendors at the boutiques want to talk to you, especially when you try out your Wolof on them. On average, 3 Senegalese people are helped before the clerk actually gets Jayna and I what we asked for before the other people came up to the stand. But I do love these little boutiques. They are everywhere, and you can get anything you need.
The situation regarding their electricity is worse than ever. On Monday, Mermoz, my district, only had electricity for 4 hours from 1-5pm. Here, if there hasn't been a power outage all morning or afternoon, you know there will be one during the evening or night and you plan your activities accordingly. I, unintentionally, live a very romantic life here, doing everything by candlelight. Candlelit dinners, showers, and homework. If only I had a quill pen and ink well... I do love showering by candlelight, the water illuminated by the golden glow of the candle affixed to the wall.
I sleep on the rooftop terrace a lot. It is so calm and tranquil. This weekend, I'd go to sleep around 4am. I'd lay under the stars and moon and listen to my iPod until I'd drift off to sleep. At 4am, Orion's belt is at approximately 11 o'clock overhead (if using the clock location method).
Last night, there was another power outage and just too hot to sleep inside. At 3am, I woke up to find a huge storm brewing in the distance. It quickly blew overhead and we felt a few drops of rain. The other family members and I gathered our things and went downstairs. Since the rain still hadn't arrived, except for those few drops, I rushed back up to make sure my clothes were all securely fastened to the clothesline. (Without fail, it rains every time I do laundry.) It was an incredible moment in my groggy slumber, feeling a rush of adrenaline, racing against Mother Nature to check all my clothespins. The strong winds blowing, my clothes flapping violently, the bright moon suffocated by thick cloud cover, and the gray light accentuated by momentary flashes of purple lightning. In the distance people were singing and playing the djembes, yes even at 3am. Their energy seemed to build with that of the storm. I could see the lighted city of Dakar and other districts who had electricity, and the winds and cooler temperatures felt so refreshing on my face. It was a magical moment up there on my rooftop.
And I think I'll close with that. More in the near future. Inchallah.
