Beneath a Baobab: Stories from Sénégal

The Bush, the UNDP, and Another Reason I Love Senegal

Hello there.

I can't believe it's already been a month and a half since I last posted. Excuse me. Please. Life here seems to take you under its wing and fly away.

My academic program came to a close at the end of April. I celebrated by spending 5 days back in the village before coming back to Dakar to begin my internship with the UNDP.

It was excellent to be back in the bush. There is something about the life there that grabs me. Life is simple. Life is tranquil. You have time for your friends and family. The community is strong. Going back there is a bit like the "Cheers" theme song: "Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name. And they're always glad you came." It was good to reconnect with my family and friends. I planned my visit to coincide with their annual cultural festival. So mornings were spent lounging around the housing compound, and evenings and nights were spent watching traditional wrestling matches.

Men beat the drums, spectators danced, wrestlers performed their ritual gri-gris (routines, potions, and practices prescribed by their Marabout, spiritual guide, to ensure their success in the match) along the perimeter, and men wrestled in the center of the ring.

Everyone wore their finest boubous. It is not uncommon for a woman to save all year to have a new, elaborate, colorful, beautiful outfit for each of the four days of celebration. I wore two of my own traditional outfits and they were quite the hit. Though they didn't even compare to the elaborate clothing of the villagers. The music was contagious. You couldn't help but bounce your body and clap your hands to the intense beat of the drums. One man in his 70s danced for 30 minutes before the wrestling began. Women would rush up and give him money. The entire event was very animated. Dafa xumb, we would say in Wolof.

Generally, we would arrive at 4 or 5pm to get good seats. The wrestling would begin around 7pm and last until 10 or 11. On the last night, the final match ended at midnight. Then we would all return home, eat dinner, and get ready for the night time activity. Friday night they had a traditional Serere music troupe (guitar, drums, and singers) plus professional dancers. Saturday night was a dance. Needless to say, I didn't come back to Dakar as well rested as I usually do after time in the bush.

Since returning to Dakar, I've begun my internship with the United Nations Development Program -- Global Environment Facility at their Regional Coordinating Unit office located in Dakar. This is easily summed up by saying I work at the UNDP-GEF-RCU Dakar. Welcome, Hannah, to the world of acronyms and beaurocracy. It's fabulous being in this building every day. There is just this energy of good work and I'm excited about the connections I'm making. I am here to help the Climate Change Technical Advisor for West and Central Africa (who's actually located in Paris-- e-mail, teleconfrencing and Skype it is for communication) learn how the UNDP can enter the voluntary carbon market. I've learned about a couple very cool projects that we may be able to pilot in Mbam, the village in which I lived. It will be incredible if this actually works. I will have a personal connection to the project beneficiaries. More on this later as the project develops.

In the meantime, one by one, my American friends are slowly leaving Dakar. Two weeks ago my friends who did the academic year program with me returned home. Now, my roommate and our mutual friend leave on Wednesday, and I'll be the only one left. It's crazy to have been here when they arrived and now watch them go. And I'm still here. This is part of the real test I think, living in Senegal without my immediate American support group. We'll see. I know this last month is going to fly by. And that makes me sad.

Life is good here. My understanding of the culture is growing ever deeper and I'm indentifying places in which I will always clash with the Senegalese. For example, an attempt to make casual conversation with someone via simple questions (like, what did you do last night?) is viewed as nosey. For any of you that know me, this is a big problem for me. All I ever do is ask people questions. It's how I learn and interact with people.

My integration in my family seems to be complete. I find I am often fighting with my older brothers, arguing and getting completely frustrated with them. Sound familiar to any of you with older siblings? Not to mention the teasing I endure on a daily basis (vegetarians, Jews, and women that don't cook don't really exist here).

Well I need to get back to work. My lunch break ended 10 minutes ago. But lunch is a perfect example of why I love Senegal. I left my office and walked around the corner to eat lunch in a corrugate metal stand with one table around which all the customers sit. I greeted the owner, Bassirou, who also knows my name. He prepared my usual $1 sandwhich on a 1/3 of a baguette, with meat, onion sauce, fries, a hard-boiled egg, and mayo, no mustard or hot pepper. I shot the bull with the other customers eating there, most of whom I've talked with on other lunch occasions.

On my way out, a woman in the stand next door encouraged me to come buy vegetables. I told her I wasn't cooking today, and responded to her question that, 'No I don't have a husband. I'm a student here.' She offered to find me a husband and pointed to the man standing next to her. I laughed and continued down the road. I walked a block and a half to a stand in a neighborhood. He sells cafe touba (a delicious spiced coffee). However he was eating lunch at the boutique across the road. They all called me over and insisted that I eat with them. There was no saying no. So they offered me a little bench and a spoon, and I sat around the big bowl and ate some ceeb-u-jenn, their national dish of fish and oily rice. They were not happy when I said I was full, but finally I convinced them. They told me to sit and wait across the street and they would come sell me coffee when they were done eating. This was not a problem at all, but one of their friends prepared my coffee so I didn't have to wait. I paid my 20cents and off I went. I returned to the office, chatted briefly with the guards about the heat and cafe touba and returned to my personal office with a door, big window and air conditioning on the fifth floor of this building.

And that is my regular lunch routine. This doesn't happen at home, I don't think. A hearty cheap lunch around one communal table. Or people who are offended when you don't come and partake in their meal that they eat on the street.

Back to work I go. Take care!!

posted by Hannah Gelder @ 2:21 PM