Yeah, so maybe I haven't kept up on my blag. At all. Well... meh. I've been busy. Doing stuff. Anyway, here's a list of things of interest, sortof. I'm not sure what it's a list of, to be honest.
1. I didn't notice it until Poppy asked about it, but the sunsets here are really short. In the North we have long, red sunsets and long twilights as the sky slowly turns purple, then blue-black. Here, though, close to the equator, it's as though the sky just switches off. There is some dusk, yes, but I'm not sure how much of that is just because of the light from the city. It's still quite beautiful, nevertheless. Walking home just after sunset is the best time to hear the music of the city. A part of that is literal music, from the minaret of the mosque that I pass; The street always seems more busy then, with motos and taxis taking people home after work, and shouting children playing on the sidewalk. Indifferent to the noise, bats swoop around in circles, hunting insects.
Sunrise is even more beautiful, at least it was the few times that I was up to see it. The moon is somehow brighter against the dimly lit sky, and the air is full of the sounds of birds, and little else. Hardly anyone is out at that time, except the occasional taxi, of course. Hawks glide lazily around, hunting. If you are lucky, you can buy bread directly from the man who brings it to the corner boutiques, still slightly warm. It almost makes up for the lack of sleep;
2. The power goes out about once a week here. They've more frequent as it has gotten hotter and more people keep their fans running. Apparently at the height of summer there are daily power outages; Up to now they have mostly lasted about an hour, and mostly happen just after sunset, when everyone turns on their lights. Everyone is so used to them that it's not much of a big deal unless you're trying to use a computer. Many of the problems with the computers at Baobab come from the power surges. Last week the power went out for about three hours in the middle of the afternoon, so no one got much work done; There is a power generator at Baobab, but for some reason it wasn't working. Many boutiques have small generators that sit outside the front door. Even if you're not using electricity yourself, it's easy to know when the power is out by the sound of the generators.
3. Given:
d = the average number of times per week that I left my room during the evening last semester in Portland,
t = how little time there is before I have to be home,
c = how little phone credit I have,
P = how lost I am,
L = how long I have already walked,
and the constant T = Taranga (hospitality),
find D = my recklessness on a Thursday night in Dakar, using the following equation.
D = d[(P + L)/(t + c)] + T
4. I'm probably the worst person to be staying longest in Dakar. Kelly left on Wednesday night, Jess H and Alexis left on Saturday, Jess L and Sean left on Sunday (though they only went on a week long trip and will be back), Katie and Katherine are leaving tonight, Leia and Rebeka are leaving on Thursday, and I'm leaving... Saturday. Bleh. As I said, I'm probably the worst person in this group to leave last, because I am really ready to leave. I am really, really glad that I came, for many reasons, but I'm not in love with Senegal like many of the others. I don't really like the food, I don't like the conformity (everyone likes the same music), and I really don't like the men here. I'm also tired of the way that Gnagna seems to have unrealistic expectations for me, then treats me like an idiot child when I fail to meet them. I also just act more stupid in front of her. To b e fair, I could just be being paranoid, but it sortof comes to the same thing.
In fact, one of the reasons that I'm so glad that I came here is the way that it has helped me realize how much I like my own culture. As a communal society, conformity is encouraged here. In contrast, everyone is expected to have their own style, their own tastes, their own hobbies. Granted, there is a certain amount of conformity within social circles, but at least there are many different social circles to choose from. I have also learned a greater appreciation for the English language. We have so many different ways of saying the same thing, with so many different nuances. In French there don't seem to be enough synonyms to ever need a thesaurus. And don't get me started on Wolof. True, it is much simpler than any other language I've encountered, possibly including made up ones like Elvish, but that has its downsides. For instance, I was incredibly depressed to learn that there are names for only four different colors in Wolof.
And oh God, do I miss cheese. And vegetables that aren't overcooked. And noodles that aren't overcooked.
5. There are also many things that I know I will miss: First, being a part of this group of L&C students. I'll also miss being able to go up to any number of tables (there are four within a minute of ACI) to buy cheap, fresh fruit. I will miss buying bags of semi-frozen bouillessap, juice made out of a mixture of baobab fruit (bouille) and hibiscus flowers (bissap). I will miss beignes, deep fried sweet or savory balls of dough made by women on the street. I will miss being outraged when a taxi driver asks 3000F (around $6) to go downtown. I will miss the triumph of successfully bargaining the price down. I will miss the piebald crow with their white tuxedo waistcoats and the brightly colored weaverbirds straight out of a picture book that I had when I was little. I will miss the yagen yaays, the white minibuses that go everywhere, if you can understand the apprenti who always hangs off the back ladder, shouting the destination with an accent thick enough to use as beigne batter. I will miss the teenage boys who set up their platters on spindly metal frames and sell pieces of juicy fresh coconut for 25F a shard. I will really miss yogoglace, frozen yogurt sold in plastic bags. OK, so most of the things that I will miss are types of food, just not the food that they serve at meals.
Sorry, that was really short, too. Maybe I'll write more on Friday when I'll be the only one left. Or not. Maybe I'll just upload pictures and watch "The Time of the Angels" again. Inshallah.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Monday, March 15, 2010
"So Much Things In My Head"
Typically, the only day off we have is when someone has died. The other class's Wolof professor died unexpectedly this weekend, so all classes are canceled today to allow people to go to the funeral. I'm not going, because I barely knew him, but all of his students are going. I could have gone for purely intellectual reasons, that is, to see a Senegalese funeral, but that seemed rather callous.
This weekend was our last group trip, to St. Louis. Next weekend are our individual/pair trips. We are all going to different villages to do "research," whatever that means. Leia and I are planning to go back to the village where we went weekend before last so we can learn how they do pottery. I was one of the few people who was allowed to do most of the hand building myself when we were paired off with local women to make bowls. I've done lots of hand building before, but I'm not stunningly good at it, and I was amazed by the celerity with which they added each snake of clay. I was reminded of watching Lola knit. My Wolof is still barely rudimentary, so it should be... interesting to stay in a village where most people don't speak French. Of course, in other villages where people stay they don't even speak Wolof at all.
I'm still frequently astonished by how aggressive men are here in their pursuit of women. There is no really socially acceptable reason for men and women to hang out together, and women are supposed to act proud and aloof towards, well, everyone, so men have to be persistent. Knowing that, it's understandable if slightly alarming that random men frequently come up to me, insisting that they escort me home and that they want to get to know me. Still, it's quite amusing to observe how quickly men leave when I claim to be married. One of the more ridiculous overtures came from a man sitting on the ground in a squalid market that we stopped at in St. Louis on the way to Mboumba, who looked up from the cloud of flies swarming around his wares and said to the group at large, "je veux marriage toi" ("I want marriage you").
An even more ridiculous incident took place when we were in the Sine Delta region. After a mediocre performance of drumming, dancing, fire dancing, etc, the men descended on us like locusts to grain. I can't even describe the dept of ridiculousness that ensued. The least ridiculous incident of the evening was when a man tried to get me to talk to him in private, mentioning that he had fallen in love with me during the performance. I managed to shake him off, and as I started walking away he immediately used the exact same lines on Alexis, who had been standing feet away from us during the exchange, and started using the exact same lines.
To our horror, the same men showed up the next evening, when we weren't even on the same island. I'm still not sure how they found out where we were going. Thankfully we had a gate to close against their intrusion at that hotel.
And it was an actual hotel. There was a swimming pool, and we got to take hot showers for the first time since we arrived in Senegal. That was slightly disturbing, actually, because of how unnatural it felt to bathe in hot water. I still wince before stepping under my cold shower, but it felt strange to use hot water, though enjoyable. My bed didn't have a mosquito net set up for it. I wasn't bothered by this at first, but then almost as soon as we went to bed I started hearing mosquitoes buzzing around. I dug mine out of my own net from my bag, and and Katherine and I hung it up in a ridiculous arrangement that involved the back of a chair, the cables of my iPod and camera chargers, Katherine's hat, and a number of hangers. Thankfully we only partially woke Katie up by giggling and congratulating each others' genius. I took pictures of it, which I'll post eventually.
Yesterday when we were in the usual Sunday evening traffic jam on the Rufisque-Dakar freeway (there's only one road in and out of Dakar) we waved at another Toubab who was in a taxi next to us. When we stopped, she randomly handed a CD to JessL through the open window, to general applause and laughter. I took the title of this post from one of the tracks of the CD. Ah, Franglish.
I posted my Mboumba pictures on Facebook this time instead of Picasa. If you want to see them and don't have Facebook email me, and I'll set the album to give you permission to see it without fb.
This weekend was our last group trip, to St. Louis. Next weekend are our individual/pair trips. We are all going to different villages to do "research," whatever that means. Leia and I are planning to go back to the village where we went weekend before last so we can learn how they do pottery. I was one of the few people who was allowed to do most of the hand building myself when we were paired off with local women to make bowls. I've done lots of hand building before, but I'm not stunningly good at it, and I was amazed by the celerity with which they added each snake of clay. I was reminded of watching Lola knit. My Wolof is still barely rudimentary, so it should be... interesting to stay in a village where most people don't speak French. Of course, in other villages where people stay they don't even speak Wolof at all.
I'm still frequently astonished by how aggressive men are here in their pursuit of women. There is no really socially acceptable reason for men and women to hang out together, and women are supposed to act proud and aloof towards, well, everyone, so men have to be persistent. Knowing that, it's understandable if slightly alarming that random men frequently come up to me, insisting that they escort me home and that they want to get to know me. Still, it's quite amusing to observe how quickly men leave when I claim to be married. One of the more ridiculous overtures came from a man sitting on the ground in a squalid market that we stopped at in St. Louis on the way to Mboumba, who looked up from the cloud of flies swarming around his wares and said to the group at large, "je veux marriage toi" ("I want marriage you").
An even more ridiculous incident took place when we were in the Sine Delta region. After a mediocre performance of drumming, dancing, fire dancing, etc, the men descended on us like locusts to grain. I can't even describe the dept of ridiculousness that ensued. The least ridiculous incident of the evening was when a man tried to get me to talk to him in private, mentioning that he had fallen in love with me during the performance. I managed to shake him off, and as I started walking away he immediately used the exact same lines on Alexis, who had been standing feet away from us during the exchange, and started using the exact same lines.
To our horror, the same men showed up the next evening, when we weren't even on the same island. I'm still not sure how they found out where we were going. Thankfully we had a gate to close against their intrusion at that hotel.
And it was an actual hotel. There was a swimming pool, and we got to take hot showers for the first time since we arrived in Senegal. That was slightly disturbing, actually, because of how unnatural it felt to bathe in hot water. I still wince before stepping under my cold shower, but it felt strange to use hot water, though enjoyable. My bed didn't have a mosquito net set up for it. I wasn't bothered by this at first, but then almost as soon as we went to bed I started hearing mosquitoes buzzing around. I dug mine out of my own net from my bag, and and Katherine and I hung it up in a ridiculous arrangement that involved the back of a chair, the cables of my iPod and camera chargers, Katherine's hat, and a number of hangers. Thankfully we only partially woke Katie up by giggling and congratulating each others' genius. I took pictures of it, which I'll post eventually.
Yesterday when we were in the usual Sunday evening traffic jam on the Rufisque-Dakar freeway (there's only one road in and out of Dakar) we waved at another Toubab who was in a taxi next to us. When we stopped, she randomly handed a CD to JessL through the open window, to general applause and laughter. I took the title of this post from one of the tracks of the CD. Ah, Franglish.
I posted my Mboumba pictures on Facebook this time instead of Picasa. If you want to see them and don't have Facebook email me, and I'll set the album to give you permission to see it without fb.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Happy Gamou!*
*Gamou is the name for the celebration of Mohamed's birthday, which is today.
First of all, I'm sorry that it's been so long since my last post. I'm getting bad at such things, mainly because I can't believe that we've already been here for five weeks. It's a little shocking.
For this post I again bring you a collection of odds and ends.
Language
The greetings in Wolof are kindof fun in translation.
- I pray for peace on your behalf.
- Peace for you, too.
- Are you here?
- I am here still.
- Are your house people (family) there?
- They are there.
- Thank you, God.
- Thank you, God.
We spent last weekend in a village in Futa, the region to the north east where they speak Puular. We had a crash course on Puular the Monday before, but I learned almost nothing. Not only was there a completely new set of weird words, there are consonants in Puular that are just about impossible for us to pronounce properly. It was really weird to come back to Dakar and actually be relieved to hear Wolof again. At least in Wolof I can do the basic greetings and say "Julia laa tudd."
Arthropods
There are a number of interesting arthropods here. For instance, there are at least three different kinds of ants. There are the normal-sized ones, but there are also the ones that are so tiny they are almost invisible, and this evening I just saw one that was about half an inch long. That was slightly disturbing to see crawling across the keyboard.
A couple weekends ago when we were in Toubab Dialao we saw a big, flat, six-legged, speckled sand-colored thing that I think might have been that relative of a scorpion that was in the picture book of dangerous creatures that we had when we were little. Whatever it was, it ran away and hid in a corner. We gave it a wide birth, but it didn't attack anyone. While we were there we also saw a praying mantis, which was cool because I don't think I'd seen one before, at least not in the wild.
I haven't noticed many spiders, though that could be simply because they're unremarkable to me. The exception is the one that I mentioned in a previous entry, the jumping spider. It was pretty cool, particularly since I know that it would have no reason at all to jump on me, except by accident. Kelly and Katie also found a spider on a web on the inside of one of their jambes (sp? it's a type of drum). Maybe it liked vibrations from the drumming.
Last weekend in Mboumba while we were waiting around for stuff to happen (that was a joke. We spent at least 75% of our waking hours waiting for something to happen) at one point, we were all sitting around singing pop songs (or mostly listening in my case. I don't know many pop songs) when Kelly exclaimed that she had seen a scorpion. None of us thought much of it, until someone explained to Gabi (our music... sometimes he teaches us) that a small scorpion had crawled under the mat he was sitting on. To everyone's surprise he jumped up and ripped aside the mat, and nearly shouted that it was not a small scorpion. He shouted to a nearby kid to get a shoe, and smashed the scorpion repeatedly with the flip-flop. It was about two inches long. I don't know enough about scorpions to know if he was over-reacting or not. Given everyone else's reaction, I suppose not. They would know more about how poisonous the local scorpions are than we do.
Names
We have all been given Senegalese names. Mine is Huja, or something like that. Whenever I say it people correct my pronunciation, so I'm not sure about that spelling. I have also decided to create an alternate identity to give to random people on the street if they ask me. If anyone asks, my name is Josephine Grant, and I have a fiancée/husband named James McCrimmon (If you get this reference, laugh hysterically, so that people stare at you as though you are insane. If no one else is around, go somewhere where there are people. If you don't get the reference, be one of the people that stares at me as though I am insane).
First of all, I'm sorry that it's been so long since my last post. I'm getting bad at such things, mainly because I can't believe that we've already been here for five weeks. It's a little shocking.
For this post I again bring you a collection of odds and ends.
Language
The greetings in Wolof are kindof fun in translation.
- I pray for peace on your behalf.
- Peace for you, too.
- Are you here?
- I am here still.
- Are your house people (family) there?
- They are there.
- Thank you, God.
- Thank you, God.
We spent last weekend in a village in Futa, the region to the north east where they speak Puular. We had a crash course on Puular the Monday before, but I learned almost nothing. Not only was there a completely new set of weird words, there are consonants in Puular that are just about impossible for us to pronounce properly. It was really weird to come back to Dakar and actually be relieved to hear Wolof again. At least in Wolof I can do the basic greetings and say "Julia laa tudd."
Arthropods
There are a number of interesting arthropods here. For instance, there are at least three different kinds of ants. There are the normal-sized ones, but there are also the ones that are so tiny they are almost invisible, and this evening I just saw one that was about half an inch long. That was slightly disturbing to see crawling across the keyboard.
A couple weekends ago when we were in Toubab Dialao we saw a big, flat, six-legged, speckled sand-colored thing that I think might have been that relative of a scorpion that was in the picture book of dangerous creatures that we had when we were little. Whatever it was, it ran away and hid in a corner. We gave it a wide birth, but it didn't attack anyone. While we were there we also saw a praying mantis, which was cool because I don't think I'd seen one before, at least not in the wild.
I haven't noticed many spiders, though that could be simply because they're unremarkable to me. The exception is the one that I mentioned in a previous entry, the jumping spider. It was pretty cool, particularly since I know that it would have no reason at all to jump on me, except by accident. Kelly and Katie also found a spider on a web on the inside of one of their jambes (sp? it's a type of drum). Maybe it liked vibrations from the drumming.
Last weekend in Mboumba while we were waiting around for stuff to happen (that was a joke. We spent at least 75% of our waking hours waiting for something to happen) at one point, we were all sitting around singing pop songs (or mostly listening in my case. I don't know many pop songs) when Kelly exclaimed that she had seen a scorpion. None of us thought much of it, until someone explained to Gabi (our music... sometimes he teaches us) that a small scorpion had crawled under the mat he was sitting on. To everyone's surprise he jumped up and ripped aside the mat, and nearly shouted that it was not a small scorpion. He shouted to a nearby kid to get a shoe, and smashed the scorpion repeatedly with the flip-flop. It was about two inches long. I don't know enough about scorpions to know if he was over-reacting or not. Given everyone else's reaction, I suppose not. They would know more about how poisonous the local scorpions are than we do.
Names
We have all been given Senegalese names. Mine is Huja, or something like that. Whenever I say it people correct my pronunciation, so I'm not sure about that spelling. I have also decided to create an alternate identity to give to random people on the street if they ask me. If anyone asks, my name is Josephine Grant, and I have a fiancée/husband named James McCrimmon (If you get this reference, laugh hysterically, so that people stare at you as though you are insane. If no one else is around, go somewhere where there are people. If you don't get the reference, be one of the people that stares at me as though I am insane).
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Making Up Titles is Hard
I'm sorry it has taken me so long to get around to writing this. The time continues to slip by in odd bursts. Ak! Is that what time it is?
Things I Have Learned About My Housemates
Sanda and Siham are sisters. Sanda's thesis is on meningitis; Siham's is on tuberculosis. Their grandmother is from one of the Berber tribes in the south of Morocco and does not speak any French. Sanda can understand when she speaks, but she does't speak it very well herself. Their first language was French, though today they speak better Arabic and it is the language that they speak at home. School in Morocco is taught in French and Arabic. The dialect that they speak in Morocco is different from the "Classic Arabic" that they learn to write in. In high school they also learn English, but it seems more useful for reading than for speaking. They learn British English spelling and idioms.
When Sanda cuts open her section of baguette at breakfast she pulls out the center and only eats the crust, because she doesn't like the insides.
Siham is much more loose about her attire than Sanda. Sanda always adheres to the rule of being covered everywhere except for her face and below her ankles and wrists, though at home she usually just covers her hair rather than her whole head and neck. Siham never covers her hair, and often wears sleeves only long enough to cover her shoulders. She also wears makeup. I asked her about her lack of headscarf and she said that it was just a personal choice for her, and that maybe someday she will start wearing one.
Gnagna has some kind of stomach complaint that prevents her from eating raw vegetables and from eating very much food in general. She also has to take some kind of medication, and it is somehow related to the fact that she always goes to bed before 10:30, which is extremely early for here.Khady eats like a bird. She often only pretends to eat, and pushes food onto my section of plate. Last night Gnagna wouldn't let her leave until she ate the food that Gnagna had sectioned off for her.
Gnagna's son, whose name I have yet to remember, is self-employed. He does stuff with computers, though precisely what I'm unsure. He helped Sanda procure a computer, but that may be only part of what he does. Whatever his job is, it keeps him out most of the day and late at night, often after the house has closed down.
Shops
There are several degrees of shops in the streets. There are the people whom I have mentioned before, who walk around selling stuff from their hands or baskets. The most common are the ones who sell Orange credit, the biggest phone carrier here (the one that I have). They carry see-through plastic sheaths that hold the phone cards and wave them at passers-by, or run up to cars or buses when they stop. Every other time that a bus stops women run up to the windows offering bananas, bags of peanuts, or packages of cookies for sale. At beaches women offer necklaces for sale, carried in baskets on their heads. Men sell silver wrapped in clothes that they spread out on the sand by way of display cases. Other men walk around town in populated areas selling sunglasses in elaborately arranged bouquets that completely hide the hands holding them. Other men push around small carts selling nescafé or chilled drinks from coolers.
Other people sit on crumbling sidewalks with rows of shoes for sale next to them. One man always has an assortment of mousetraps and rat poison. Men with larger "shops" sell their wares from large trunks with the lids propped open, brimming with electronics like phone chargers or batteries.
Women sit with small gas stoves making balls of dough and deep-frying them into beignets. Several people in the group are now addicted to them. They are basically bits of doughnut. Other women sell peanuts, either roasted plane or with a crunchy sugar coating. Several people are addicted to those as well.
Vegetable sellers,who are usually women, arrange their wares on wooden tables, open to the sunlight. Fruit sellers--who are mostly men--generally have larger outfits, with awnings to protect the fruit from direct sunlight. Most sellers have bananas (big and small have different prices), oranges (navel and mandarin) and apples (usually two or three varieties). Larger ones have pineapples, melons, and guavas.
Every "block" or so there is a small magasin. These are usually painted blue and have the word Tigo painted on the side in white. Tigo is the name of Orange's rival. The little shops are variety stores, and you can buy all sorts of things from them. The often have refrigerators holding drinks, and sometimes have fruit stalls or peanut sellers attached to them.
Only slightly less common are the shops in converted garages. These are mostly general goods stores, or "hardware" stores like the one across the street from ACI. The shop that I go to most is a general goods store in a garage. The have a counter at the front of the shop, and everything except the refrigerator is behind it. It is assumed that if you are at the shop you know what you are looking for, and chances are they have it. The walls are packed, floor to ceiling, with shelves overflowing with stacks of anything from bottled water to bars of laundry soap to cookies to bouillon to wash buckets, and any number of mysterious packages and cans.
People don't wait in line; you just step up around anyone else who is there, make your order, and give the shopkeep your money. There is always at least one or two young men attending the store. Often there are several, sitting behind the counter and watching soccer on TV.
Other similar shops you can actually walk into. They still usually have a large section of their stock behind the counter (ooh, I just saw a jumping spider on the table! Anyway...) The bigger shops have much the same selection as any other, just with more variety and volume.
Then of course there are the supermarkets, like Casino or MyShop. It was pointed out to me that I forgot to explain that the Casino is a supermarket, not an actual casino. The closest Casino isn't huge, but it's big compared to the home-run magasins. MyShops are like 7-11s, attached to a gas station and with comparable things for sale.
Things I Have Learned About My Housemates
Sanda and Siham are sisters. Sanda's thesis is on meningitis; Siham's is on tuberculosis. Their grandmother is from one of the Berber tribes in the south of Morocco and does not speak any French. Sanda can understand when she speaks, but she does't speak it very well herself. Their first language was French, though today they speak better Arabic and it is the language that they speak at home. School in Morocco is taught in French and Arabic. The dialect that they speak in Morocco is different from the "Classic Arabic" that they learn to write in. In high school they also learn English, but it seems more useful for reading than for speaking. They learn British English spelling and idioms.
When Sanda cuts open her section of baguette at breakfast she pulls out the center and only eats the crust, because she doesn't like the insides.
Siham is much more loose about her attire than Sanda. Sanda always adheres to the rule of being covered everywhere except for her face and below her ankles and wrists, though at home she usually just covers her hair rather than her whole head and neck. Siham never covers her hair, and often wears sleeves only long enough to cover her shoulders. She also wears makeup. I asked her about her lack of headscarf and she said that it was just a personal choice for her, and that maybe someday she will start wearing one.
Gnagna has some kind of stomach complaint that prevents her from eating raw vegetables and from eating very much food in general. She also has to take some kind of medication, and it is somehow related to the fact that she always goes to bed before 10:30, which is extremely early for here.Khady eats like a bird. She often only pretends to eat, and pushes food onto my section of plate. Last night Gnagna wouldn't let her leave until she ate the food that Gnagna had sectioned off for her.
Gnagna's son, whose name I have yet to remember, is self-employed. He does stuff with computers, though precisely what I'm unsure. He helped Sanda procure a computer, but that may be only part of what he does. Whatever his job is, it keeps him out most of the day and late at night, often after the house has closed down.
Shops
There are several degrees of shops in the streets. There are the people whom I have mentioned before, who walk around selling stuff from their hands or baskets. The most common are the ones who sell Orange credit, the biggest phone carrier here (the one that I have). They carry see-through plastic sheaths that hold the phone cards and wave them at passers-by, or run up to cars or buses when they stop. Every other time that a bus stops women run up to the windows offering bananas, bags of peanuts, or packages of cookies for sale. At beaches women offer necklaces for sale, carried in baskets on their heads. Men sell silver wrapped in clothes that they spread out on the sand by way of display cases. Other men walk around town in populated areas selling sunglasses in elaborately arranged bouquets that completely hide the hands holding them. Other men push around small carts selling nescafé or chilled drinks from coolers.
Other people sit on crumbling sidewalks with rows of shoes for sale next to them. One man always has an assortment of mousetraps and rat poison. Men with larger "shops" sell their wares from large trunks with the lids propped open, brimming with electronics like phone chargers or batteries.
Women sit with small gas stoves making balls of dough and deep-frying them into beignets. Several people in the group are now addicted to them. They are basically bits of doughnut. Other women sell peanuts, either roasted plane or with a crunchy sugar coating. Several people are addicted to those as well.
Vegetable sellers,who are usually women, arrange their wares on wooden tables, open to the sunlight. Fruit sellers--who are mostly men--generally have larger outfits, with awnings to protect the fruit from direct sunlight. Most sellers have bananas (big and small have different prices), oranges (navel and mandarin) and apples (usually two or three varieties). Larger ones have pineapples, melons, and guavas.
Every "block" or so there is a small magasin. These are usually painted blue and have the word Tigo painted on the side in white. Tigo is the name of Orange's rival. The little shops are variety stores, and you can buy all sorts of things from them. The often have refrigerators holding drinks, and sometimes have fruit stalls or peanut sellers attached to them.
Only slightly less common are the shops in converted garages. These are mostly general goods stores, or "hardware" stores like the one across the street from ACI. The shop that I go to most is a general goods store in a garage. The have a counter at the front of the shop, and everything except the refrigerator is behind it. It is assumed that if you are at the shop you know what you are looking for, and chances are they have it. The walls are packed, floor to ceiling, with shelves overflowing with stacks of anything from bottled water to bars of laundry soap to cookies to bouillon to wash buckets, and any number of mysterious packages and cans.
People don't wait in line; you just step up around anyone else who is there, make your order, and give the shopkeep your money. There is always at least one or two young men attending the store. Often there are several, sitting behind the counter and watching soccer on TV.
Other similar shops you can actually walk into. They still usually have a large section of their stock behind the counter (ooh, I just saw a jumping spider on the table! Anyway...) The bigger shops have much the same selection as any other, just with more variety and volume.
Then of course there are the supermarkets, like Casino or MyShop. It was pointed out to me that I forgot to explain that the Casino is a supermarket, not an actual casino. The closest Casino isn't huge, but it's big compared to the home-run magasins. MyShops are like 7-11s, attached to a gas station and with comparable things for sale.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
A Rubis in the Smog
There are a lot of animals around here. Most of them are goats or sheep, which are sometimes hard to tell apart because the sheep are always shorn. There is a sheep tethered to a tree by my house, whom I hear bleat at odd hours, including late at night. Often when I am walking down the street I hear sheep or goats behind the outer walls of people's houses.
There are also a large number of chickens. As I am writing this I just heard a rooster crow. There are signs in various neighborhoods advertising "vente de poulet," or chicken meat for sale, and I pass a stall on the way to ACI where a man chops up chicken meat. The other day I saw a smart kitty waiting for scraps during a sale. I also pass another similar stall where a man chops up what looks like mutton. I often see him sawing through bones with a hacksaw. One also occasionally sees ducks, like the ones that I saw on our first full day here that were being carried by the bases of their wings by a man who walked down the street.
I have also seen one or two men on the street carrying small cages made of wood and wire full of sparrows and other small birds for sale. They generally do not seem at all pleased by their arrangement. There are a variety of little birds. This morning as we were eating breakfast I saw a sparrow looking at his reflection in the window. Thankfully he didn't try to attack it. The other day I saw what I think was a female goldfinch, although it could have been any kind of mostly yellow bird. There are also the tiny red breasted birds, and I once saw a teeny tiny bird with a hooked beak that looked like it fulfilled a similar niche to a hummingbird. There was a large number of pigeons or doves on Ile de Gorée, which I occasionally see here. They sound very similar to mourning (or is it morning?) doves.
I think my favorite wild birds are the hawks and crows. The hawks on Ile de Gorée flew low over the water and occasionally swooped down to get a fish. Their voice was an odd combination of a red tailed hawk and a gull. On the ferry I also saw a number of what looked like turns flying around in the harbor. The crows here are about the same size as ours, but they look like they are wearing white bibs, complete with the tie around their neck. The other day I saw a pigeon chasing one across the road. I notice more birds all the time. I need a bird book.
I have mentioned the horses before. They are all fairly small, particularly compared to the horses that one usually sees being used to pull carts. They are also usually skinny enough to see their ribs. I wonder what they eat? There might be enough dry grass around for the sheep and goats to scrounge on, but it doesn't seem like that would be enough for the horses, skinny or otherwise.
Then, of course, there are the dogs and cats. I have yet to see an individual of either species that is fat. Most range from lean to downright skinny, and are wary of humans. The dogs and cats on Ile de Gorée were unusually healthy looking, with reason. The island might be renamed "Toubab Central" for the number of tourists that were there. In fact, most of the people that we saw on the island were either tourists or were there to sell to tourists. The vendeurs there were particularly aggressive on the top of the hill, where they descended on us like vulchers. They somehow got Alexis to not only buy stuff, but to give them some of her earrings.
The reason why the animals were so healthy became clear when we were at lunch. Shortly after our food arrived a small brown and gray tabby walked under the table. For the rest of the meal he sat at Jessl's feet while she fed him about half of her fish, and part of mine. She named him Sebastian and fed him bits of skin and eyeballs that she didn't want to eat herself. I am sure that there are regular territorial disputes between cats for the right to sit under those tables.
When the part of the group that I was with and I were near the top of the hill talking to one of many artists who sold paintings to tourists, a dog wandered up to us. He was quite handsome, with blond fur and gorgeous almond-shaped amber eyes. He seemed quite appreciative of being pet, too. When he wandered away from us I saw evidence of why most dogs shy from humans: two boys threw small rocks at him when he tried to jump on them in greeting.
On the beach I was looking for bits of smoothed glass in the sand when another boy-dog came up to me. He looked a little less healthy than the dog on the top of the hill, but he was still quite friendly. He was the same blond color as his co-habitent, and was very good at leaning. He followed me back to the rest of the LC people who were hanging out on the beach, and Kelly joined me in enthusiastically petting him. She named him Bruce. Katherine doesn't like dogs and so didn't know what to do when he said hello to her, walking on top of her legs and sticking his nose in her face. Kelly and I had to explain that dog manners aren't the same as human ones, and they aren't offended if you shove them aside. Katie was also rather startled to wake up from her nap to find a dog standing next to her. When the group got too big as other LC people joined us on the beach he ran off. I was sad that the battery in my camera had died before I could take a picture of him.
I was worried that I would have to come to the island every time I needed a dog fix, but I visited Katie's house the next day, and her family has two dogs, smallish girl-dogs. Katie says that they don't really serve any function for the household, which is very unusual for Senegal. The humans sometimes play with them, and they bark at random things a lot, but otherwise they just hang out in the courtyard and sleep all day. They too were appreciative of pets, although they didn't bother to get up from their warm place in the sun. The black girl-dog used to be owned by an English speaker, so her name is Lucky (which is probably not an unusual name for a dog in this city). I forget the other dog's name, but it meas snake. She was reddish brown.
Most of the dogs here seem to be variations of red to blond. I wonder if they are self-selected to blend in with the sand and dirt so people don't notice them as much. There is a little red dog who hangs out on one of the streets that I pass every day. She sometimes runs away from me as I approach, but a couple of times she waged her tail and actually walked towards me when I said hello to her. I think I'll call her Rubis (Ruby). It's not terribly original, but she is a little red dog.
Other dogs that I see on the street are being walked by humans with leashes. Often the humans look like white ex-pats, so I wonder about the ones being walked by locals. Their humans might pay other people to walk the dogs. This seems particularly likely in the richer parts of town.
I'll probably talk more about the non-human people here, particularly if I progress to the point where I can pet Rubis without the danger of her biting me or running away.
There are also a large number of chickens. As I am writing this I just heard a rooster crow. There are signs in various neighborhoods advertising "vente de poulet," or chicken meat for sale, and I pass a stall on the way to ACI where a man chops up chicken meat. The other day I saw a smart kitty waiting for scraps during a sale. I also pass another similar stall where a man chops up what looks like mutton. I often see him sawing through bones with a hacksaw. One also occasionally sees ducks, like the ones that I saw on our first full day here that were being carried by the bases of their wings by a man who walked down the street.
I have also seen one or two men on the street carrying small cages made of wood and wire full of sparrows and other small birds for sale. They generally do not seem at all pleased by their arrangement. There are a variety of little birds. This morning as we were eating breakfast I saw a sparrow looking at his reflection in the window. Thankfully he didn't try to attack it. The other day I saw what I think was a female goldfinch, although it could have been any kind of mostly yellow bird. There are also the tiny red breasted birds, and I once saw a teeny tiny bird with a hooked beak that looked like it fulfilled a similar niche to a hummingbird. There was a large number of pigeons or doves on Ile de Gorée, which I occasionally see here. They sound very similar to mourning (or is it morning?) doves.
I think my favorite wild birds are the hawks and crows. The hawks on Ile de Gorée flew low over the water and occasionally swooped down to get a fish. Their voice was an odd combination of a red tailed hawk and a gull. On the ferry I also saw a number of what looked like turns flying around in the harbor. The crows here are about the same size as ours, but they look like they are wearing white bibs, complete with the tie around their neck. The other day I saw a pigeon chasing one across the road. I notice more birds all the time. I need a bird book.
I have mentioned the horses before. They are all fairly small, particularly compared to the horses that one usually sees being used to pull carts. They are also usually skinny enough to see their ribs. I wonder what they eat? There might be enough dry grass around for the sheep and goats to scrounge on, but it doesn't seem like that would be enough for the horses, skinny or otherwise.
Then, of course, there are the dogs and cats. I have yet to see an individual of either species that is fat. Most range from lean to downright skinny, and are wary of humans. The dogs and cats on Ile de Gorée were unusually healthy looking, with reason. The island might be renamed "Toubab Central" for the number of tourists that were there. In fact, most of the people that we saw on the island were either tourists or were there to sell to tourists. The vendeurs there were particularly aggressive on the top of the hill, where they descended on us like vulchers. They somehow got Alexis to not only buy stuff, but to give them some of her earrings.
The reason why the animals were so healthy became clear when we were at lunch. Shortly after our food arrived a small brown and gray tabby walked under the table. For the rest of the meal he sat at Jessl's feet while she fed him about half of her fish, and part of mine. She named him Sebastian and fed him bits of skin and eyeballs that she didn't want to eat herself. I am sure that there are regular territorial disputes between cats for the right to sit under those tables.
When the part of the group that I was with and I were near the top of the hill talking to one of many artists who sold paintings to tourists, a dog wandered up to us. He was quite handsome, with blond fur and gorgeous almond-shaped amber eyes. He seemed quite appreciative of being pet, too. When he wandered away from us I saw evidence of why most dogs shy from humans: two boys threw small rocks at him when he tried to jump on them in greeting.
On the beach I was looking for bits of smoothed glass in the sand when another boy-dog came up to me. He looked a little less healthy than the dog on the top of the hill, but he was still quite friendly. He was the same blond color as his co-habitent, and was very good at leaning. He followed me back to the rest of the LC people who were hanging out on the beach, and Kelly joined me in enthusiastically petting him. She named him Bruce. Katherine doesn't like dogs and so didn't know what to do when he said hello to her, walking on top of her legs and sticking his nose in her face. Kelly and I had to explain that dog manners aren't the same as human ones, and they aren't offended if you shove them aside. Katie was also rather startled to wake up from her nap to find a dog standing next to her. When the group got too big as other LC people joined us on the beach he ran off. I was sad that the battery in my camera had died before I could take a picture of him.
I was worried that I would have to come to the island every time I needed a dog fix, but I visited Katie's house the next day, and her family has two dogs, smallish girl-dogs. Katie says that they don't really serve any function for the household, which is very unusual for Senegal. The humans sometimes play with them, and they bark at random things a lot, but otherwise they just hang out in the courtyard and sleep all day. They too were appreciative of pets, although they didn't bother to get up from their warm place in the sun. The black girl-dog used to be owned by an English speaker, so her name is Lucky (which is probably not an unusual name for a dog in this city). I forget the other dog's name, but it meas snake. She was reddish brown.
Most of the dogs here seem to be variations of red to blond. I wonder if they are self-selected to blend in with the sand and dirt so people don't notice them as much. There is a little red dog who hangs out on one of the streets that I pass every day. She sometimes runs away from me as I approach, but a couple of times she waged her tail and actually walked towards me when I said hello to her. I think I'll call her Rubis (Ruby). It's not terribly original, but she is a little red dog.
Other dogs that I see on the street are being walked by humans with leashes. Often the humans look like white ex-pats, so I wonder about the ones being walked by locals. Their humans might pay other people to walk the dogs. This seems particularly likely in the richer parts of town.
I'll probably talk more about the non-human people here, particularly if I progress to the point where I can pet Rubis without the danger of her biting me or running away.
Monday, January 25, 2010
A pleasant 86°F
Since Wednesday, which was so hot that even Thiaba complaned and it felt as though my brain was melting, the weather here has been downright pleasant. I even put my pilfered airplane blanket on my bed last night. Of course, this means that it's a little harder to convince myself that I'm enjoying taking a cold shower, but somehow I can manage. Anyway...
Hopefully this will work as a link for my pictures:
http://picasaweb.google.fr/julia.condon/SenegalPartOne#
We took the taxi downtown on Thursday morning, instead of the bus like the day before. Again I was glad that Thiaba and Adama were there to negotiate prices and destinations for us.
Downtown we started out at the national cathedral. It was quite beautiful, made out of white stone. Next we walked past various governmental buildings, including the presidential palace. A group of elderly French tourists emptied out of a bus in front of us as we approached. The palace was quite opulent, with white walls, green lawns, and a view facing the ocean. It is also on the relatively sheltered side of the presqu'ile. As we passed a side gate a motorcade came out, complete with police escort and sirens.
Next we stopped at the bank so people like me could get money. While we were there we were approached by a couple of vendeurs ambulants. Any toubab is likely to attract vendeurs ambulants; a large group of them standing still is like a honey trap. For once we didn't immediately try to shake them off. A couple of people bought cheap necklaces and I was pleased with myself when I successfully bartered down the price of a cheap diary to replace the one that I have when I run out of paper.
Bartering by myself would not have been advisable when we got to the place where I got my bag. Katie and I both wanted bags, so we all went to a place where they made and sold clothing and bags. It was pretty amazing. It was a fairly large building on the edge of one of the markets, and every inch of the entire bottom floor was packed with clothing and bags hanging from the walls and ceilings and on tables on the floor. Wedged between the tables were a couple dozen almost antique sewing machines, each with a young man hard at work stitching fabric together or sewing on designs in thread. They all stared at us as we passed, and we were swarmed by several people who pointed out various products to us.
Katie and I made our selections, then we all went up a staircase at the back of the room to an upper level. The hallway was lined with small rooms, each with another man hard at work on a sewing machine, surrounded by cloth and products in various states of completeness. In another room full of completed products we waited around while Adama ruthlessly bartered down the price to a third of the original asking price.
When we were finally done there we went across the street and other people bought stuff from other vendors. Katherine bought a pare of leather flip-flops and Jessl got a bin-bin, which is a chain of beads worn under the clothing around the waist, and is treated in a way similar to lingerie. Usually it is something that is given to a woman as a present from her boyfriend or husband, but Jess wanted some anyway.
When we got back to ACI we had several hours to kill before the response meeting, so I went with a few others to the restaurant/bar known to ACI people as "Baobab VI" (there used to be three official Baobab buildings, with the bar as the fourth one). I have seldom had such slow service, but it was rather pleasant to hang out under the outdoor awning and people watch.
After the response meeting I decided to check out the Casino, a supermarché several "blocks" away. As I passed Ramadan's tent and exchanged greetings I was spotted by "Boxy James." Boxy James is a frequently encountered denizen of the neighborhood, perhaps in his mid thirties, whom previous LC students warned us is "harmless but annoying." I can safely confirm this analysis. He started chatting to me, and I said I was going to the Casino. He insisted on escorting me there. As men are want to do here, he asked me for my phone number and I gave the standard response that I didn't have one yet. He insisted on giving me his number, which is also standard. When we got to the Casino he said he would wait outside. I lingered in there, half hoping that he would give up and leave, but as I was checking out at the register I saw that he was still there.
Despite my protestations that I had tons of homework to do and needed to get back to ACI (not that that was true. Have I talked about the acceptability of white lies here?), he again insisted on taking me to his neighborhood, which was on a nearby street; and introducing me to his grandmother, who sleepily responded to my awkward greeting. He then paraded me past various other friends on the street, and introduced me to his father, who owned a nearby tailor shop. He noted my ring, and I told the people in the shop that I had a fiancée and could therefore not marry anyone in the shop (I brought the ring, also upon the recommendation of previous students, for just such a purpose). The farce continued as we finally mossied back to ACI, while he greeted several dozen other people. During the walk Boxy James noted several times that I walk quickly, and I tried to explain that everyone in my family has long legs and therefore walks at a fast pace, and tried to balance my impatience with the slow pace that most people use here.
Only when I was back home and sunset was fast approaching did I realize that in my annoyance in seeing Boxy James waiting for me outside of the Casino I had forgotten my purchases at the register. I was irritated for most of the rest of the evening.
Friday, 21 January
On Friday morning I started off the day with the usual section of baguette and instant coffee, and as usual was reminded of Professor Yana saying "Here's to it: Utopia ...where it is to be hoped the coffee is a little less sour." The bottom inch or so of the cup is always oddly sour. For a change I also had a grapefruit, which also was a little sour, but still was good. I ate it like an American while Sanda watched curiously.
At ACI we had a lecture on the history and current state of the education system, including the long tradition of strikes. Then we all piled into a big van. The Penn State students came with us as well, so the van we took was more like a bus than a van, and quite luxurious at that. It had gushy seats and air conditioning, even.
Our destination was "l'école de la rue," or school of the street, which was in a slum. In fact, the whole quartier was mainly slums, and the section we visited was packed with shacks made out of plywood and corrugated metal. Some of the paths between walls were too narrow for two people to walk abreast. We passed women doing the wash in font of their homes, babies strapped to their backs. One or two had tables where they sold fruits and vegetables that were swarming with files. Amazingly, we passed a few dwellings where TVs were playing from the darkness.
The school was in a sort of clearing, and was made up of several large shacks, including one made out of an old train car. The students were mostly small street children, but there were also a few teenagers. The class was being taught by a man in his late fifties or sixties, helped by a volunteer from Belgium. The teacher gave us a tour of the campus, such as it was, and talked to us about the school and his students, and frequently encouraged us to ask questions and take pictures. One of the Penn students and I were the only ones who had brought cameras, and I felt tacky taking pictures, so I tried to do it when no one was looking.
I have never seen such abject poverty. It is one thing to know that such things exist and quite another to see it in person. In comparison our neighborhoods are decidedly middle-class, and my house is upper middle-class. It was a relief to again inhale exhaust when we stepped out of the collection of shacks and into an area with regular traffic. To put things into perspective, most people cannot afford the 3000cfa per month charge to send their children to private school. That's just over $6 per month.
In the bus on the way there we all chattered freely, but on the way back the only person who spoke was Samba. I wasn't really listening, so I don't know what he was talking about, and I don't know that anyone else was either.
In the afternoon we came back to ACI for our first Wolof lesson. Of course everyone else in the group has been paying more attention than me, and so did better, but oh well. We went over basic greeting exchanges and the like. Sanda and Siham both want to learn Wolof too, so we went over the cahier (workbook) with Gnagna after dinner. After that our conversation ranged from family name origins to the redwoods in Humboldt County. It was fun.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
What's up, Toubabs?*
Note: Again, this is taking forever, so I’m going to try and finish up the rest of the week in my next post. Some of the pictures will be recognizable, but others I haven’t gotten to yet. I’ll rearrange them and properly label them next time, so be sure to check back on this post if you want an explanation for them. For now I’m running out of daylight again.
*A toubab is a catch-all term for a foreigner. It is the person, but it also describes the behavior of the foreigner. White toubabs are the most easily recognizable, but a toubab can have any skin color and speak any language.
So where did I leave off? Moving in? Sure.
Saturday, 17 January
The three Moroccans, Gnagna and I all had lunch around the table in the front room. We had a traditional communal bowl of rice with onion sauce on top, and chicken. Each person eats from the imaginary wedge in front of them, and the host distributes the meat to each person or cuts it up and puts it in the middle. To my relief we ate with spoons. I was a little clumsy eating with my right hand, but not as bad as it could have been.
After lunch I wandered back to ACI (Africa Consultants International, did I mention that before?) and wrote my first blog entry. That took a lot longer than I expected it to, which is why I didn't write about everything I could have.
By the time I left ACI, the call to evening prayer had long since gone, and it was twilight when I got to the house. I hung out in my room for a while (no one else was really about). The five of us had dinner, which consisted of kiefer millet mixed together in individual bowls. Apparently Sunday dinner is traditionally a light meal.
After dinner the Moroccans and I went for a walk around the neighborhood. By the time we were half way through our walk I was completely turned around, and only figured out where we were in general when I saw the giant Mosque that is a short distance from the house.
(btw, someone asked if I can hear the call to prayer. The answer is yes, definitely. There is a Mosque just down the street from ACI that I pass every day on the way between ACI and my house. There is also the large Mosque about a block--not that there are real "blocks" as such--from the house. The call to prayer isn't deafening, but I can definitely hear it.
Monday, 18 January
The next morning I had the usual instant coffee and section of baguette, then headed to ACI. Every morning I am reminded of Professor Yana saying "Here's to it: Utopia ...where it is to be hoped that the coffee is a little less sour." (for future reference, if I quote something and you don't recognize it, it's probably safe to assume that it's from Doctor Who). People tend to stare at the toubab walking down the street every morning, but I think we're starting to get used to each other.
At ACI we had a feedback discussion on our host families, and then an introduction to Senegalese values. This included a traditional lunch, during which I spilled a large quantity of rice on my lap. Part of the orientation was devoted to dividing into pairs and interviewing people about specific Senegalese concepts, and then reporting on them. I got to practice being incomprehensible to a large group. That was super, super fun. Then again, I think it was the first time that I have ever done a presentation in French without practicing prior or bringing notes.
After that we got our phones, which to my pleasure work to call people and receive calls from the US, though it is expensive. I had fun calling people in the US on Marten Luther King Jr. day and waking them up (if you don't have my phone number and want to call me, ask someone who knows it and ask for directions; I don't want to put them here). Thanks to my phone I now finally have an effective alarm clock. I now also have to lie and say that I don't have a phone when people ask me for my phone number, which happens a lot. I was warned against telling people my number and instead just take down other peoples'. Apparently I would get constant calls if I told anyone my number, but it is impolite to refuse, so I have to lie instead. So far it has worked to say that I just got here, but I'm going to have to come up with something else soon.
Not much happened for the rest of the day. For dinner we had fish with French fries, lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, and more of that onion sauce. It was quite tasty. I’ve noticed that a lot of the time here French fries are mixed with other things, like in salads or hamburgers. So far I think Khady’s fries are the best I’ve had.
Tuesday, 19 January
On Tuesday morning all we had was a security session and an introduction to the classes that we will be taking this semester. The security lecture was about how to avoid things like pickpockets, which areas of town to avoid, etc. We also learned how to deflect beggars and aggressive vendeurs. The academics session was fairly unremarkable, although I was pleased to learn that one of our classes is going to be on music, which will include music lessons in a choice of instruments. I want to learn how to play the kora, which will probably be hard but looks fun. In case you don't know what a kora is, here's a picture of one: http://badin-yaa.com/images/instruments/kora.jpg .
After lunch I met some of the others and we walked to the ocean. Alexis and Jessicah went running, which I think is pretty crazy in the afternoon of an unseasonably hot day, but hey, at least they didn't make me go with them. The walk to the ocean was pleasantly shaded, and on the way we stopped at a supermarché where I got a mango creamcicle. It was a little odd, but tasty. When we reached the ocean we were on a section with low bluffs overlooking the water. Some of the others picked their way down the cliff but I stayed up top with Katie. Next we checked out the nearby Place de Souvenier, which was completely empty except for a bored looking guard.
Wednesday, 20 January
My alarm woke me up at the correct time, but then I fell asleep again and didn't wake up until 20 minutes until the start of class. That was fun. Thank goodness for Senegalese time. I ate my baguette on the way there. As it turned out, I wasn't even the last person to get there.
We had a brief introduction, and then split into groups for our first Downtown sortie. I was with Thiaba again. We went to lunch first, then we wandered around, past a couple different marchées and around various notable places, including the Place d’Indipendance. It was really hot. Even Thiaba complained about the heat. I decided that it was a good thing that I didn’t know the temperature, because my brain was melting enough as it was. When we were done identifying all the numbers marked on our maps we stopped for ice cream at a place called N’ice Cream. It was very tasty after such a long time in the heat.
When I got home that evening the house was dark, and even though it was barely past sunset I thought I was afraid for a moment that everyone had already gone to bed. It turned out, however, that the power was out in possibly the whole city. I didn’t notice the lights going out because I think I was crossing the highway at the time.
Sihan and Sanda had a couple of friends over for dinner because it was one of the friend’s birthday. I had tea and bowl of nuts with them. It was nice to be able to listen to conversation in French without having to understand or respond all the time. The lights eventually came back on, and we had dinner, with fruit after. I think at least one of the Moroccans was amused by my maladroitness in peeling an apple with a knife.
People
I have mentioned a lot of people, and I know I haven’t explained who most of them are, so here follows a list of people:
Lewis & Clark people:
Katie, Katherine, Jessica Lodel (aka Jessl), Jessica Holms (aka Jessicah), Leah, Alexis, Kelly, Rabekah, and the only guy in the group, Sean.
ACI people:
Samba has been our general guide. I’m not sure what his actual job is in ACI.
Tricia is from Trinidad and Tobago via New York, and helps coordinate our schedule, etc.
Al Hassan is a program director and has lead many of our discussions.
Thiaba has been one of our guides when going about town.
Fatim is another guide.
Host Family people:
Gnagna is my host mother. Her home is a sort of boarding house, and she has hosted several people from ACI.
Khady is the bonne, or maid. She lives in the house. She speaks Wolof, and has even worse French than me.
Sanda is one of the Moroccans, and is the person with whom I speak the most. We have been teaching each other our respective languages. She has completed her studies in medicine and is currently writing her doctoral thesis.
Siham is the other Moroccan. I’m not sure, but I think she and Sanda are sisters. She too is writing her doctoral thesis.
I have concluded that the third young woman who was there on my first day does not actually live there, but is a friend of Siham and Sanda. There is also another tenant who occupies the room off of the front room, but I rarely see her. Gnagna’s son lives there as well, but I have only met him once, and briefly.
Other people:
Ramadan has a tent around the corner from ACI. He serves strong, sweet coffee and likes to help ACI students with their Wolof. He is friendly and helpful.
Bossy (or Boxy) James appears to be (as we were warned by previous students) harmless, but annoying. I can confirm at least the second part. He often hangs out around Ramadan’s tent.
*A toubab is a catch-all term for a foreigner. It is the person, but it also describes the behavior of the foreigner. White toubabs are the most easily recognizable, but a toubab can have any skin color and speak any language.
So where did I leave off? Moving in? Sure.
Saturday, 17 January
The three Moroccans, Gnagna and I all had lunch around the table in the front room. We had a traditional communal bowl of rice with onion sauce on top, and chicken. Each person eats from the imaginary wedge in front of them, and the host distributes the meat to each person or cuts it up and puts it in the middle. To my relief we ate with spoons. I was a little clumsy eating with my right hand, but not as bad as it could have been.
After lunch I wandered back to ACI (Africa Consultants International, did I mention that before?) and wrote my first blog entry. That took a lot longer than I expected it to, which is why I didn't write about everything I could have.
By the time I left ACI, the call to evening prayer had long since gone, and it was twilight when I got to the house. I hung out in my room for a while (no one else was really about). The five of us had dinner, which consisted of kiefer millet mixed together in individual bowls. Apparently Sunday dinner is traditionally a light meal.
After dinner the Moroccans and I went for a walk around the neighborhood. By the time we were half way through our walk I was completely turned around, and only figured out where we were in general when I saw the giant Mosque that is a short distance from the house.
(btw, someone asked if I can hear the call to prayer. The answer is yes, definitely. There is a Mosque just down the street from ACI that I pass every day on the way between ACI and my house. There is also the large Mosque about a block--not that there are real "blocks" as such--from the house. The call to prayer isn't deafening, but I can definitely hear it.
Monday, 18 January
The next morning I had the usual instant coffee and section of baguette, then headed to ACI. Every morning I am reminded of Professor Yana saying "Here's to it: Utopia ...where it is to be hoped that the coffee is a little less sour." (for future reference, if I quote something and you don't recognize it, it's probably safe to assume that it's from Doctor Who). People tend to stare at the toubab walking down the street every morning, but I think we're starting to get used to each other.
At ACI we had a feedback discussion on our host families, and then an introduction to Senegalese values. This included a traditional lunch, during which I spilled a large quantity of rice on my lap. Part of the orientation was devoted to dividing into pairs and interviewing people about specific Senegalese concepts, and then reporting on them. I got to practice being incomprehensible to a large group. That was super, super fun. Then again, I think it was the first time that I have ever done a presentation in French without practicing prior or bringing notes.
After that we got our phones, which to my pleasure work to call people and receive calls from the US, though it is expensive. I had fun calling people in the US on Marten Luther King Jr. day and waking them up (if you don't have my phone number and want to call me, ask someone who knows it and ask for directions; I don't want to put them here). Thanks to my phone I now finally have an effective alarm clock. I now also have to lie and say that I don't have a phone when people ask me for my phone number, which happens a lot. I was warned against telling people my number and instead just take down other peoples'. Apparently I would get constant calls if I told anyone my number, but it is impolite to refuse, so I have to lie instead. So far it has worked to say that I just got here, but I'm going to have to come up with something else soon.
Not much happened for the rest of the day. For dinner we had fish with French fries, lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, and more of that onion sauce. It was quite tasty. I’ve noticed that a lot of the time here French fries are mixed with other things, like in salads or hamburgers. So far I think Khady’s fries are the best I’ve had.
Tuesday, 19 January
On Tuesday morning all we had was a security session and an introduction to the classes that we will be taking this semester. The security lecture was about how to avoid things like pickpockets, which areas of town to avoid, etc. We also learned how to deflect beggars and aggressive vendeurs. The academics session was fairly unremarkable, although I was pleased to learn that one of our classes is going to be on music, which will include music lessons in a choice of instruments. I want to learn how to play the kora, which will probably be hard but looks fun. In case you don't know what a kora is, here's a picture of one: http://badin-yaa.com/images/instruments/kora.jpg .
After lunch I met some of the others and we walked to the ocean. Alexis and Jessicah went running, which I think is pretty crazy in the afternoon of an unseasonably hot day, but hey, at least they didn't make me go with them. The walk to the ocean was pleasantly shaded, and on the way we stopped at a supermarché where I got a mango creamcicle. It was a little odd, but tasty. When we reached the ocean we were on a section with low bluffs overlooking the water. Some of the others picked their way down the cliff but I stayed up top with Katie. Next we checked out the nearby Place de Souvenier, which was completely empty except for a bored looking guard.
Wednesday, 20 January
My alarm woke me up at the correct time, but then I fell asleep again and didn't wake up until 20 minutes until the start of class. That was fun. Thank goodness for Senegalese time. I ate my baguette on the way there. As it turned out, I wasn't even the last person to get there.
We had a brief introduction, and then split into groups for our first Downtown sortie. I was with Thiaba again. We went to lunch first, then we wandered around, past a couple different marchées and around various notable places, including the Place d’Indipendance. It was really hot. Even Thiaba complained about the heat. I decided that it was a good thing that I didn’t know the temperature, because my brain was melting enough as it was. When we were done identifying all the numbers marked on our maps we stopped for ice cream at a place called N’ice Cream. It was very tasty after such a long time in the heat.
When I got home that evening the house was dark, and even though it was barely past sunset I thought I was afraid for a moment that everyone had already gone to bed. It turned out, however, that the power was out in possibly the whole city. I didn’t notice the lights going out because I think I was crossing the highway at the time.
Sihan and Sanda had a couple of friends over for dinner because it was one of the friend’s birthday. I had tea and bowl of nuts with them. It was nice to be able to listen to conversation in French without having to understand or respond all the time. The lights eventually came back on, and we had dinner, with fruit after. I think at least one of the Moroccans was amused by my maladroitness in peeling an apple with a knife.
People
I have mentioned a lot of people, and I know I haven’t explained who most of them are, so here follows a list of people:
Lewis & Clark people:
Katie, Katherine, Jessica Lodel (aka Jessl), Jessica Holms (aka Jessicah), Leah, Alexis, Kelly, Rabekah, and the only guy in the group, Sean.
ACI people:
Samba has been our general guide. I’m not sure what his actual job is in ACI.
Tricia is from Trinidad and Tobago via New York, and helps coordinate our schedule, etc.
Al Hassan is a program director and has lead many of our discussions.
Thiaba has been one of our guides when going about town.
Fatim is another guide.
Host Family people:
Gnagna is my host mother. Her home is a sort of boarding house, and she has hosted several people from ACI.
Khady is the bonne, or maid. She lives in the house. She speaks Wolof, and has even worse French than me.
Sanda is one of the Moroccans, and is the person with whom I speak the most. We have been teaching each other our respective languages. She has completed her studies in medicine and is currently writing her doctoral thesis.
Siham is the other Moroccan. I’m not sure, but I think she and Sanda are sisters. She too is writing her doctoral thesis.
I have concluded that the third young woman who was there on my first day does not actually live there, but is a friend of Siham and Sanda. There is also another tenant who occupies the room off of the front room, but I rarely see her. Gnagna’s son lives there as well, but I have only met him once, and briefly.
Other people:
Ramadan has a tent around the corner from ACI. He serves strong, sweet coffee and likes to help ACI students with their Wolof. He is friendly and helpful.
Bossy (or Boxy) James appears to be (as we were warned by previous students) harmless, but annoying. I can confirm at least the second part. He often hangs out around Ramadan’s tent.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
First Post From Senegal
Blarg it's hot in here.
I'm not sure which is stranger: that I've only been here two nights or that I've already been here two nights.
This keyboard is annoying. This is zhqt it looks like if I try qnd type using the nor,ql pqttern of hitting keys: (thqt ":" is supposed to be q period).
And this is what happens when I push the number keys without pushing shift first:
&é"'(-è_çà
shift:
1234567890
alt:~#{[`\^@
I suppose I should try and start getting used to this configuration, but it's annoying.
Anyway, here follows a summary of my journal from the last few days:
14 January, 2010--In the air
I flew from SF to Chicago. Kelly and Rebbecca were on the same flight with me. A boring rom-com played on the screen.
15 Jan, 12:42 pm--Charles de Gaulle
We met up with most of the rest of the group in Chicago. I watched Slumdog Millionare on the plain to Paris, which was a little less than 8 hours long.
Charles de Gaulle was pretty horrible. It was really confusing and security took forever. We eventually got to the right terminal, which was really big and modern. There were tons of expensive duty-free shops for stuff like Prada and Dior. I completed my first solo transaction in French when I bought lunch. I resisted buying a $7 cup of coffee. Our layover in Paris ended up being something like 7 or 8 hours. Yay.
16 Jan, 12:15 am--Dakar, the appartments
On the flight we took up half of one row and part of another. I watched Surrogates and Terminator Salvation. I sat next to a smartly-dressed buisnessman.
When we landed the terminal was packed with people in suits or flowing robes or dresses. The women all had elaborately arranged hair. When we went to get our bags we found that everyone who had switched from United to Air France--including me--had not gotten our checked luggage. Those of us with missing luggage went into a back room and waited around for almost an hour to register our bags so they would keep an eye out for them. Thankfully I packed most of my clothes in my carry-on, but it's still a major pain.
When we got out Nicole (our French prof from LC) was there to greet us. We left the airport in an ACI van.
When we got to the appartment where the 9 of us spent that night and the next and I got to bed, I calculated that it had "only" been 23 hours since I got up in San Francisco. It seemed more like 48.
16 Jan, 9:22 pm--Appartment
What a crazy, long day. When we woke up someone had already brought our breakfast: baguettes with cheese, jam, and chocolat spread to put on them and surprisingly drinkable instant coffee with sugar cubes and semi-soluable powdered milk.
"Pop" Samba came to pick us up after breakfast (about 20 minutes late; I like this place already) and we took the roughly 10 minute walk to the Baobab Center (ACI). After a brief tour of Baobab 1 we went to Baobab 2 (the second building; there are three) for the start of orientation.
After a talk about ACI from one of the co-founders we split into two groups. Nicole went with my group. We walked around the neighborhood and stopped at a supermarché, where I bought a quart of mixed pineapple juice for about 1000cfa ($2.19) and a packet of kleenexes for about 100cfa ($.22). (did I mention that I have a cold? yeah).
We had lunch back at the appartment: white rice, spicy onion sauce, and favorfully spiced whole fish with sharp teeth and dry, flaky flesh. After a brief nap we walked back to ACI and split off into our groups again, this time to locate our houses. I was disconcerted to learn that my everyday route to and from ACI involves crossing six lanes of traffic. Thankfully there's a wide island so I don't have to cross all six at once. It's also relatively close to ACI; a ten minute walk rather than the 20 minute one that one or two people have.
Walking down the streets was... different. The sidewalks are cracked to pieces and half covered with a mixture of sand and flattened trash. Every block or so there is one or two vendors selling things like fruit, sandles, or newspaper. We also passed the occasional man walking around to sell his stuff. Those people also sold things like sandles, but mostly smaller stuff like phone cards. One guy clutched a reel of toy pianos that played tinny music as we passed.
We walked past fiberglass shacks where peole lived next to their goats, sheep, and chickens. We also passed the house of the current president of Senegal (according to Thiaba, our guide). He's not living there at the moment, but it still was guarded by serious-looking uniformed guards carrying large guns.
I was slightly surprised by the number of horse-drawn carts. The horses are more like ponies. They carried everything from nothing but their human to a load of rubble from a house being demolished so heavy that I saw the pony's hooves slip on the pavement as it turned on the street. There were also a number of dogs and a few weary-looking cats. We saw a man carrying two resigned-looking ducks by the bases of their wings.
My group got back almost an hour and a half before the other group did. Apparently they were too tired to walk all the way back from the last person's house, so they took a couple of taxies, but their guide forgot to tell them that they had to tell the driver how to get back.
We talked about our experiences of the day, then said goodbye to Nicole, who left last night. We had a noodle dish, fried sliced plantains and more baguettes for dinner.
Samba invited us to come to N'Dour's club, which was just around the corner from the appartment. N'Dour is the most popular singer in West Africa, so it was worth it. It was so full that no one could move, and the base was so loud we could bearly hear him singing. Alexis and I ended up leaving ater only two songs. Between the concert and my cold I got about two and a half hours of sleep.
17 Jan, 11:46 am--my room
After breakfast we packed up our stuff and went to ACI. We had a brief introduction to homestay, then went to our houses. I was the first person to be dropped off.
My host mother has two grown-up sons. One lives at home (I haven't met him yet) and the older one is married and is living in the US. The father is there also. Gnagna (pronounced "Nana") has three other lodgers, three young women from Morocco. If I understand correctly all three are doctors.
They are all in one room, but I have a room to myself. I even have my own bathroom.
OK, I could say more but it's getting towards sunset. The pictures are in backwards order.
My room:
This is the view out my window. You might not be able to tell, but it opens into the front room/dining room. In other houses that I've seen there is a front courtyard before entering the house propper. This serves a similar purpose (those windows in and above the door don't have glass to allow air flow) except there is a roof.
The living/dining room in the appartment:
Money:
View from the appartment:
I'm not sure which is stranger: that I've only been here two nights or that I've already been here two nights.
This keyboard is annoying. This is zhqt it looks like if I try qnd type using the nor,ql pqttern of hitting keys: (thqt ":" is supposed to be q period).
And this is what happens when I push the number keys without pushing shift first:
&é"'(-è_çà
shift:
1234567890
alt:~#{[`\^@
I suppose I should try and start getting used to this configuration, but it's annoying.
Anyway, here follows a summary of my journal from the last few days:
14 January, 2010--In the air
I flew from SF to Chicago. Kelly and Rebbecca were on the same flight with me. A boring rom-com played on the screen.
15 Jan, 12:42 pm--Charles de Gaulle
We met up with most of the rest of the group in Chicago. I watched Slumdog Millionare on the plain to Paris, which was a little less than 8 hours long.
Charles de Gaulle was pretty horrible. It was really confusing and security took forever. We eventually got to the right terminal, which was really big and modern. There were tons of expensive duty-free shops for stuff like Prada and Dior. I completed my first solo transaction in French when I bought lunch. I resisted buying a $7 cup of coffee. Our layover in Paris ended up being something like 7 or 8 hours. Yay.
16 Jan, 12:15 am--Dakar, the appartments
On the flight we took up half of one row and part of another. I watched Surrogates and Terminator Salvation. I sat next to a smartly-dressed buisnessman.
When we landed the terminal was packed with people in suits or flowing robes or dresses. The women all had elaborately arranged hair. When we went to get our bags we found that everyone who had switched from United to Air France--including me--had not gotten our checked luggage. Those of us with missing luggage went into a back room and waited around for almost an hour to register our bags so they would keep an eye out for them. Thankfully I packed most of my clothes in my carry-on, but it's still a major pain.
When we got out Nicole (our French prof from LC) was there to greet us. We left the airport in an ACI van.
When we got to the appartment where the 9 of us spent that night and the next and I got to bed, I calculated that it had "only" been 23 hours since I got up in San Francisco. It seemed more like 48.
16 Jan, 9:22 pm--Appartment
What a crazy, long day. When we woke up someone had already brought our breakfast: baguettes with cheese, jam, and chocolat spread to put on them and surprisingly drinkable instant coffee with sugar cubes and semi-soluable powdered milk.
"Pop" Samba came to pick us up after breakfast (about 20 minutes late; I like this place already) and we took the roughly 10 minute walk to the Baobab Center (ACI). After a brief tour of Baobab 1 we went to Baobab 2 (the second building; there are three) for the start of orientation.
After a talk about ACI from one of the co-founders we split into two groups. Nicole went with my group. We walked around the neighborhood and stopped at a supermarché, where I bought a quart of mixed pineapple juice for about 1000cfa ($2.19) and a packet of kleenexes for about 100cfa ($.22). (did I mention that I have a cold? yeah).
We had lunch back at the appartment: white rice, spicy onion sauce, and favorfully spiced whole fish with sharp teeth and dry, flaky flesh. After a brief nap we walked back to ACI and split off into our groups again, this time to locate our houses. I was disconcerted to learn that my everyday route to and from ACI involves crossing six lanes of traffic. Thankfully there's a wide island so I don't have to cross all six at once. It's also relatively close to ACI; a ten minute walk rather than the 20 minute one that one or two people have.
Walking down the streets was... different. The sidewalks are cracked to pieces and half covered with a mixture of sand and flattened trash. Every block or so there is one or two vendors selling things like fruit, sandles, or newspaper. We also passed the occasional man walking around to sell his stuff. Those people also sold things like sandles, but mostly smaller stuff like phone cards. One guy clutched a reel of toy pianos that played tinny music as we passed.
We walked past fiberglass shacks where peole lived next to their goats, sheep, and chickens. We also passed the house of the current president of Senegal (according to Thiaba, our guide). He's not living there at the moment, but it still was guarded by serious-looking uniformed guards carrying large guns.
I was slightly surprised by the number of horse-drawn carts. The horses are more like ponies. They carried everything from nothing but their human to a load of rubble from a house being demolished so heavy that I saw the pony's hooves slip on the pavement as it turned on the street. There were also a number of dogs and a few weary-looking cats. We saw a man carrying two resigned-looking ducks by the bases of their wings.
My group got back almost an hour and a half before the other group did. Apparently they were too tired to walk all the way back from the last person's house, so they took a couple of taxies, but their guide forgot to tell them that they had to tell the driver how to get back.
We talked about our experiences of the day, then said goodbye to Nicole, who left last night. We had a noodle dish, fried sliced plantains and more baguettes for dinner.
Samba invited us to come to N'Dour's club, which was just around the corner from the appartment. N'Dour is the most popular singer in West Africa, so it was worth it. It was so full that no one could move, and the base was so loud we could bearly hear him singing. Alexis and I ended up leaving ater only two songs. Between the concert and my cold I got about two and a half hours of sleep.
17 Jan, 11:46 am--my room
After breakfast we packed up our stuff and went to ACI. We had a brief introduction to homestay, then went to our houses. I was the first person to be dropped off.
My host mother has two grown-up sons. One lives at home (I haven't met him yet) and the older one is married and is living in the US. The father is there also. Gnagna (pronounced "Nana") has three other lodgers, three young women from Morocco. If I understand correctly all three are doctors.
They are all in one room, but I have a room to myself. I even have my own bathroom.
OK, I could say more but it's getting towards sunset. The pictures are in backwards order.
My room:
This is the view out my window. You might not be able to tell, but it opens into the front room/dining room. In other houses that I've seen there is a front courtyard before entering the house propper. This serves a similar purpose (those windows in and above the door don't have glass to allow air flow) except there is a roof.
The living/dining room in the appartment:
Money:
View from the appartment:
The room I slept in while we were there:
In Charles de Gaulle:
In Charles de Gaulle:
In Chicago:
Edit: I edited this to hopefully make it more readable. I didn't have time to do so before.
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