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:

The room I slept in while we were there:

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.

I have no reason to create a blog

"You two, we're at the end of the universe. Okay?! Right at the edge of knowledge itself! And you're busy... blogging!!"
--Tenth Doctor, "Utopia"

Yeah, that pretty much sums it up. I've pretty much been against blogging since I first heard about it. Who wants to read about someone else's day? I mean, really? I guess these things can function as a diary, but then why post them online? I might use this as a way of telling everyone about my exciting day when I'm in Senegal next spring, but then I might not have time to maintain it. I might tell everyone anything I want them to know via other means. It seems to me that writing my experiences could be a good idea, but then I might not want other people to know what I'm writing in my diary. We'll see. Or maybe this will merely be a place for me to rave about Doctor Who, so I can leave my friends in peace. Or maybe I'll just forget about this thing and never use it again. Really I'm just creating this now so I can avoid studying for my finals, which isn't very healthy.

Oh. I could explain the title of my blog (ew... "my blog") to my hypothetical readers (I shudder to think that I would ever forget)

"This is my timey-wimey detector. It goes ding when there's stuff. Also, it can boil an egg at thirty paces. Whether you want to or not, actually. So, I've learned to stay away from hens. It's not pretty when they blow."

--Tenth Doctor, "Blink"

Yes. Tenth Doctor is awesome, and likes to explain things at top speed to make innocent bystanders even more confused. The explanation doesn't help Billy Shipton to know what has happened to him, nor should it. As Martha says, "Trust me, just nod when he stops for breath." As a motivational poster that image doesn't make much sense, but then I suppose the best ones are that way. Timey-Wimey Detector isn't really an abstract noun, like other motivational posters, but it "sortof works." Still, unlike the "Monologuing" poster I found it's "not even a proper word. You're just saying things," Squiggy! Yeah. What was I saying about boring blogs?

By the way, that was one of the titles that I considered for this thing, "You're Just Saying Things." "Big Yellow Truck" was my first choice, but it was already taken, as was "I Create Myself" and "Bananas Are Good." I also considered "Who'd Have Sonic?" "The Turn of the Universe," and "Storm In His Wake." Those three were available, but--excepting the first--they're all rather melodramatic.

This has been my first foray into blogging. I will no doubt start a revolution in bloggyness, and will "change what it means to [blog]." As you may have noticed, I think I will be using this as a place to make as many Doctor Who references as possible, just so I can get them out of my system. I don't think I'll give many explanations, either.

Wow. I didn't realize how much I had written here until I did the preview. Way to waste half an hour! Over and out.