Same Stuff, New Style

pictures above of my campus and beach (hopefully they upload!)

Upon my arrival, my host sister wasted no time in hijacking my computer and exploring my small collection of movies. She and my aunt watched the Princess Bride, though I feel any hope of true appreciation of the movie was lost in translation. Since it’s a copied version, we had to do without French subtitles (which really would’ve been helpful) and I acted as head interpreter. My favorite was explaining scenes to them in terms of their own cultural practices and norms (i.e. Indigo Montoya praying to his ancestors for guidance to find the Man in Black using his machete).

My other awesome Princess Bride-related experience came the other day in French class. I realized it halfway through the lesson--I kid you not, my French phonetics teacher has six fingers. Unfortunately, it’s on his left hand… but that’s my right, so I think it still counts :)

Having been warned multiple times we are bound to gain weight here (given the all-starch diet and serious lack of fruit and vegetables), a group of us girls has committed to working out regularly to try to defy this apparently inevitable occurrence. Running along the beach with the sun setting over the ocean and fisherman bringing in their catches for the day in colorfully painted boats certainly does make exercising less of a chore here… but then I saw the Student Activities board. Among the listed opportunities: aerobics class. Clearly, this was not to be missed.

Kate (who happens to be my stepdad’s doctor’s daughter--random) and I went get our work out gear on after class and waited outside the advertised room. When no one came after 15 minutes, we started to lose hope and entertain other work out options, but then we saw this man jog out of another nearby classroom in matching shorts, muscle-T AND coordinating sweat towel around his neck. Bingo.

It ended up being me, Kate, and three other girls from campus (from various parts of West Africa) being led in stretching, step-kicking, jogging in place, and a whole host of other stereotypically ridiculous aerobic exercises by this guy. Let’s be honest—aerobic classes alone are a hoot with all the cheesy countdowns and signature phrases like “now take it back” and “push it! 2-3-4…” Now. Just imagine that in French. I could not BREATHE for the first 10 minutes because I was laughing too hard. His little “Un! Deux! Trois! Et on recule!” to the techno remix playing in the background was just too much. For sure made top 5 highlights of my time here so far, no question. Can’t wait for next class!

Stopped at Elton (gas station) on my way home and found at least six other CIEE students there with shopping lists identical to my own: toilet paper and cookies. TP because, well… most families here just use water out of these little tea pots (now I understand why it’s so taboo in Senegal to use your left hand for eating, social greetings, etc… that hand’s reserved for its own special duty). Cookies because A) dessert doesn’t regularly happen here and B) a lot of families don’t eat dinner until 9:00 or 10:00 at night… no snacks between meals, either. I actually was finally able to locate the family refrigerator only yesterday. Some students still can’t find theirs. So we’ve stocked up on goodies to tie us over. Total gold of a find: vitamin-enriched gluten-free (extra perk?) chocolate teddy graham equivalents! So good.

Of course nothing can compare to the fruit here. I’ve opted for walking to school so I can spend my travel stipend on bananas. So worth it! They are AMAZING here. Hard to describe except by saying they just taste how a real banana should taste. Can’t get enough of them… and just wait til mango season in a couple weeks! Ohhh.

Last tidbit for the day: I have yet to find a garbage can in my house. Truly. I don’t know if there is one. I mean, practically speaking—frustrating. But I asked Awa (my mom) why that is, and she said it’s against their religion to waste (before you judge, it is not against Islam to throw things in the garbage. Rather, it’s important to not be wasteful, and use everything to its full capacity). So everything that can be reused is used. Throwing away food is a rarity because there’s always someone who needs it—be it family members later on, visitors, maids, or kids in the street (common occurrence: kids knocking on doors for leftovers, families happily sharing). And in Senegal they don’t officially recycle per se… everything gets thrown away and taken to landfills, but there people go through and salvage anything that can be reused. In the States, there’s a trash can in every room, every street corner. Of course there are exceptions, but generally from what I’ve seen in Senegal, they’re just not as important to have around.

Rockin the (Senegal) Suburbs

Ben Folds and I have been getting along famously as of late. I’m finding we can really relate. Not sure if he actually had life as a Caucasian in a developing country in mind when he wrote the song, but it’s somehow painfully relevant in this setting.

“Y’all don’t know what it’s like being [fe]male, middle class and white—it gets me real pissed off”

Winding through the sandy streets to school past fruit stands, brightly clothed women, and speeding taxis that seem to have little or no concern for pedestrians is not quite my most restful time of day. Even with our cultural orientation sessions, I still walk the streets wondering hopelessly how many people I manage to offend during my twenty minute trek from Sacre Coeur to Suffolk University.

Passers-by: Make eye contact? Is that rude? Am I doing it for too long? Should I say Salaamalekum or Bonjour, or just nod? Can I smile? Will that come off as an unintentional invitation? Just another easy American? Can’t I just walk and keep my head down? No, that will offend the neighbors…

Then come the kids in the street that beg: Make eye contact? Respond? French or Wolof? No thank you? Nothing? Should I feel more empathy for them—oh, but it’s more complicated than that. In some rural Senegalese villages young boys are sent to the city by their parents to learn the Koran under the supervision of marabouts, local Islamic teachers. But some of these marabouts force their pupils to beg in the streets with the promise of a beating if they don’t make their daily quotas. So there’s always a chance a child holding out his hand to me is from the rural villages, a talibé. Will he get beaten if I don’t give? Is he just another kid on the street?

Hardly time enough to reflect on this in the street, though—there are still more! My favorites: the venders. It’s amazing with how much English they speak they still haven’t learned “no.” Unfortunately I think my skin tone screams “SELL ME THINGS” louder than I will ever be able to protest verbally. “Sistah! My sistah! Come, I make good price for you!”

Thankfully it’s mostly in good humor…they really aren’t too terribly pushy (at least on the street corners…let’s not even TALK about the markets) and you can’t blame a person for trying to make a living. So far I’ve been able to greet-and-go fairly cheerfully, but I’m dreading the morning I wake up crabby and impatient. I know it will happen; it’s only a matter of time. I already feel sorry for anyone who tries to sell me something that day.

Really though, it can be extremely frustrating to have money constantly asked of you. And in 3 different languages, nonetheless. Another girl and I went to the Post Office for some stamps and a very nicely dressed, grown woman waiting in line gave me a puppy face and held out her hand as soon as I made eye contact with her. Really? Stop!

What do you even do with that? Does she really need the money? I don’t know. But do I really need the money, either? No. Would it even make that much of a difference? Do I really want to enforce the practice of begging? Doesn’t that further instill a sense of dependence on America(ns)? Is it wrong to wish a person would have more respect for themselves than to beg like that? But then who am I to say that—I don’t know her story, her situation. Is it really a respect issue, or is it more she thought she’d give a shot at making a few extra bucks? After all, we are white…

Hard to know.

And that's all before I even get to school to begin classes for the day.

We talked about these issues a lot in Lesotho. I’m finding the same hard questions resurfacing…even though Dakar is a very different corner of Africa, it’s very much
the same in a lot of ways.

new ideas to ponder

On my flight from DC to Dakar, I sat next to a South African woman who asked if I was going home. I half laughed to myself before responding, "In a way, yes." Until just recently, the backseat of my Toyota Corolla was the closest thing I had to my own bedroom. So for the time being, I guess home is wherever I am planted. The thought of 'going home' to Dakar endeared me to this place even before I arrived...and even after being here for only 3 days, I'm already starting to feel at home.

After finishing up my French assessment yesterday, I had some freetime in the afternoon. I went with a group of girls to check out the book store (or rather, book trailer)in the middle of campus, though I couldn't help but notice a tall Senegalese man shooting hoops by himself on the nearby basketball court. He kept trying to coaxe his friends on the sidelines to play with him, but they were clearly unmoved in the shade. I stood there with my friends, staring blankly and declaring (at least three times...to know one in particular) outloud "I wanna play basketball." Two minutes later...still standing there. Still wanting to play basketball. Still terrified.

Finally I shook myself, rallied, and walked over.

With khaki pants, a cardigan, sandals, and a big leather purse in towe, I approached this probably 6'5'' man and asked in broken French, "Can I play with you?" I learned quickly he didn't speak much French (or any English for that matter), but we somehow managed to communicate the rules of Around the World and Horse. By that time of course all his sideline buddies were getting a good chuckle out of this, and one of them even came to join us. We started playing Horse and in the first two minutes I had made every basket and they were both trailing by 2 (H-O)! Unfortunately that proud moment was short-lived. Ego in check.

Eventually more and more people joined, both Senegalese and CIEE students, and we decided to play Lightning/Bump/Knock Out. This presented a new challenge, however, since NONE of the Senegalese knew how to play... but again, we somehow communicated the rules through lots of role playing and broken French, and we got a big game going! They didn't totally get the concept of "if you don't make a basket, you're out" but we kind of guided them through the process. All in all, a big success.

The game broke up and a few guys about twice my height ended up playing 3-on-3. Though they were insistant I join their game, I assured them I would be far from helpful and opted for watching on the sidelines. Another guy strolled onto the court and here I witnessed a part of Senegalese culture I so admire and appreciate.

As a sign of respect, it's customary to greet everyone at a gathering by shaking their hand. It's an acknowledgement,a way of saying, "I see you." When this guy walked onto the court, he took the time to go around to everyone within the vicinity--even me, a total stranger standing off to the side--shake their hand, and greet them. It sounds simplistic, but I was incredibly struck by the power of that gesture. To feel recognized, respected--just seen. It's so easy in the States to feel invisible, unwanted or unwelcome in groups. This custom has a way of just washing over all that. It's beautiful.


On a lighter note, the meat-eating is going okay. I rang in my second day of having meat in two years with heaping portions of chicken at lunch, and some mystery meat... beef? lamb? for dinner. Hard to know. But no tummy aches yet! They eat meat here twice a day... sometimes three--we got bread, cheese, coffee and sardines for breakfast the other morning. Mmm mm! I really was doing pretty well with the whole carnivore thing until I looked down at my plate tonight and my dinner had teeth. I had to put a napkin over his little chippers just to choke down my plantains. I'm trying to stay positive.

Still laughing...

Salaammaalekum!

On a brief lunch break, but just enough time to tell you--Dakar is a total trip!

Hard to know where to begin. Goats are everywhere. On roof tops, in the street. I wake up in the middle of the night and hear them bleeting (bleating?) and can't help but respond with an explosive 'HA' everytime, no matter what time of day. So many things here I can't help but laugh at, very fun.

French speaking has been so wonderful and I've surprised myself with how not-shy I am using the language. What a great feeling to be able to communicate and make connections with people here, I absolutely love it! And finally for the first time since Normandale I'm in a place where everyone speaks French, too! Cloud nine, I'm telling you.

Wolof on the other hand... slightly different story. We had our first Survival Wolof class today--six other female CIEE students and our instructor Faatu. She was so gracious and patient with us, just a total dear. I thought I had the language figured out yesterday based on the few words I learned. We're meeting so many new people and learning new names, and Wolof seemed to conveniently fit that trend. Every word I learned in Wolof was just a combination of boys' names:

one - ben
thank you - jerry jeff
white person - two bob

Easy. Unfortunately not all words in Wolof quite follow that rule...it sounds cool but wow what a jumble of new sounds combinations. It will take some practicing for sure, but I'm excited to learn more!

I just got out of a meeting/consultation about my host family (!!) who will pick me up and take me home this Friday. Their last name is Sow (pronounced so) and I'm told there are a lot of them! :) Brothers, sisters, cousins--about ten or so. Some little ones, but a few my age, too, which will be nice. They speak French and Wolof and the dad speaks really good English, but I don't plan on tapping that resource too much I can help it. Apparently it's a really big, nice house and I will have my own room... it's in Sacre Coeur which is about a 25 minute walk from school, so I will most likely be taking a car rapide (these brightly decorated 30-40 year old buses with people hanging out the back yelling the destination... though there are no real set stops or routes ha) to and from school everyday.

The good friends I've made here are from Oregon and New Hampshire (go figure) and I'm finding all sorts of neat connections--people who are friends of friends (including my stepdad's doctor's daughter...weird). But the people here are so great, they're a good crew :)

Our campus is beautiful and very reminiscent of a Florida motel out of the 1950s... it's just one big square, baby blue and light yellow, two levels with a courtyard below with little walkways, palm trees and all sorts of beautiful, brightly colored flowers...and AC, thank goodness. Quite a pleasant place to be!

About to do my French placement test which will determine how many classes I can take in French and which level of French class I will be placed into. Wish me luck!

I'll leave you with my favorite Wolof saying I'm learned yet... it means thank God:

alxamdulilaay .... or al raam doo lee lie ... say it fast, you'll be smiling, too!

well here goes a test run... I can add pictures and even write! not totally computer illiterate. victory. that's awesome. t minus 9 days til we head for the west coast (of Africa, that is)!