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.