Random tidbits... no real theme on this one, just some goofy recent happenings that I feel deserve some sharing:
Played soccer for the first time with my brother and friends on Wednesday. I've protested for two months on the sidelines but finally caved and joined them on the field. The best thing I have to say about my game is that now my brother and friends actually believe me when I tell them I can't play soccer. There are definitely levels of competency: either you're really good (mad ball handling skills, really fast), not great but not bad (you can kick and receive the ball, get a good hustle now and then), or just straight up bad (me). My favorite was my one break away when I thought I was cruising down the field, really huffing it...until a guy from the other team casually breezed up to me and just tapped the ball out of my control. Taking candy from a baby. No worries, though. I felt a lot better when my brother told me everytime he saw me on the field he just laughed. They're really an uplifting bunch.
Lunch at my internship at the Ecole Bilingue has been stellar minus one little hiccup last week. Diced hotdogs, beets, onions, potatoes... much like a heaping pile of curiously pink potato salad, if you will. Cold. And get this--you had to add your own mayonaise. As if it was salad dressing to slather over everything. I had to pass on that one. Vom.
It happened. My sister finally told me the other day I've gained weight (which by Senegalese standards is a good thing for women, in moderation of course). When I asked her if it was just in my face or maybe in my hips she reassured me, "No, just everywhere." I proceeded to compare jaayfondes (jie fon dayz) with my sister and maid. For those who don't know (which is probably all of you), jaayfonde is the Wolof version of badunkadunk... aka, having a jaayfonde literally means having a butt so big you can serve porridge out of/off of it. We concluded that although mine has a larger surface area, my sister's has more volume. Really nice family bonding moment.
We learned in school the other day the only word that is the same in both English and Wolof: poop.
My laundry here is pretty unpredictable in terms of when it gets picked up, when I'll get it back, whether it will come back with bleach stains, and whether it will come back at all. All that to say, I'm a little wary of which articles I surrender to the non-French-or-English speaking laundry lady. As a result of this distrust, I realized today that I haven't washed a pair of my jeans in about three months. Whoops.
At supper the other night my mom served us all fried egg rolls that were absolutely oozing with oil. Having a bit of saturated fat overload, I went to the kitchen and opted for some bread and jam instead--I thought a healthier choice...sama yaay seemed to think differently. My mom proceeded to follow me to the fridge and warned me that I "risked gaining weight" if I ate that bread. Nevermind the fried oil-laden egg rolls we just had, but stay away from that bread!! We seem to have different understandings of healthy eating habits.
I had a dream the other night that I was back in Minnesota and I started absolutely bawling because EVERYONE was pole hiking around (dryland training for nordic skiing) and I was sad to see only quiet Scandanavian Lutherans and and no cultural diversity. Prophetic, perhaps? (PS for all you Minnesotan readers, you might appreciate this as well: our university here is hosting International Day where everyone is supposed to share a part of their culture with the rest of the student body... the other midwesterners and I are trying to find ingredients to make a tater tot hot dish HA oh ya sure ya betcha!)
Think that's all for now, kids. I hope this entry won't deter you from reading future posts :) I'll work on washing my pants, I promise.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Religion + Development = ?
Friday afternoon post-internship I decided to meet up with samay xarit (my friends) at the HLM market--the place you go in Dakar when you need to buy...well, anything you could ever need. And most times you come out with many other things you really don't need. Kind of like the Target of Senegal. Slightly different atmosphere, though.
Anyway, the truly significant detail of this story is not so much where we went but when we went. The fact that we are in a country whose population is over 90% Muslim and all men are required to attend afternoon prayers at a mosque on Fridays... well...it must have just slipped our minds.
Coming home for lunch most weeks I'd actually witnessed the hordes of men flooding the streets in their "Sunday Best" (or rather Friday Best) toting prayer rugs and beads, but never before had I seen them in action talking to the Big Man Upstairs. Well, that changed on my way to HLM.
I can easily say it was this most incredible taxi ride of my life. Several blocks before coming up on one of the local mosques, I began seeing people lined up in perfectly neat rows on the sidewalk, their prayer rugs laid out in front of them. As we got closer to the mosque (and this one wasn't even that big) we could see literally hundreds of men lined up row after row on any free ground space they could find. Right as we passed through, the call to prayer rang out through the mosque's loud speaker, and at once, this sea of heads was suddenly bowed to the ground.
The cultural sensitivity and curiousity in me had an epic battle over whether to take a picture, but the sensitivity won out in the end. It was the kind of moment that was better spent experiencing than trying to capture, anyway...though I suppose that might be true of most moments.
The roads and intersections beyond the mosque were scattered with abandoned taxis and car rapides...it was almost ghosttown-like. It was as if everyone had been going about their day and all of a sudden dropped everything they were doing to pray, cut off mid-sentence. Frankly, I think that kind of is what happened. Time seems to stop come Friday afternoon prayer time. Coming from the Melting Pot, it was incredible to see that religious solidarity in such a metropolitan setting.
Interestingly enough, we just had a speaker at school talk to us about how religion is one of the major obstacles standing in the way of Senegal's development. She talked about the danger of crediting everything to "God's will"... if a building structure fails, a doctor makes a fatal mistake with a patient, a politician makes a controversial decision--God's will. Obviously this explanation is not used clear across the nation, but there is a big enough concentration of this mentality to cause concern among critics.
My econ class has discussed how Africa has been developed by Western standards and by that measure, it's been a failure. The continent needs to change its definition of development to fit African culture and society. For me, it's just hard to imagine what that would look like hand-in-hand with such strong religious convictions. That is not to say it's impossible to live a faith-based life and be developed... it would just look different from what we now know as development.
I feel like our Western economically developed societies place high value on money, time, advancement of the individual, survival of the fittest...and it's hard to picture Senegal with that face of development. That just seems so far, so opposite from what their society is now.
Even after mulling over this for a couple months, it's still hard to know what to think...or what to propose as a better solution.
p.s. I keep spelling development with two Ps because that's how it's spelled in French and I keep getting the two mixed up...AH!
Anyway, the truly significant detail of this story is not so much where we went but when we went. The fact that we are in a country whose population is over 90% Muslim and all men are required to attend afternoon prayers at a mosque on Fridays... well...it must have just slipped our minds.
Coming home for lunch most weeks I'd actually witnessed the hordes of men flooding the streets in their "Sunday Best" (or rather Friday Best) toting prayer rugs and beads, but never before had I seen them in action talking to the Big Man Upstairs. Well, that changed on my way to HLM.
I can easily say it was this most incredible taxi ride of my life. Several blocks before coming up on one of the local mosques, I began seeing people lined up in perfectly neat rows on the sidewalk, their prayer rugs laid out in front of them. As we got closer to the mosque (and this one wasn't even that big) we could see literally hundreds of men lined up row after row on any free ground space they could find. Right as we passed through, the call to prayer rang out through the mosque's loud speaker, and at once, this sea of heads was suddenly bowed to the ground.
The cultural sensitivity and curiousity in me had an epic battle over whether to take a picture, but the sensitivity won out in the end. It was the kind of moment that was better spent experiencing than trying to capture, anyway...though I suppose that might be true of most moments.
The roads and intersections beyond the mosque were scattered with abandoned taxis and car rapides...it was almost ghosttown-like. It was as if everyone had been going about their day and all of a sudden dropped everything they were doing to pray, cut off mid-sentence. Frankly, I think that kind of is what happened. Time seems to stop come Friday afternoon prayer time. Coming from the Melting Pot, it was incredible to see that religious solidarity in such a metropolitan setting.
Interestingly enough, we just had a speaker at school talk to us about how religion is one of the major obstacles standing in the way of Senegal's development. She talked about the danger of crediting everything to "God's will"... if a building structure fails, a doctor makes a fatal mistake with a patient, a politician makes a controversial decision--God's will. Obviously this explanation is not used clear across the nation, but there is a big enough concentration of this mentality to cause concern among critics.
My econ class has discussed how Africa has been developed by Western standards and by that measure, it's been a failure. The continent needs to change its definition of development to fit African culture and society. For me, it's just hard to imagine what that would look like hand-in-hand with such strong religious convictions. That is not to say it's impossible to live a faith-based life and be developed... it would just look different from what we now know as development.
I feel like our Western economically developed societies place high value on money, time, advancement of the individual, survival of the fittest...and it's hard to picture Senegal with that face of development. That just seems so far, so opposite from what their society is now.
Even after mulling over this for a couple months, it's still hard to know what to think...or what to propose as a better solution.
p.s. I keep spelling development with two Ps because that's how it's spelled in French and I keep getting the two mixed up...AH!
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Swingset
Today is officially the halfway mark of my semester in Senegal. I left January 16th and will be returning May 16th… so March 16th—this is it! Recently I realized that by the time I make it back to the States I will have spent 5 out of the past 12 months living in Africa. I like that.
With summer job plans beginning to settle in, there’s been lots of talk lately among the American students of going home and what that will be like. Common concerns include:
Actually having to do work and be on time to things.
As women, we’ll actually have to work for attention from the opposite sex for a change.
We won’t be able to make smart comments in English in front of people because they’ll actually know what we’re saying.
We’ll actually have to have manners at the dinner table.
We’ll actually HAVE a dinner table.
But to be perfectly honest, any time the subject comes up, I find the quickest way possible to change it because it’s something I just don’t like to think about. I have had my occasional bouts of homesickness (more so familysickness), but those are usually fairly easily cured. Mostly, I’m just trying to soak everything here up while I still can.
My little sister Rose and I have made a habit of going to watch my brother Issa and Pap (dad) play soccer on Friday nights. The game starts right around sunset at a field overlooking the ocean (also just across the road from my school). There’s a playground there where Rose and I sometimes like to take swing breaks from watching the game.
Last week I brought my camera and we took some pictures of our little play date. I love just about any swing to begin with, but these swings are particularly incredible because if you swing high enough, you can just see over the bushes and out into the vast blue ocean shimmering under the sunset. When you reach that highest point in the air, the swing lingers a bit, and for a moment you’re suspended in that unbelievable beauty.
Of course, gravity eventually pulls you back, but the promise of even a glimpse of that wonderful view keeps you pumping your legs to return to that one spot.
That’s Senegal to me. I know I’ll eventually be pulled back to the reality of my hustle-and-bustle American life, but for now, I’m enjoying being suspended in the beauty of it all… and when my semester here is all said and done, I know I will continue to stretch to find ways to return to Africa.
It’s too wonderful a place to be away from for long.
With summer job plans beginning to settle in, there’s been lots of talk lately among the American students of going home and what that will be like. Common concerns include:
Actually having to do work and be on time to things.
As women, we’ll actually have to work for attention from the opposite sex for a change.
We won’t be able to make smart comments in English in front of people because they’ll actually know what we’re saying.
We’ll actually have to have manners at the dinner table.
We’ll actually HAVE a dinner table.
But to be perfectly honest, any time the subject comes up, I find the quickest way possible to change it because it’s something I just don’t like to think about. I have had my occasional bouts of homesickness (more so familysickness), but those are usually fairly easily cured. Mostly, I’m just trying to soak everything here up while I still can.
My little sister Rose and I have made a habit of going to watch my brother Issa and Pap (dad) play soccer on Friday nights. The game starts right around sunset at a field overlooking the ocean (also just across the road from my school). There’s a playground there where Rose and I sometimes like to take swing breaks from watching the game.
Last week I brought my camera and we took some pictures of our little play date. I love just about any swing to begin with, but these swings are particularly incredible because if you swing high enough, you can just see over the bushes and out into the vast blue ocean shimmering under the sunset. When you reach that highest point in the air, the swing lingers a bit, and for a moment you’re suspended in that unbelievable beauty.
Of course, gravity eventually pulls you back, but the promise of even a glimpse of that wonderful view keeps you pumping your legs to return to that one spot.
That’s Senegal to me. I know I’ll eventually be pulled back to the reality of my hustle-and-bustle American life, but for now, I’m enjoying being suspended in the beauty of it all… and when my semester here is all said and done, I know I will continue to stretch to find ways to return to Africa.
It’s too wonderful a place to be away from for long.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Back from Hiatus
As most everyone else is heading off to their week of spring break, I've just returned from mine. I, along with 5 others, made the trek through bumpy backroads and awful heat to the South-Eastern corner of Senegal. Of the six of us travellers, there were 3 Wisconsinites and 1 Minnesotan, so the mid-western accents were RAGING all week. Awesome.
We arranged for a sept-place (basically a volkswagon grocery getter) to drive us to Tambacounda and then to Kedougou. When our driver rolled up Friday night 11:30pm we quickly realized it was not the driver we hired nor the comfy-looking car we spent an hour bargaining for...but it was headed our direction, so we piled in!
The drive down felt like being in a real life video game dodging potholes left and right. Before his own experience headed south, our French teacher was cautioned there were "bird nest" potholes along the road. But after seeing and feeling them for himself, he preferred to classify them as "elephant nest" potholes. I'd say his is an accurate interpretation. Yet somehow between the wild car ride, new level of discomfort in the deteriorating back seat, and Senegalese music blaring through the 7-hour drive through the night, I couldn't keep the big smile off my face. Again, somehow... this is EXACTLY how I wanted to be spending my spring break.
Our trip was marked by a series of rather fortunate events. While bumming around the market in Kedougou we happened upon one of my friend's college buddies (ALSO a Minnesotan! ...or at least went to school there) who is sixth months into her locally-stationed Peace Corps service.
Her random decision to bike through town led to our afternoon spent bumming around a local pool with a whole host of other Peace Corps volunteers, eating delicious warthog sandwiches (not a code word--literally, Pumba between bread) and listening to first-hand accounts of these Americans dropped into rural Africa for a couple years. We later spent the night (free!) at their headquarters cozily cuddled up three to a mosquito-net-adorned full-size bed... but only after a (I kid you not) non-stop 5 hour sing-a-long.
One of the guys on our trip brought his mandolin, a couple PCVs had their guitars...add an African drum, harmonica, wireless internet to look up chords and an infinite playlist of song requests, and that's how we found ourselves belting out tunes from 10 at night to 3 in the morning. Beatles were a crowd favorite. The boys actually extended their jam session an extra hour, but seriously regretted that decision three hours later when the 7am alarm went off for our full day of hiking.
The next few days were spent hiking along rivers, up mountains and through forests/jungles. So many times we stopped to pinch ourselves--"I can't believe this. We're hiking in Africa! Wait. Where ARE we?" The scenary was absolutely breathtaking. As was the heat. 108 degrees. In the shade. Luckily our guide had sense enough to realize this was not exactly ideal physical exertion weather, so we made a habit of hiking in the morn and eve, and otherwise spending most of the afternoon swimming and bathing in various waterfalls in Dande, Dindefelo and Segou. Fabulous sites, wonderful company.
The sweat factor was outrageous, though. Even though we bucket showered daily, we managed to roll into our campements (hostels) every night plastered in sweat and mango juice, caked in dirt and dust, straight up balls of nasty-ness. I have never been so hot and dirty for such an extended period of time (you can literally see the spring break section of my journal because there is a noticeable seam of dirt between the otherwise white stacked pages).
I may have gotten a little irritable most nights come 8pm. Too much heat! I now realize I am a true Minnesotan: gotta have my cold fix or I'm a crabbypants. Still, the experience was most definitely worth the discomfort.
Favorite moments also include a passionate group rendition of Titanic's "My Heart Will Go On" in the jeep ride between destinations, eating unhealthy amounts of ripe mangoes freshly picked from the trees, taking my first hot shower in almost 2 months at our first hotel, coming up with a long list of "famous last words" followed by hysterical laughter at the thought of possible contexts (mad with the heat? possibly...), tasting the local delicacy known as "funion" but being slightly disappointed at discovering something other than our fondly-known onion flavored chips, and finally, finding a live chicken under our bed one night.
The "direct" bus ride from Kedougou back to Dakar was a humbling end to our fun adventure of a week. At half the price of a sept-place, we got what we paid for. Cramped seats plus lovely neighbors who only spoke Wolof and insisted on shooting me glares with angry-sounding rants of which all I could understand was "tank! tank!" (legs)... I don't think they had much compassion for the long-legged when it came to sacrificing their own back discomfort.
In all fairness, the ride really wouldn't have been all bad if there had been air conditionning, it hadn't taken 15 hours, and we hadn't stopped 24 times (yes, I counted). Actually, I kept a log of all the times we stopped based on the chrono setting on my stopwatch. Here's a brief sampling from the first two hours of our trip:
two stops before this
0:15:30 stop
0:17:00 - 0:20:45 stop
0:29:02 senegalese music starts blasting
0:30:33 we get sprayed down with fabreeze
0:32:15 - 0:32:54 stop
0:48:18 - 0:51:16 stop, bathroom break
1:04:40 - 1:09:50 stop, water break
1:54:48 - 2:15:00 stop, 5pm prayer break
My other favorite was when someone decided to bring a cardboard box full of live chickens on board to join the fun. Just chilling in the aisle. Only you, Senegal.
Quite the trip. Spring Break 2010--definitely one for the books.
We arranged for a sept-place (basically a volkswagon grocery getter) to drive us to Tambacounda and then to Kedougou. When our driver rolled up Friday night 11:30pm we quickly realized it was not the driver we hired nor the comfy-looking car we spent an hour bargaining for...but it was headed our direction, so we piled in!
The drive down felt like being in a real life video game dodging potholes left and right. Before his own experience headed south, our French teacher was cautioned there were "bird nest" potholes along the road. But after seeing and feeling them for himself, he preferred to classify them as "elephant nest" potholes. I'd say his is an accurate interpretation. Yet somehow between the wild car ride, new level of discomfort in the deteriorating back seat, and Senegalese music blaring through the 7-hour drive through the night, I couldn't keep the big smile off my face. Again, somehow... this is EXACTLY how I wanted to be spending my spring break.
Our trip was marked by a series of rather fortunate events. While bumming around the market in Kedougou we happened upon one of my friend's college buddies (ALSO a Minnesotan! ...or at least went to school there) who is sixth months into her locally-stationed Peace Corps service.
Her random decision to bike through town led to our afternoon spent bumming around a local pool with a whole host of other Peace Corps volunteers, eating delicious warthog sandwiches (not a code word--literally, Pumba between bread) and listening to first-hand accounts of these Americans dropped into rural Africa for a couple years. We later spent the night (free!) at their headquarters cozily cuddled up three to a mosquito-net-adorned full-size bed... but only after a (I kid you not) non-stop 5 hour sing-a-long.
One of the guys on our trip brought his mandolin, a couple PCVs had their guitars...add an African drum, harmonica, wireless internet to look up chords and an infinite playlist of song requests, and that's how we found ourselves belting out tunes from 10 at night to 3 in the morning. Beatles were a crowd favorite. The boys actually extended their jam session an extra hour, but seriously regretted that decision three hours later when the 7am alarm went off for our full day of hiking.
The next few days were spent hiking along rivers, up mountains and through forests/jungles. So many times we stopped to pinch ourselves--"I can't believe this. We're hiking in Africa! Wait. Where ARE we?" The scenary was absolutely breathtaking. As was the heat. 108 degrees. In the shade. Luckily our guide had sense enough to realize this was not exactly ideal physical exertion weather, so we made a habit of hiking in the morn and eve, and otherwise spending most of the afternoon swimming and bathing in various waterfalls in Dande, Dindefelo and Segou. Fabulous sites, wonderful company.
The sweat factor was outrageous, though. Even though we bucket showered daily, we managed to roll into our campements (hostels) every night plastered in sweat and mango juice, caked in dirt and dust, straight up balls of nasty-ness. I have never been so hot and dirty for such an extended period of time (you can literally see the spring break section of my journal because there is a noticeable seam of dirt between the otherwise white stacked pages).
I may have gotten a little irritable most nights come 8pm. Too much heat! I now realize I am a true Minnesotan: gotta have my cold fix or I'm a crabbypants. Still, the experience was most definitely worth the discomfort.
Favorite moments also include a passionate group rendition of Titanic's "My Heart Will Go On" in the jeep ride between destinations, eating unhealthy amounts of ripe mangoes freshly picked from the trees, taking my first hot shower in almost 2 months at our first hotel, coming up with a long list of "famous last words" followed by hysterical laughter at the thought of possible contexts (mad with the heat? possibly...), tasting the local delicacy known as "funion" but being slightly disappointed at discovering something other than our fondly-known onion flavored chips, and finally, finding a live chicken under our bed one night.
The "direct" bus ride from Kedougou back to Dakar was a humbling end to our fun adventure of a week. At half the price of a sept-place, we got what we paid for. Cramped seats plus lovely neighbors who only spoke Wolof and insisted on shooting me glares with angry-sounding rants of which all I could understand was "tank! tank!" (legs)... I don't think they had much compassion for the long-legged when it came to sacrificing their own back discomfort.
In all fairness, the ride really wouldn't have been all bad if there had been air conditionning, it hadn't taken 15 hours, and we hadn't stopped 24 times (yes, I counted). Actually, I kept a log of all the times we stopped based on the chrono setting on my stopwatch. Here's a brief sampling from the first two hours of our trip:
two stops before this
0:15:30 stop
0:17:00 - 0:20:45 stop
0:29:02 senegalese music starts blasting
0:30:33 we get sprayed down with fabreeze
0:32:15 - 0:32:54 stop
0:48:18 - 0:51:16 stop, bathroom break
1:04:40 - 1:09:50 stop, water break
1:54:48 - 2:15:00 stop, 5pm prayer break
My other favorite was when someone decided to bring a cardboard box full of live chickens on board to join the fun. Just chilling in the aisle. Only you, Senegal.
Quite the trip. Spring Break 2010--definitely one for the books.
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