Today I was walking by a mosque when a woman stood up and put her newborn baby in my arms, saying "Am," which literally means "have" or just "here." With a smile she casually waved an arm at him, telling me in Wolof to take him to America, to which I replied that I don't have enough money, and she laughed. Then the baby pooped.
Anne-Marie and I went to the beach yesterday and talked about life and stuff. She's stuck in a marriage she doesn't want and I yapped on about less important angsty topics. I think I'm slowly helping her realize she has a choice in her situation, and she tells me to "follow my heart," and that the tailor would still take me as his second wife if I wanted that.
My host-mom is back to her frigid self. My host-brothers think America is a taxi ride away, and when I said it takes a plane, they said we could just take mine, because I have one?
Aisstou is leaving for the Gambia today to be treated for her leg, which has issues apparently. She told me she was going to take my "African dress" when she left, but laughed, so I'm not actually sure if she's going to.
When a car (gently) hit me the other day, I yelled at them in Wolof and they look surprised. Not because they hit me, but because I knew Wolof. After 4 months, I'm just starting to get it.
Anne-Marie calls us "café au lait" - coffee with milk - as we spend all our time together and are practically inseparable, and with our skin, she adds, we are coffee and milk. She also told me to stop singing while we were climbing the hill to the lighthouse one time, as I was surely going to bring it down and destroy her city. I laughed, but then chased her up the hill and she told me she couldn't remember the last time she had run when it wasn't from me chasing her.
I've gained weight and my skin has gotten pretty bad. People comment on my weight gain as a good, healthy and beautiful thing, and while they still regard my boutons with worry, they always add that "it'll surely get better, eventually," with a pat on the hand. I wish I didn't start to care about it when I think about coming home.
I haven't felt ready to leave whatsoever until this past week. Now I feel like I am, in a confused kind of way.
I can't shower because the new maid is cleaning it. Her name is Oualy and she's friendly.
13 days left.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
#8 A day in a village
There’s a baby strapped to my back. I just got done carrying a bucket of water on my head from the well back to the hut. The skin on my right hand is still peeling a bit from when I rubbed it raw pounding millet. And now I’m sitting on a mat under a mango tree sharing ataaya (a tea that all of Senegal drinks) surrounded by a dozen people with whom I share no common language.
I’m in Toubacouta, a village in the south of Senegal. We were placed into individual families late morning to spend the day with host-families doing what they do and pretending like we knew how to speak Wolof. I exhausted all the Wolof I knew in the first 30 seconds of meeting Awa, my host-mom for the day, and spent the rest of the day learning how to communicate without language, which proved to be interesting and an incredibly good time.
The first thing I did after saying nanga def? as many times as I could was to walk to Awa’s hut and sit awkwardly on the straw mattress while she moved around moving things, unsure of what to do with me, when Binetou walked in and told me to come with her (or so I interpreted from the noises and gestures). We proceeded to walk to another hut that was for cooking, and I was sweating within minutes once I sat down. I helped her sort the rice- basically take out anything that shouldn’t be in it, such as little rocks- and then sat there a bit while she tried out some more Wolof on me, finally giving me up for a lost cause after a few more questions.
Turns out though, that being silly and smiling a lot can make up for a lack of Wolof. I spent the rest of the day making up my own sign language and being silly to ease the tension- going so far as to dance for everyone, which really breaks the ice here- and after a couple of hours, I already felt more comfortable than I do with my host-family in Dakar, with whom I’ve been living with for four months. They didn’t judge me whatsoever, and were interested in everything I had to say, even though I couldn’t actually say it.
After “helping” prepare lunch, I noticed Awa doing laundry and sort of just started helping without asking- mostly because I didn’t know how- and she laughed when I was already sore after the first few minutes.
So after I finished a bucket I wandered around what you might call the courtyard area, the space in the middle of their family’s huts, where a dozen or so children were milling about. After the first time I asked to take a picture, I didn’t have to again; they couldn’t get enough of it. Even if everyone was looking at the same tree and I took a picture of it, they’d all rush to gather around my camera to see it, and then laugh. I didn’t really understand why, but it was incredibly fun.
After wandering about, it was lunchtime. It was a wonderful change to have chicken, but I was never really at ease with the dozens of chickens we had to literally keep batting and pushing away from the communal plate, and not even because I was weird about animals being around my food- I just felt rather strange when a chicken would poke its head over and sneak a bite of it’s brother or whatever family member we just cooked. And no matter how many times I said suur naa, I’m full, (which usually works when they keep telling you to eat and putting food in front of you) Awa was adamant about me eating about twice as much as I wanted to, which made me feel incredibly overfull and way too hot. She then “made” me take a nap. So I pretended to sleep while chickens squawked under the bed, making me jump every two seconds, and when I eventually got up and pretended to be well-rested, it was already time to go sit and do nothing!
Since the middle of the day is so hot, they really do just plop down altogether on some mats in the shade of a tree for a couple of hours having boiling hot ataaya and sweet milk. Both are very tasty, but I would have killed the chicken were going to have for dinner for an ice-cold glass of lemonade. All the while, someone is knocking down mangos from the tree with a huge stick for everyone to eat.
Along with my host-mom and dad and their 4 kids, there were around a dozen other people/children hanging around their gathering of huts. I sat down on the mat and spent the next few hours “talking” with everyone having an incredibly good time. The tea takes forever to make, so during this time I went with Awa to the well and got water. Even though I got the smaller bucket, that didn’t mean I didn’t slosh a good deal of it down my front and back, and even though it was only a couple hundred feet, I couldn’t believe how badly my neck and arms hurt. And then I got to do it again.
Even though it was rest time, a couple of the girls were pounding millet, so I went over to help. It greatly amused them #1 that I even wanted to help, #2 that I seemed so tired so fast, and #3 that I continued to work even though I seemed tired.
They have this way of letting go of the huge stick they pound with when it comes up, in order to not hurt your hands, but I couldn’t do it, and it wasn’t too long before the skin on my right hand was peeling off. I'm pretty sure they thought I was crazy for laughing about it. Awa took my hand and clucked in a motherly fashion, even though she looks as young as I do, and I tried to convince her I’d live. All this said while her son is climbing the mango tree, her daughter is dragging her bare butt around in the sand and her other son isn’t even in sight.
When we sat down and had ataaya, I was introduced to the most beautiful baby I’ve ever met, Fatou. She has the brightest brown eyes I’ve ever seen, and wasn’t the least bit afraid of me, unlike another toddler that lived in a nearby hut and screamed bloody murder every time she saw me.
It didn’t take long before someone suggested I put her on my back- as is the way everyone carries their young children around- and I soon found myself with a cloth tied around my waist and Fatou giggling away behind me. It wasn’t as fun as playing, but it was fun to watch everyone’s amusing reactions to the white girl with a baby on her back.
The day ended with walking around to nearby huts saying hello, endless picture taking, and hanging out in the courtyard playing with the kids. I couldn't believe that in less than a day I actually felt like part of the family. They were some of the nicest people I've ever met, accepting me into their homes and lives for the day and letting me be part of it, doing what they did and trying to communicate with me the whole day even though I'm lousy in Wolof.
I can't wait to come back one day.
I’m in Toubacouta, a village in the south of Senegal. We were placed into individual families late morning to spend the day with host-families doing what they do and pretending like we knew how to speak Wolof. I exhausted all the Wolof I knew in the first 30 seconds of meeting Awa, my host-mom for the day, and spent the rest of the day learning how to communicate without language, which proved to be interesting and an incredibly good time.
The first thing I did after saying nanga def? as many times as I could was to walk to Awa’s hut and sit awkwardly on the straw mattress while she moved around moving things, unsure of what to do with me, when Binetou walked in and told me to come with her (or so I interpreted from the noises and gestures). We proceeded to walk to another hut that was for cooking, and I was sweating within minutes once I sat down. I helped her sort the rice- basically take out anything that shouldn’t be in it, such as little rocks- and then sat there a bit while she tried out some more Wolof on me, finally giving me up for a lost cause after a few more questions.
Turns out though, that being silly and smiling a lot can make up for a lack of Wolof. I spent the rest of the day making up my own sign language and being silly to ease the tension- going so far as to dance for everyone, which really breaks the ice here- and after a couple of hours, I already felt more comfortable than I do with my host-family in Dakar, with whom I’ve been living with for four months. They didn’t judge me whatsoever, and were interested in everything I had to say, even though I couldn’t actually say it.
After “helping” prepare lunch, I noticed Awa doing laundry and sort of just started helping without asking- mostly because I didn’t know how- and she laughed when I was already sore after the first few minutes.
So after I finished a bucket I wandered around what you might call the courtyard area, the space in the middle of their family’s huts, where a dozen or so children were milling about. After the first time I asked to take a picture, I didn’t have to again; they couldn’t get enough of it. Even if everyone was looking at the same tree and I took a picture of it, they’d all rush to gather around my camera to see it, and then laugh. I didn’t really understand why, but it was incredibly fun.
After wandering about, it was lunchtime. It was a wonderful change to have chicken, but I was never really at ease with the dozens of chickens we had to literally keep batting and pushing away from the communal plate, and not even because I was weird about animals being around my food- I just felt rather strange when a chicken would poke its head over and sneak a bite of it’s brother or whatever family member we just cooked. And no matter how many times I said suur naa, I’m full, (which usually works when they keep telling you to eat and putting food in front of you) Awa was adamant about me eating about twice as much as I wanted to, which made me feel incredibly overfull and way too hot. She then “made” me take a nap. So I pretended to sleep while chickens squawked under the bed, making me jump every two seconds, and when I eventually got up and pretended to be well-rested, it was already time to go sit and do nothing!
Since the middle of the day is so hot, they really do just plop down altogether on some mats in the shade of a tree for a couple of hours having boiling hot ataaya and sweet milk. Both are very tasty, but I would have killed the chicken were going to have for dinner for an ice-cold glass of lemonade. All the while, someone is knocking down mangos from the tree with a huge stick for everyone to eat.
Along with my host-mom and dad and their 4 kids, there were around a dozen other people/children hanging around their gathering of huts. I sat down on the mat and spent the next few hours “talking” with everyone having an incredibly good time. The tea takes forever to make, so during this time I went with Awa to the well and got water. Even though I got the smaller bucket, that didn’t mean I didn’t slosh a good deal of it down my front and back, and even though it was only a couple hundred feet, I couldn’t believe how badly my neck and arms hurt. And then I got to do it again.
Even though it was rest time, a couple of the girls were pounding millet, so I went over to help. It greatly amused them #1 that I even wanted to help, #2 that I seemed so tired so fast, and #3 that I continued to work even though I seemed tired.
They have this way of letting go of the huge stick they pound with when it comes up, in order to not hurt your hands, but I couldn’t do it, and it wasn’t too long before the skin on my right hand was peeling off. I'm pretty sure they thought I was crazy for laughing about it. Awa took my hand and clucked in a motherly fashion, even though she looks as young as I do, and I tried to convince her I’d live. All this said while her son is climbing the mango tree, her daughter is dragging her bare butt around in the sand and her other son isn’t even in sight.
When we sat down and had ataaya, I was introduced to the most beautiful baby I’ve ever met, Fatou. She has the brightest brown eyes I’ve ever seen, and wasn’t the least bit afraid of me, unlike another toddler that lived in a nearby hut and screamed bloody murder every time she saw me.
It didn’t take long before someone suggested I put her on my back- as is the way everyone carries their young children around- and I soon found myself with a cloth tied around my waist and Fatou giggling away behind me. It wasn’t as fun as playing, but it was fun to watch everyone’s amusing reactions to the white girl with a baby on her back.
The day ended with walking around to nearby huts saying hello, endless picture taking, and hanging out in the courtyard playing with the kids. I couldn't believe that in less than a day I actually felt like part of the family. They were some of the nicest people I've ever met, accepting me into their homes and lives for the day and letting me be part of it, doing what they did and trying to communicate with me the whole day even though I'm lousy in Wolof.
I can't wait to come back one day.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
#7 A New Addition
Louis-Albert is on my lap, as per usual. Yves is trying to cuddle with the right half of my body, while nothing is said about the fact they are both out their car seats and not buckled in. Absolutely nobody wears their seatbelt here, even children.
I stare out the window and actually see the stars clearly for the first time since being here; the electricity has gone out again, and with no light pollution, the stars are blinding.
And then Louis-Albert spits on my knee and the moment is over. Why did you do that? I asked. Pardon, is all he replies (sorry). I shake my head and tsk like a parent might. When did I become the grown-up?
Once we’re there, Yves grabs my hand as we walk into the clinic. Oh, so you’re not mad at me anymore? I say, because right before we left the house he declared his anger and shook his finger every time I looked at him. Now though, I can see he’s nervous and just needs a big sister.
Everything is white and blue and clean and very simple. I sit down on one of the blue cushions, and my host-dad, Jean-Claude, goes to check something at the front desk. Louis-Albert plops on my lap immediately, but before long Jean-Claude comes back and asks if I wanted to see her first. I thought we had just come to pick her up and bring her home, but I nodded and he told me she’s in room 16. Okay, looks like I’m going alone.
My host-mom, Isabelle, just had a baby this past Saturday. There has always been something hanging between us for my entire stay here- I’ve been constantly intimidated by her since she is very stern and serious most of the time, and she doesn’t take well to my meekness, though I couldn’t say we actually have any issues. There’s just been a constant mild tension, and I haven’t found a way around it no matter what I do at home, so going to visit her on my own was a bit scary.
As soon as I opened the door, it all melted away. The lights were incredibly dim, Isabelle was in bed, and the baby looked impossibly small in his blankets. There wasn’t much else in the room. The combination of it all made me at ease, and something felt so beautiful about what I was seeing, and I couldn’t believe I was allowed to be part of it.
She smiled when she saw me- something that completely changes the way she looks and puts me even more at ease. I sat down, asked about her and the baby, and she told me all was well and asked if I wanted to hold him. I sort of froze, because I felt like I would break such a tiny person, but she saw how nervous I looked, laughed, and got up to show me how to hold him.
He weighed nothing in my arms. His face, toes, ears…everything was so tiny. I couldn’t look away; I couldn’t stop marveling over every little part of him. I felt like I could simply look at him all day.
Bienvenue, mon petit, I said. Je suis ta grande soeur, Katie. Welcome little guy, I’m your big sister, Katie.
He squeezed my hand.
I stare out the window and actually see the stars clearly for the first time since being here; the electricity has gone out again, and with no light pollution, the stars are blinding.
And then Louis-Albert spits on my knee and the moment is over. Why did you do that? I asked. Pardon, is all he replies (sorry). I shake my head and tsk like a parent might. When did I become the grown-up?
Once we’re there, Yves grabs my hand as we walk into the clinic. Oh, so you’re not mad at me anymore? I say, because right before we left the house he declared his anger and shook his finger every time I looked at him. Now though, I can see he’s nervous and just needs a big sister.
Everything is white and blue and clean and very simple. I sit down on one of the blue cushions, and my host-dad, Jean-Claude, goes to check something at the front desk. Louis-Albert plops on my lap immediately, but before long Jean-Claude comes back and asks if I wanted to see her first. I thought we had just come to pick her up and bring her home, but I nodded and he told me she’s in room 16. Okay, looks like I’m going alone.
My host-mom, Isabelle, just had a baby this past Saturday. There has always been something hanging between us for my entire stay here- I’ve been constantly intimidated by her since she is very stern and serious most of the time, and she doesn’t take well to my meekness, though I couldn’t say we actually have any issues. There’s just been a constant mild tension, and I haven’t found a way around it no matter what I do at home, so going to visit her on my own was a bit scary.
As soon as I opened the door, it all melted away. The lights were incredibly dim, Isabelle was in bed, and the baby looked impossibly small in his blankets. There wasn’t much else in the room. The combination of it all made me at ease, and something felt so beautiful about what I was seeing, and I couldn’t believe I was allowed to be part of it.
She smiled when she saw me- something that completely changes the way she looks and puts me even more at ease. I sat down, asked about her and the baby, and she told me all was well and asked if I wanted to hold him. I sort of froze, because I felt like I would break such a tiny person, but she saw how nervous I looked, laughed, and got up to show me how to hold him.
He weighed nothing in my arms. His face, toes, ears…everything was so tiny. I couldn’t look away; I couldn’t stop marveling over every little part of him. I felt like I could simply look at him all day.
Bienvenue, mon petit, I said. Je suis ta grande soeur, Katie. Welcome little guy, I’m your big sister, Katie.
He squeezed my hand.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
#6 Turning 21 in Africa, and Warthogs.
All of a sudden, the fact that the time on cell phones here isn't synchronized became something other than annoying for once. For five minutes, I went from phone to phone and got to celebrate my 21st birthday multiple times, as midnight just kept on coming.
"It's my birthday! ....it's my birthday again! ........hey, you! ....did you hear it's my biiiiirthdaaaaay?"
We were out at a low-key bar, sitting around a table, drinking Gazelles. A mix of students from all the different programs were there, as Alex's birthday was the day before, so it was a 2 for 1 kind of deal.
So after going to bed and waking up, I did what anybody else would do on their 21st. I spent a good 4 or 5 hours checking the last of the homework for my internship, finished up my lesson plan, and proceeded to the Université Cheikh Anta Diop to teach a class of 250 people by myself. The professor thought that TA-ing two classes was enough for me to get a feel of how to teach the class, and consequently I spent the better part of the last week preparing for it, and was surprised at how much I enjoyed that process. I took that as a good sign. Now there was just the actually doing it part left.
As soon as I was standing by myself in front of everyone, I was rather aware of my old, brown sandals that seemed to mock my attempt at looking semi-professional, but when you walk an hour to and from school each day, you tend to not care so much about shoes "going" with an outfit anymore. It should have been the least of my worries, but all of a sudden I wondered if they'd take me seriously or not because my shoes were pretty ugly.
Turns out I didn't need to worry, I don't think they've even gotten over my blonde hair yet. They seemed rather intrigued to have me teaching the class, and I even got a round of applause when Professor Ngom announced that it was my birthday. So far so good.
Another welcomed surprise was the fact that my heart didn't race the entire time, it was simply the first few moments and that was that. I was also able to control my fidgeting much better than I thought, as well as speak in a clear, loud enough voice that hardly shook. Everything was going much smoother than I had anticipated. In addition, Professor Ngom sat off to the side and occasionally threw out something to add on to what we were doing and it really added to the experience, like I was finally full-out teaching and yet still learning about what I was teaching. I've never experienced anything quite like that.
It was so reassuring, too, because everything that I'm studying and working toward is to eventually one day do something like this- teaching and working with students- and today felt like the ultimate test to see how I'd do on my own (though it was less "on my own" than I thought with the professor helping here and there, but still!) and it went so well. It was so encouraging to realize I don't flop in front of large groups, that I can keep my head on straight and do alright without much help.
And also, throughout this entire process, I've really been challenged in learning all the "whys" behind everything that I already know. Students generally want to know the "why," and so knowing I had to teach, it forced me to look at everything in a different light. Checking all of their papers I saw so many mistakes, knew what it should be right away, but how to explain it? Why this and not that? It was definitely good for me to go through that process, as I was able to have many explanations already thought about and planned in my head, anticipating their questions.
And after the class was over, I even got a marriage proposal. Must've been a better lesson than I thought. Oh no wait I'm just in Senegal...
Anyway, last weekend we went to St. Louis, the former capital of the French colony of Senegal. It was about a 5 hour bus ride to get there, which I thoroughly enjoyed because of the awesome scenery that we passed and not because of all the air conditioning heads that kept falling on people.
At some points it felt like a safari. I saw warthogs galore, even babies, as well as a couple boa constrictors on the side of the road hidden in the grass, a few monkeys ran across the road a few times, we passed some camels on the way back, saw a few donkeys, and don't forget the ever-present cows and goats.
We went on a tour of the city in horse-drawn buggies; we couldn't have been any more of a spectacle. The town was cool though, very colorful- a nice change from the sandy brown Dakar.
We had a "cultural night" that evening. We went to somebody's home and a ton of people were there to dance, sing and play music for us. We were all exhausted but that didn't stop them all from pulling us up to dance against our will. We bobbed around awkwardly and it wasn't that bad, especially if you somehow escaped the pulling hands and could just enjoy everyone else's awkwardness.
But my favorite part was the bird sanctuary. We got in boats and toured around in a river, watching thousands of birds frolic about as we got sunburnt. We saw a couple of crocodiles and even a kimono dragon, and I enjoyed the flock of flamingos that flew over us at once point.
And now, another week has gone by at an alarmingly fast pace and I'm starting to get a little anxious about it. What happened to ndank ndank?
"It's my birthday! ....it's my birthday again! ........hey, you! ....did you hear it's my biiiiirthdaaaaay?"
We were out at a low-key bar, sitting around a table, drinking Gazelles. A mix of students from all the different programs were there, as Alex's birthday was the day before, so it was a 2 for 1 kind of deal.
So after going to bed and waking up, I did what anybody else would do on their 21st. I spent a good 4 or 5 hours checking the last of the homework for my internship, finished up my lesson plan, and proceeded to the Université Cheikh Anta Diop to teach a class of 250 people by myself. The professor thought that TA-ing two classes was enough for me to get a feel of how to teach the class, and consequently I spent the better part of the last week preparing for it, and was surprised at how much I enjoyed that process. I took that as a good sign. Now there was just the actually doing it part left.
As soon as I was standing by myself in front of everyone, I was rather aware of my old, brown sandals that seemed to mock my attempt at looking semi-professional, but when you walk an hour to and from school each day, you tend to not care so much about shoes "going" with an outfit anymore. It should have been the least of my worries, but all of a sudden I wondered if they'd take me seriously or not because my shoes were pretty ugly.
Turns out I didn't need to worry, I don't think they've even gotten over my blonde hair yet. They seemed rather intrigued to have me teaching the class, and I even got a round of applause when Professor Ngom announced that it was my birthday. So far so good.
Another welcomed surprise was the fact that my heart didn't race the entire time, it was simply the first few moments and that was that. I was also able to control my fidgeting much better than I thought, as well as speak in a clear, loud enough voice that hardly shook. Everything was going much smoother than I had anticipated. In addition, Professor Ngom sat off to the side and occasionally threw out something to add on to what we were doing and it really added to the experience, like I was finally full-out teaching and yet still learning about what I was teaching. I've never experienced anything quite like that.
It was so reassuring, too, because everything that I'm studying and working toward is to eventually one day do something like this- teaching and working with students- and today felt like the ultimate test to see how I'd do on my own (though it was less "on my own" than I thought with the professor helping here and there, but still!) and it went so well. It was so encouraging to realize I don't flop in front of large groups, that I can keep my head on straight and do alright without much help.
And also, throughout this entire process, I've really been challenged in learning all the "whys" behind everything that I already know. Students generally want to know the "why," and so knowing I had to teach, it forced me to look at everything in a different light. Checking all of their papers I saw so many mistakes, knew what it should be right away, but how to explain it? Why this and not that? It was definitely good for me to go through that process, as I was able to have many explanations already thought about and planned in my head, anticipating their questions.
And after the class was over, I even got a marriage proposal. Must've been a better lesson than I thought. Oh no wait I'm just in Senegal...
Anyway, last weekend we went to St. Louis, the former capital of the French colony of Senegal. It was about a 5 hour bus ride to get there, which I thoroughly enjoyed because of the awesome scenery that we passed and not because of all the air conditioning heads that kept falling on people.
At some points it felt like a safari. I saw warthogs galore, even babies, as well as a couple boa constrictors on the side of the road hidden in the grass, a few monkeys ran across the road a few times, we passed some camels on the way back, saw a few donkeys, and don't forget the ever-present cows and goats.
We went on a tour of the city in horse-drawn buggies; we couldn't have been any more of a spectacle. The town was cool though, very colorful- a nice change from the sandy brown Dakar.
We had a "cultural night" that evening. We went to somebody's home and a ton of people were there to dance, sing and play music for us. We were all exhausted but that didn't stop them all from pulling us up to dance against our will. We bobbed around awkwardly and it wasn't that bad, especially if you somehow escaped the pulling hands and could just enjoy everyone else's awkwardness.
But my favorite part was the bird sanctuary. We got in boats and toured around in a river, watching thousands of birds frolic about as we got sunburnt. We saw a couple of crocodiles and even a kimono dragon, and I enjoyed the flock of flamingos that flew over us at once point.
And now, another week has gone by at an alarmingly fast pace and I'm starting to get a little anxious about it. What happened to ndank ndank?
Friday, February 27, 2009
#5 Who needs coffee when you can just take a cold shower?
Ndank ndank mooy japp golo ci naay.
Slowly, slowly, one catches the monkey in the bush.
Petit à petit l'oiseau fait son nid.
Little by little, the bird builds his nest.
Wolof and French sayings that describe my life very well here in Senegal. Both of them remind me that things take time and that nothing worthwhile and lasting comes quickly. Time time time. All it takes, all you need, right? But it's going by faster than it ever has for me.
I've been here almost two months, and yet I find myself facing new situations every single day that can and do completely change the experience I'm having here. All it takes is meeting one new person, simply taking the time to try and get to know someone, or even taking one wrong turn where you end up going on an accidental adventure...and it can cause a ripple affect that could add enormously to everything you're already doing or greatly change it. That's why I love it here; the small decisions you make every day here can cause such drastically different outcomes that I wake up every day as though it were my first here. I never get tired of or used to anything, except maybe the 3-hour-long lectures.
When I met Anne-Marie, for example, I thought we would meet maybe once a week for a short English lesson and not much more, but she has become not only my best friend in Senegal, but one of the best friends I've ever had. The lessons are more like 2-3 times a week and for up to 2 hours at a time, and they're more like really good conversations that we slip a little English into. She has to be one of the most genuine, sweet, good-natured and funny people I've ever met, and my cheeks usually hurt with laughter within the first 5 minutes of seeing her.
This past weekend she, Leah and I went to H.L.M.- a market where we searched for the perfect cloth for nearly 4 hours, and got it quite literally in the last 5 minutes as all the shops were closing. I had such a perfect idea of what I wanted in my mind that it made it seem like mission impossible, but Anne-Marie was relentless in the search- moreso than I was- and determined to make me happy by the end of the day, though I don't know if I've ever enjoyed one so much. Anyone else would have thrown their hands up into the air at least a dozen times by that point, but she never got grouchy or frustrated or gave up (everything I usually feel and do when I shop) rather, she kept pulling me along by the hand, weaving in and out of the endless stalls, as though it were her only job in life to find me the perfect material. And while I didn't expect her to, she bargained for everything for me, getting the price to less than half of what each vendor started with, and I realized I would have gotten very ripped off had I not had her.
I also got material for a boubou (just some simple, white cloth) and so the next day we took it all to a tailor. After getting lost on the way to Anne-Marie's, I was blind-sided by a hug when I accidently stumbled into the right direction into her. She laughed and laughed at my atrocious direction abilities and I couldn't help but smile, nobody had ever laughed at me in a more genuine way. She took my hand and off we set for the tailer.
Another thing I love. While you never see any kind of public affection between couples, you will see hand holding all day long between men and men and women and women. It's not a full-out grasp, but a loose little friendly hold, that I was a admittedly a little uncomfortable with at first, but now it's something that makes my already too-big smile stretch even further up to my ears.
We teased each other non-stop until we were at the tailors, where I picked out what I wanted in magazines and got measured for the first time ever for clothes! I was so giddy, and Anne-Marie was amused by me as usual, as I get excited about everything that is normal and everyday-life things to her. Afterward I sat on the cooshy green foam-seat while she bargained him down from about $35 for the two to about $15. Wow. That's like, one pant leg back home.
Afterward, we both had the whole day free so I went to visit her home and meet some family. If I ever thought it was hectic at my place with two little boys running around, it was nothing in comparison to the 4 or 5 little kids all under the age of 4 that sped by me in a blur of colors as I tried to cross the courtyard, while almost tripping over a chicken (or a very small fluffy child). She showed me her room that she shares with 3 other people, and the mat she sleeps on. She prefers it to the bed, which hurts her back, and we laughed as I told her it was sort of the opposite for me.
Her aunt was in the room when we got there (who also works at WARC) and we spent the next 30 minutes looking at a pile of old pictures where Anne-Marie looked like a model in just about every one, and her aunt and I teased her endlessly about how many ex's she had (even though there were only two- they kept appearing in the pictures and I'd pretend they were all different).
Oh yea, Anne-Marie got engaged on Valentine's Day. It's not my business to blog all the details on the internet, but I will say that we disagree about why she's getting married, as she is ultimately just settling and I tell her she should try the love part. Regardless, after the photo adventure we went to her financée's place and he was as nice as she described, and very hospitable. After talking for a bit we somehow ended up watching a pretty horrible 90's American film- still don't know what it's called- but it was in English, and despite my protests, they wanted to watch it, so we did. It was a random kind of afternoon but I enjoyed myself nonetheless.
And then, I still get to see her every day at WARC, where I bug her and all the other women who work there all day long, though I think they enjoy the interruptions- usually. I've also started talking a lot more with all the other women there, who all love to comment on the progress of my butons and laugh and clap while I show them what I learned in my African Music and Dance class. Another good lesson I've learned- if you want someone to warm up to you, look and sound a bit like an idiot, and it'll be appreciated (caution: context is probably important).
And can I just add that my adventure with Gilda yesterday was one of the best moments I've ever had? There is a huge trampoline on the coast that we pass all the time, and out of the blue we decided to go, and for one dollar we got to jump and yell and fall into the nets as we tried to look over the ocean and giggled and screamed until we were out of breath.
And now another week has passed before I could even grasp that it was Monday. While it always leaves me feeling uneasy to see time go by so fast, it doesn't change the fact that you have to catch the monkey slowly, you know?
Slowly, slowly, one catches the monkey in the bush.
Petit à petit l'oiseau fait son nid.
Little by little, the bird builds his nest.
Wolof and French sayings that describe my life very well here in Senegal. Both of them remind me that things take time and that nothing worthwhile and lasting comes quickly. Time time time. All it takes, all you need, right? But it's going by faster than it ever has for me.
I've been here almost two months, and yet I find myself facing new situations every single day that can and do completely change the experience I'm having here. All it takes is meeting one new person, simply taking the time to try and get to know someone, or even taking one wrong turn where you end up going on an accidental adventure...and it can cause a ripple affect that could add enormously to everything you're already doing or greatly change it. That's why I love it here; the small decisions you make every day here can cause such drastically different outcomes that I wake up every day as though it were my first here. I never get tired of or used to anything, except maybe the 3-hour-long lectures.
When I met Anne-Marie, for example, I thought we would meet maybe once a week for a short English lesson and not much more, but she has become not only my best friend in Senegal, but one of the best friends I've ever had. The lessons are more like 2-3 times a week and for up to 2 hours at a time, and they're more like really good conversations that we slip a little English into. She has to be one of the most genuine, sweet, good-natured and funny people I've ever met, and my cheeks usually hurt with laughter within the first 5 minutes of seeing her.
This past weekend she, Leah and I went to H.L.M.- a market where we searched for the perfect cloth for nearly 4 hours, and got it quite literally in the last 5 minutes as all the shops were closing. I had such a perfect idea of what I wanted in my mind that it made it seem like mission impossible, but Anne-Marie was relentless in the search- moreso than I was- and determined to make me happy by the end of the day, though I don't know if I've ever enjoyed one so much. Anyone else would have thrown their hands up into the air at least a dozen times by that point, but she never got grouchy or frustrated or gave up (everything I usually feel and do when I shop) rather, she kept pulling me along by the hand, weaving in and out of the endless stalls, as though it were her only job in life to find me the perfect material. And while I didn't expect her to, she bargained for everything for me, getting the price to less than half of what each vendor started with, and I realized I would have gotten very ripped off had I not had her.
I also got material for a boubou (just some simple, white cloth) and so the next day we took it all to a tailor. After getting lost on the way to Anne-Marie's, I was blind-sided by a hug when I accidently stumbled into the right direction into her. She laughed and laughed at my atrocious direction abilities and I couldn't help but smile, nobody had ever laughed at me in a more genuine way. She took my hand and off we set for the tailer.
Another thing I love. While you never see any kind of public affection between couples, you will see hand holding all day long between men and men and women and women. It's not a full-out grasp, but a loose little friendly hold, that I was a admittedly a little uncomfortable with at first, but now it's something that makes my already too-big smile stretch even further up to my ears.
We teased each other non-stop until we were at the tailors, where I picked out what I wanted in magazines and got measured for the first time ever for clothes! I was so giddy, and Anne-Marie was amused by me as usual, as I get excited about everything that is normal and everyday-life things to her. Afterward I sat on the cooshy green foam-seat while she bargained him down from about $35 for the two to about $15. Wow. That's like, one pant leg back home.
Afterward, we both had the whole day free so I went to visit her home and meet some family. If I ever thought it was hectic at my place with two little boys running around, it was nothing in comparison to the 4 or 5 little kids all under the age of 4 that sped by me in a blur of colors as I tried to cross the courtyard, while almost tripping over a chicken (or a very small fluffy child). She showed me her room that she shares with 3 other people, and the mat she sleeps on. She prefers it to the bed, which hurts her back, and we laughed as I told her it was sort of the opposite for me.
Her aunt was in the room when we got there (who also works at WARC) and we spent the next 30 minutes looking at a pile of old pictures where Anne-Marie looked like a model in just about every one, and her aunt and I teased her endlessly about how many ex's she had (even though there were only two- they kept appearing in the pictures and I'd pretend they were all different).
Oh yea, Anne-Marie got engaged on Valentine's Day. It's not my business to blog all the details on the internet, but I will say that we disagree about why she's getting married, as she is ultimately just settling and I tell her she should try the love part. Regardless, after the photo adventure we went to her financée's place and he was as nice as she described, and very hospitable. After talking for a bit we somehow ended up watching a pretty horrible 90's American film- still don't know what it's called- but it was in English, and despite my protests, they wanted to watch it, so we did. It was a random kind of afternoon but I enjoyed myself nonetheless.
And then, I still get to see her every day at WARC, where I bug her and all the other women who work there all day long, though I think they enjoy the interruptions- usually. I've also started talking a lot more with all the other women there, who all love to comment on the progress of my butons and laugh and clap while I show them what I learned in my African Music and Dance class. Another good lesson I've learned- if you want someone to warm up to you, look and sound a bit like an idiot, and it'll be appreciated (caution: context is probably important).
And can I just add that my adventure with Gilda yesterday was one of the best moments I've ever had? There is a huge trampoline on the coast that we pass all the time, and out of the blue we decided to go, and for one dollar we got to jump and yell and fall into the nets as we tried to look over the ocean and giggled and screamed until we were out of breath.
And now another week has passed before I could even grasp that it was Monday. While it always leaves me feeling uneasy to see time go by so fast, it doesn't change the fact that you have to catch the monkey slowly, you know?
Thursday, February 19, 2009
#4 My first internship
“And now, Kah-tee, if you could go ahead and just say a few words…”
I feel my eyes go into deer-in-headlights mode as I hear Professor Ngom say this, stupidly realizing that of course I was probably going to have to introduce myself, why did it take until this moment to realize it?
I stand up from my chair and look disbelievingly at the overcrowded classroom that would probably fit 100 comfortably: every single row is filled past capacity, students are sitting in the aisles, some are standing at the back of the classroom and in the doorway, others are sitting against the wall and on the large podium, where you can’t even see the blackboard, and yes, those are students outside, looking through the window, pen and paper at the ready to take notes.
As I introduce myself, I can feel the skin about to melt off my face and look back into the 250 sets of eyes focused on me. “Hello…um…well I’m Katie…uh…” and then I nervously launch into the shpeal of where you’re from and what you’re studying; “I’m a French major getting my teaching certification and TESOL minor- that stands for Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages- and an African Studies Specialization…” I speak slowly, trying to annunciate as they all look disbelieving, as though there is no way this person just walked into their English Comprehension class, and at the specialization, everyone bursts into a round of applause, hooting and hollering until the Professor actually has to rap his knuckles on the table to settle them all down.
At this point, the professor saves me from having to say any more as he says, “Yes yes we are all excited and lucky to have her here, it’s a great opportunity to have a native speaker…”
It’s my first day of my internship as a teaching assistant to Professor Ngom in his English Comprehension class. It’s two hours long and is divided into listening and written portions. During the first part, a text is read several times and they are given the questions before the last reading. Afterward, they discuss the answers and go off on tangents to make sure the reading is well understood. Afterward, they normally work on translation and writing about specific topics, but today was a little different.
After my introduction, Professor Ngom got everyone settled down and to work. He and I read the reading two times each (one more than usual because I have a much different accent) and I could have sworn that the words were trying to jump off the page; I could hear my voice shaking and felt bad to make it any more difficult to understand, but you try reading in front of that kind of crowd!
Once the question portion was over with is when I started doing most of the talking. Since it’s a comprehension class, Professor Ngom wants them to get used to a native speaker’s accent, since they will have three different people reading for their exams in July. I didn’t know this was going to happen, but it turned out to be one of my favorite things done so far in Senegal.
“And now,” said the professor, “you may all ask Katie questions about her culture and the United States, but nothing personal,” and at this he glanced sternly around the room, trying to make eye contact with as many men as possible, knowing only too well their first question- was I married? You could actually see the disappointment on some faces, while others laughed.
There’s that saying, “Most of us are not aware we have a culture until we step outside of it,” but today I experienced this at another level. I was so nervous that I wouldn’t know the answer to a question, but every single one was about something that I just know simply because of where I was born and how I was raised- i.e. my “culture.” Most of it were things you never really even think or talk about, but for 45 minutes straight, people didn’t stop raising their hands to ask about these things as though nothing else could be as interesting.
“Can you really have 3 or 4 jobs at once and make a lot of money? How do find Senegal? What are the biggest differences between American and Senegalese women? Did you vote for Barack Obama? Why did you come here instead of someplace else? How does the education system in the US differ from here? Do you have a car…?”
I found myself only too happy to explain and debunk a plethora of stereotypes, as well as ask them what other stereotypes they had, and laughed as I explained, “No, not everybody walks around with their hands in their pockets not looking at anyone.” It was also interesting to realize that many of them look at America in the same way many Americans look at Africa- that it is one big state, as many think Africa is one big country- but I could no more speak on behalf or generalize all of America than someone from Africa trying to do the same. We talked about how the media enforces these things, and by the end I felt like I was sitting in a Starbucks having a great conversation with my closest 250 friends.
It was so interesting to see their faces and reactions to my explanations of things like wealth and jobs, that maybe we make more, but the cost of living is also much more as well, and that you can’t really get by easily without a car- an expense many don’t have here. Four of the 250 students had laptops, and their eyes were wide with shock when I told them it’s a requirement to own one to go to where I go to school. I explained about how many people- myself included- need to take out loans to go to school, and they were visibly distressed when I told them how much school costs and how you pay it back over the years, but how it’s a good investment because it allows you for a better career. Some were really surprised to know that there is indeed poverty and unemployment in the US, and I genuinely wondered how many minds I changed of some who were interested in living and working there because they thought it was so easy to make money.
I wanted it to keep going, but the professor finally took the final question- “What do you think about Barack Obama’s opinion on gun control?”
“And I think that's where we'll stop today,” said the professor with a frown. I laughed.
I love it here.
I feel my eyes go into deer-in-headlights mode as I hear Professor Ngom say this, stupidly realizing that of course I was probably going to have to introduce myself, why did it take until this moment to realize it?
I stand up from my chair and look disbelievingly at the overcrowded classroom that would probably fit 100 comfortably: every single row is filled past capacity, students are sitting in the aisles, some are standing at the back of the classroom and in the doorway, others are sitting against the wall and on the large podium, where you can’t even see the blackboard, and yes, those are students outside, looking through the window, pen and paper at the ready to take notes.
As I introduce myself, I can feel the skin about to melt off my face and look back into the 250 sets of eyes focused on me. “Hello…um…well I’m Katie…uh…” and then I nervously launch into the shpeal of where you’re from and what you’re studying; “I’m a French major getting my teaching certification and TESOL minor- that stands for Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages- and an African Studies Specialization…” I speak slowly, trying to annunciate as they all look disbelieving, as though there is no way this person just walked into their English Comprehension class, and at the specialization, everyone bursts into a round of applause, hooting and hollering until the Professor actually has to rap his knuckles on the table to settle them all down.
At this point, the professor saves me from having to say any more as he says, “Yes yes we are all excited and lucky to have her here, it’s a great opportunity to have a native speaker…”
It’s my first day of my internship as a teaching assistant to Professor Ngom in his English Comprehension class. It’s two hours long and is divided into listening and written portions. During the first part, a text is read several times and they are given the questions before the last reading. Afterward, they discuss the answers and go off on tangents to make sure the reading is well understood. Afterward, they normally work on translation and writing about specific topics, but today was a little different.
After my introduction, Professor Ngom got everyone settled down and to work. He and I read the reading two times each (one more than usual because I have a much different accent) and I could have sworn that the words were trying to jump off the page; I could hear my voice shaking and felt bad to make it any more difficult to understand, but you try reading in front of that kind of crowd!
Once the question portion was over with is when I started doing most of the talking. Since it’s a comprehension class, Professor Ngom wants them to get used to a native speaker’s accent, since they will have three different people reading for their exams in July. I didn’t know this was going to happen, but it turned out to be one of my favorite things done so far in Senegal.
“And now,” said the professor, “you may all ask Katie questions about her culture and the United States, but nothing personal,” and at this he glanced sternly around the room, trying to make eye contact with as many men as possible, knowing only too well their first question- was I married? You could actually see the disappointment on some faces, while others laughed.
There’s that saying, “Most of us are not aware we have a culture until we step outside of it,” but today I experienced this at another level. I was so nervous that I wouldn’t know the answer to a question, but every single one was about something that I just know simply because of where I was born and how I was raised- i.e. my “culture.” Most of it were things you never really even think or talk about, but for 45 minutes straight, people didn’t stop raising their hands to ask about these things as though nothing else could be as interesting.
“Can you really have 3 or 4 jobs at once and make a lot of money? How do find Senegal? What are the biggest differences between American and Senegalese women? Did you vote for Barack Obama? Why did you come here instead of someplace else? How does the education system in the US differ from here? Do you have a car…?”
I found myself only too happy to explain and debunk a plethora of stereotypes, as well as ask them what other stereotypes they had, and laughed as I explained, “No, not everybody walks around with their hands in their pockets not looking at anyone.” It was also interesting to realize that many of them look at America in the same way many Americans look at Africa- that it is one big state, as many think Africa is one big country- but I could no more speak on behalf or generalize all of America than someone from Africa trying to do the same. We talked about how the media enforces these things, and by the end I felt like I was sitting in a Starbucks having a great conversation with my closest 250 friends.
It was so interesting to see their faces and reactions to my explanations of things like wealth and jobs, that maybe we make more, but the cost of living is also much more as well, and that you can’t really get by easily without a car- an expense many don’t have here. Four of the 250 students had laptops, and their eyes were wide with shock when I told them it’s a requirement to own one to go to where I go to school. I explained about how many people- myself included- need to take out loans to go to school, and they were visibly distressed when I told them how much school costs and how you pay it back over the years, but how it’s a good investment because it allows you for a better career. Some were really surprised to know that there is indeed poverty and unemployment in the US, and I genuinely wondered how many minds I changed of some who were interested in living and working there because they thought it was so easy to make money.
I wanted it to keep going, but the professor finally took the final question- “What do you think about Barack Obama’s opinion on gun control?”
“And I think that's where we'll stop today,” said the professor with a frown. I laughed.
I love it here.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
#3 Why I love Senegal
Today is a perfect example of why I absolutely love Senegal (not including early this morning, which consisted of a mosquito safari from 3-4am).
You might think you could get used to all the strange cultural differences and random, unexplained events in Dakar, but you’re mostly wrong. During our class break, I went to my usual fruit stand to get some bananas and chat with Alpha a bit. As I bought my fruit, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask him if he knew where I could get a mosquito net. Well, of course I should have known he’d have one right behind the crate of pineapples, why not? He pulled it out and gave it to me, free of charge (I tried to pay). I walked away confused and unable to figure out why he would try to overcharge me 40 cents one day and give me a free grapefruit when I corrected him and a free mosquito net the next, when I only spent 40 cents. I laughed the whole way back as I compared the American reward system of customer loyalty vs. the Senegalese way.
Another reason why I love Senegal is the fact that everything is within walking distance. Today for example, I walked an hour to school, 5 minutes from there to my fruit stand, 10 minutes from there to the Tigo shop (needed some TP), 20 minutes from there to UCAD (where I bought my omelet sandwich), 10 minutes back to WARC, and finally another hour home. All the while I’m either surrounded by palm trees or the ocean, but let’s be honest, there’s also unlimited piles of garbage and sand. Gotta take the good with the bad.
Speaking of that omelet sandwich, another fine example of my love of this country (more than the fact that it’s delicious). When one of the two women who runs the little stand saw me, her face lit up, she dropped what she was doing and came over to hold my hand and proceeded to ask how I was and, in a worrying voice, if the sun was what was giving me all those boutons (acne). I laughed, no longer put out by this kind of statement, and reassured her that it was pretty normal and that I was fine. Relieved, she patted me on the pack and asked if I was married yet. Nope, not quite ready, I told her. A gentleman nearby eating his sandwich politely offered his hand, and once again, a proposal before noon and it doesn’t even faze me. He told me he’d wait when I said I was too busy.
Afterward, I took my three beignets wrapped in their usual newspaper and headed back to WARC. Ba suba! I yelled cheerily as I left, evoking giggles from all surrounding. They love it when Toubabs (in general, white/non-Senegalese people) speak Wolof.
I love these small relationships with everyone I come into contact with on a regular basis. I look forward to the simplest things, like going to buy fruit or lunch and leaving with a smile that stays with me the whole day.
I’ve also started talking more to one of the women who work at the small “restaurant” at WARC, Anne-Marie. I was complaining how hard the last Wolof class was and half-jokingly made a deal with her that if she taught me Wolof, I’d teach her English. She walked right up to me to hold out her hand to shake on it, and I gladly returned the shake, though not really knowing if it was serious or not.
The next day, an hour and 40 minutes flew by as we sat at a table at WARC (after she had gotten off work and my class had ended) and I still didn’t want to leave (needed to though, if I wanted to get back before dark). It had forgotten my Wolof notebook, but it worked out perfectly in that I speak so much French trying to teach her English that it’s like we’re both getting lessons at the same time. It was so much fun, she caught on to everything so fast and with each new expression I taught her, we’d go off on some cultural tangent and talk for a while before going back to the material. She wants to learn English because she wants to work in a “real” restaurant one day, because most of them require that you speak English. When this happens, she’s going to try to go back to school. She had to drop out early when she was younger because she got so sick that she had to go to The Gambia for treatment and medicine and was there for a year and half. I feel good that I can help her in some way achieving her goals, and in return, I’ll speak better French. But more than anything, I can tell she’s going to become a great friend. She’s already offered to come with me to get some Senegalese clothing made (if you don’t have a Senegalese person go with you you get really ripped off I guess). I'm so excited!
And now, Yves is curled up in my lap, (j’ai froid, he says- I’m cold), I’m typing with one hand, and Louis-Albert is watching the Simpsons in French. I wouldn’t trade these moments for anything.
You might think you could get used to all the strange cultural differences and random, unexplained events in Dakar, but you’re mostly wrong. During our class break, I went to my usual fruit stand to get some bananas and chat with Alpha a bit. As I bought my fruit, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask him if he knew where I could get a mosquito net. Well, of course I should have known he’d have one right behind the crate of pineapples, why not? He pulled it out and gave it to me, free of charge (I tried to pay). I walked away confused and unable to figure out why he would try to overcharge me 40 cents one day and give me a free grapefruit when I corrected him and a free mosquito net the next, when I only spent 40 cents. I laughed the whole way back as I compared the American reward system of customer loyalty vs. the Senegalese way.
Another reason why I love Senegal is the fact that everything is within walking distance. Today for example, I walked an hour to school, 5 minutes from there to my fruit stand, 10 minutes from there to the Tigo shop (needed some TP), 20 minutes from there to UCAD (where I bought my omelet sandwich), 10 minutes back to WARC, and finally another hour home. All the while I’m either surrounded by palm trees or the ocean, but let’s be honest, there’s also unlimited piles of garbage and sand. Gotta take the good with the bad.
Speaking of that omelet sandwich, another fine example of my love of this country (more than the fact that it’s delicious). When one of the two women who runs the little stand saw me, her face lit up, she dropped what she was doing and came over to hold my hand and proceeded to ask how I was and, in a worrying voice, if the sun was what was giving me all those boutons (acne). I laughed, no longer put out by this kind of statement, and reassured her that it was pretty normal and that I was fine. Relieved, she patted me on the pack and asked if I was married yet. Nope, not quite ready, I told her. A gentleman nearby eating his sandwich politely offered his hand, and once again, a proposal before noon and it doesn’t even faze me. He told me he’d wait when I said I was too busy.
Afterward, I took my three beignets wrapped in their usual newspaper and headed back to WARC. Ba suba! I yelled cheerily as I left, evoking giggles from all surrounding. They love it when Toubabs (in general, white/non-Senegalese people) speak Wolof.
I love these small relationships with everyone I come into contact with on a regular basis. I look forward to the simplest things, like going to buy fruit or lunch and leaving with a smile that stays with me the whole day.
I’ve also started talking more to one of the women who work at the small “restaurant” at WARC, Anne-Marie. I was complaining how hard the last Wolof class was and half-jokingly made a deal with her that if she taught me Wolof, I’d teach her English. She walked right up to me to hold out her hand to shake on it, and I gladly returned the shake, though not really knowing if it was serious or not.
The next day, an hour and 40 minutes flew by as we sat at a table at WARC (after she had gotten off work and my class had ended) and I still didn’t want to leave (needed to though, if I wanted to get back before dark). It had forgotten my Wolof notebook, but it worked out perfectly in that I speak so much French trying to teach her English that it’s like we’re both getting lessons at the same time. It was so much fun, she caught on to everything so fast and with each new expression I taught her, we’d go off on some cultural tangent and talk for a while before going back to the material. She wants to learn English because she wants to work in a “real” restaurant one day, because most of them require that you speak English. When this happens, she’s going to try to go back to school. She had to drop out early when she was younger because she got so sick that she had to go to The Gambia for treatment and medicine and was there for a year and half. I feel good that I can help her in some way achieving her goals, and in return, I’ll speak better French. But more than anything, I can tell she’s going to become a great friend. She’s already offered to come with me to get some Senegalese clothing made (if you don’t have a Senegalese person go with you you get really ripped off I guess). I'm so excited!
And now, Yves is curled up in my lap, (j’ai froid, he says- I’m cold), I’m typing with one hand, and Louis-Albert is watching the Simpsons in French. I wouldn’t trade these moments for anything.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
#2 A Typical Monday
4:30am. Wake up to the call of prayer. The mosque is a stone’s throw from my window, so my room is filled with the buzzing voice through old loudspeakers as I grumble and roll over a few times before it stops and I promptly fall back asleep.
6:30 Begin the music of the sheep and goats.
7:00 Whoevers turn it is to wake up crying, starts about now (at an alarmingly high pitch for such small boys.) This finally gets me out of bed. Don’t bother with an alarm clock anymore.
7:05 I pull out my bench and set it at the little table set up with our breakfast usuals by Aisstou. Around this time, the brother that wasn’t crying is running back inside with the baguettes that he bought from the shop in front of our house. I spread on my cheese, and with a slight sigh, I sip on my Nescafé (that is starting to grow on me) though I know I only drink it out of habit. The goats wake me up more effectively than this liquid that pretends to be coffee.
You might not think so, but I’m usually in a really good mood at this point. It’s all the little things- from my giddiness at using sugar cubes to watching the cats fight (literally) right in our courtyard. Even when Yves puts his tiny foot on my knee to tie his shoes, I can’t help but love being a big sister…for the moment.
Since I shower at night, my hair is a wild mess in the morning, usually making a statement by stubbornly pointing up and over in one direction. I’ve solved this problem by learning how to French braid my hair (I finally did it Aunt Monique!) which disguises the fact that my hair is trying to escape my head.
8:00-9:00 I'm out the door and start my hour walk south to school. I enjoy watching Dakar wake up; vendors putting fruit on display, people sweeping in front of their houses, taxis honking like it's their only job, people waiting for buses to go to work, parents holding their children's hand as they walk to school, the soccer game that's already started in the sand lot, the next team jogging to warm up for the next game...
9:02 With sweat marks where my backpack straps were (despite the chilly morning) I sit down with the other students outside in the small courtyard area while others order Nescafé (there's a small sort of restraunt at WARC) since we all know it'll probably be another 10 minutes before class starts anyway. We trade weekend stories and discuss the latest "cultural moments" we've encountered recently, which usually have to do with the girls getting proposals, some new body part of an animal being ingested (usually by accident or unknowingly) or just some new, perhaps strange-to-us behavior that we love to analyze.
9:15-12:00 Today is African Literature. We're reading Le Monde S'Effondre (Things Fall Apart) and even though it's been a bit of a struggle for me, there's a lively debate in class today. I listen and observe, but I'm already thinking about the break, when I'll go to my favorite fruit vendor (with the ocean in view just behind it- so hard to go back to class after that) and buy my usual 2 bananas and 6 mandarin, always costing 500 cfa (about a dollar). One banana and three mandarins for my between breakfast and lunch snack, and the same for between lunch and dinner. Today he tried to charge me a little more for no reason, and when I corrected him he shrugged and gave me a free grapefruit for tes études (your studies) and after I paid my normal price, I chatted with a guy on a bench for a while before heading back. I don't really understand what just happened but you get by a lot easier here when you stop trying to understand all the random things that go on here.
12:01 Freedom! Now I have the whole rest of the day!
I'm starving at this point so for lunch I go to UCAD (another university about 15 minutes away where I'm taking a translation class). There are two women who make and sell delicious omelet sandwiches for only 350 cfa, and I usually add the 3 beignets (dougnuts) or fatiah (deep fried dough with this fishy moosh in it- sounds strange but it's delightful) for another 100, and I have an incredible lunch for less than a dollar. I always bring my own water, so on any given day I only spend $2 on food, and that's after I buy my few packets of peanuts on the way home.
However, depending on when you get there, it can be a pretty intense process to get your lunch. Usually there are 6 or so students all cramped together trying to order while the doorway and stairs to the left is a constant stream of people going in and out. The women never stop peeling potatoes and frying them up, the omelets are practically cooked as soon as they hit the pan, and the whole time your mouth is watering because it smells like heaven in a baguette.
Meanwhile, the girl behind me fingers my braids with a smile and tells me my hair is joli (pretty) and is it natural?
I finally get my sandwich and fatiah, and this time it's wrapped in an article about a neurological French scientist or something. I sit down on the ledge just on the other side of the area where the food is made and try not to inhale my sandwich as I take a look at my free reading material that also shelters my sandwich.
Just around the time I've given up on Dr. Too-many-scientific-terms, a student from UCAD has sat down next to me to ask me the same round of questions; Who are you? Do you study here? Where are you from? Can I have your number? Will you teach me English? Do you like Senegal...etc.
I really enjoy these conversations, as I think they are what help improve my French the most. The questions about numbers and similar are more or less just something Senegalese guys do and not at all meant in the same way as guys in America would mean it. As soon as I explain no and why, they're already asking another question and (usually) no offense is taken.
13:00-18:00 With a content tummy, I walk back to WARC to read, use the internet and more or less hang out with everyone until we leave. Sometimes I'll go for a walk along La Corniche, the road that follows the coast, or leave with Sarah and Meera to hang out at their house for a while, since they have a little shop in front where we hang out all the time. Sometimes I'll stop at Manou's house (my host-cousin and one of my best friends on this trip) to just talk for a bit and then he'll walk me to Sarah and Meera's, where we'll also stop to chat for a while.
That's one of my favorite parts about Senegal; everyone spends so much time talking with their friends, family, vendors, etc. and there is rarely a rush. I struggled with this for some time since I would start to feel anxious after a while, feeling like I should be doing more "productive" things since I'm used to a much faster-paced lifestyle, but what I've realized is that what makes me happiest is when I just let that feeling go and enjoy the company I'm with, ask about their family, discuss and debate ideas, etc. because it's probably the most productive thing you can do.
It's strange to consider the idea that I used to measure productivity by the amount of homework or reading I got done, by how many tasks or errands I finished, by how many hours I worked or volunteered. That's not to say these things aren't productive, I still feel great when I accomplish and do things like that, but I'm never as happy as I am when I simply spend time talking with people and learning about them. I'm trying to listen more than talk on this trip, though I still do my fair share of talking.
I don't think my stress level has ever been so low.
21:30 And now, as I end my day typing this all next to Yves (who is apparently nursing his teddy bear?) and answering Louis-Albert’s endless questions (Tu fais quoi? – What are you doing?) I know that I’m probably going to be in bed again before 10, as I’m exhausted just like every other day.
And now Louis-Albert has stolen the teddy bear and the poor thing’s head is stuck under his shirt; C’est moi qui est la maman! (I’m the mommy!) And so begins another round of screaming.
The teddy bear has just been flung across the room!
Live from Dakar,
Katie
6:30 Begin the music of the sheep and goats.
7:00 Whoevers turn it is to wake up crying, starts about now (at an alarmingly high pitch for such small boys.) This finally gets me out of bed. Don’t bother with an alarm clock anymore.
7:05 I pull out my bench and set it at the little table set up with our breakfast usuals by Aisstou. Around this time, the brother that wasn’t crying is running back inside with the baguettes that he bought from the shop in front of our house. I spread on my cheese, and with a slight sigh, I sip on my Nescafé (that is starting to grow on me) though I know I only drink it out of habit. The goats wake me up more effectively than this liquid that pretends to be coffee.
You might not think so, but I’m usually in a really good mood at this point. It’s all the little things- from my giddiness at using sugar cubes to watching the cats fight (literally) right in our courtyard. Even when Yves puts his tiny foot on my knee to tie his shoes, I can’t help but love being a big sister…for the moment.
Since I shower at night, my hair is a wild mess in the morning, usually making a statement by stubbornly pointing up and over in one direction. I’ve solved this problem by learning how to French braid my hair (I finally did it Aunt Monique!) which disguises the fact that my hair is trying to escape my head.
8:00-9:00 I'm out the door and start my hour walk south to school. I enjoy watching Dakar wake up; vendors putting fruit on display, people sweeping in front of their houses, taxis honking like it's their only job, people waiting for buses to go to work, parents holding their children's hand as they walk to school, the soccer game that's already started in the sand lot, the next team jogging to warm up for the next game...
9:02 With sweat marks where my backpack straps were (despite the chilly morning) I sit down with the other students outside in the small courtyard area while others order Nescafé (there's a small sort of restraunt at WARC) since we all know it'll probably be another 10 minutes before class starts anyway. We trade weekend stories and discuss the latest "cultural moments" we've encountered recently, which usually have to do with the girls getting proposals, some new body part of an animal being ingested (usually by accident or unknowingly) or just some new, perhaps strange-to-us behavior that we love to analyze.
9:15-12:00 Today is African Literature. We're reading Le Monde S'Effondre (Things Fall Apart) and even though it's been a bit of a struggle for me, there's a lively debate in class today. I listen and observe, but I'm already thinking about the break, when I'll go to my favorite fruit vendor (with the ocean in view just behind it- so hard to go back to class after that) and buy my usual 2 bananas and 6 mandarin, always costing 500 cfa (about a dollar). One banana and three mandarins for my between breakfast and lunch snack, and the same for between lunch and dinner. Today he tried to charge me a little more for no reason, and when I corrected him he shrugged and gave me a free grapefruit for tes études (your studies) and after I paid my normal price, I chatted with a guy on a bench for a while before heading back. I don't really understand what just happened but you get by a lot easier here when you stop trying to understand all the random things that go on here.
12:01 Freedom! Now I have the whole rest of the day!
I'm starving at this point so for lunch I go to UCAD (another university about 15 minutes away where I'm taking a translation class). There are two women who make and sell delicious omelet sandwiches for only 350 cfa, and I usually add the 3 beignets (dougnuts) or fatiah (deep fried dough with this fishy moosh in it- sounds strange but it's delightful) for another 100, and I have an incredible lunch for less than a dollar. I always bring my own water, so on any given day I only spend $2 on food, and that's after I buy my few packets of peanuts on the way home.
However, depending on when you get there, it can be a pretty intense process to get your lunch. Usually there are 6 or so students all cramped together trying to order while the doorway and stairs to the left is a constant stream of people going in and out. The women never stop peeling potatoes and frying them up, the omelets are practically cooked as soon as they hit the pan, and the whole time your mouth is watering because it smells like heaven in a baguette.
Meanwhile, the girl behind me fingers my braids with a smile and tells me my hair is joli (pretty) and is it natural?
I finally get my sandwich and fatiah, and this time it's wrapped in an article about a neurological French scientist or something. I sit down on the ledge just on the other side of the area where the food is made and try not to inhale my sandwich as I take a look at my free reading material that also shelters my sandwich.
Just around the time I've given up on Dr. Too-many-scientific-terms, a student from UCAD has sat down next to me to ask me the same round of questions; Who are you? Do you study here? Where are you from? Can I have your number? Will you teach me English? Do you like Senegal...etc.
I really enjoy these conversations, as I think they are what help improve my French the most. The questions about numbers and similar are more or less just something Senegalese guys do and not at all meant in the same way as guys in America would mean it. As soon as I explain no and why, they're already asking another question and (usually) no offense is taken.
13:00-18:00 With a content tummy, I walk back to WARC to read, use the internet and more or less hang out with everyone until we leave. Sometimes I'll go for a walk along La Corniche, the road that follows the coast, or leave with Sarah and Meera to hang out at their house for a while, since they have a little shop in front where we hang out all the time. Sometimes I'll stop at Manou's house (my host-cousin and one of my best friends on this trip) to just talk for a bit and then he'll walk me to Sarah and Meera's, where we'll also stop to chat for a while.
That's one of my favorite parts about Senegal; everyone spends so much time talking with their friends, family, vendors, etc. and there is rarely a rush. I struggled with this for some time since I would start to feel anxious after a while, feeling like I should be doing more "productive" things since I'm used to a much faster-paced lifestyle, but what I've realized is that what makes me happiest is when I just let that feeling go and enjoy the company I'm with, ask about their family, discuss and debate ideas, etc. because it's probably the most productive thing you can do.
It's strange to consider the idea that I used to measure productivity by the amount of homework or reading I got done, by how many tasks or errands I finished, by how many hours I worked or volunteered. That's not to say these things aren't productive, I still feel great when I accomplish and do things like that, but I'm never as happy as I am when I simply spend time talking with people and learning about them. I'm trying to listen more than talk on this trip, though I still do my fair share of talking.
I don't think my stress level has ever been so low.
21:30 And now, as I end my day typing this all next to Yves (who is apparently nursing his teddy bear?) and answering Louis-Albert’s endless questions (Tu fais quoi? – What are you doing?) I know that I’m probably going to be in bed again before 10, as I’m exhausted just like every other day.
And now Louis-Albert has stolen the teddy bear and the poor thing’s head is stuck under his shirt; C’est moi qui est la maman! (I’m the mommy!) And so begins another round of screaming.
The teddy bear has just been flung across the room!
Live from Dakar,
Katie
Friday, January 23, 2009
#1 Dakar, Senegal: The Beginning
January 4th 2009
(note: there are photo issues)
Two steps off the plane and I was already in love with Senegal. At 5:30 in the morning, I was full of the kind of nervous excitement you might feel when you are about to take off on your first roller-coaster ride; you don’t know what it’s like but you’ve have heard a lot about it.
The smell of the air was the first thing I noticed; something so indescribable it’s probably a scent unique to Dakar; a combination of the ocean and warm, tropical things.
We got through the airport with minimal difficulty and met up with the coordinators who would be here for our stay: Joséphine, Awa and Wally. We took a bus to the guesthouse (where we dragged our luggage up four flights) and were able to sleep for a few hours before going to our first cultural orientation. It was on the rooftop terrace of a woman’s home (she does this every year for the new students and also helps throughout the program) and there was a huge tent to protect us from the sun, though we all still got our first dose of Senegalese heat that afternoon.
We all sat around in a big circle while the woman (whose name I either forgot or never learned) gave us a rundown on the major cultural differences we would encounter, leaving us a bit wide-eyed and nervous at the end. We more or less learned we would should no longer expect much privacy (as the Senegalese share everything), we should never bring food into our rooms or even home without having enough for everyone (“They will hate you,” she said…again, the sharing thing) and we should spend a lot of time with our families and make an effort to help out (I was looking forward to this part since I didn’t really experience it at all in France). Nothing and nobody is ever on time, as you spend so much time talking to people on your way anywhere, since you generally greet anyone you've ever made eye contact with. Therefore, the mindset of most Senegalese people is infinitely times more relaxed than Americans, who are usually always in a rush and so private that you rarely even look strangers in the eye on the street.
Afterward, we had a traditional Senegalese meal, which consisted of one huge plate of sticky brown rice, vegetables and fish (among other unidentifiable objects). The interesting part was that we could only use our right hand to eat (your left hand is associated with dirtier things, such as cleaning the more intimate parts of your body). Awkwardly I grabbed my first handful of rice and tried to squeeze it into a ball to make it into something edible (something Joséphine made look easy) and proceeded to get fishy rice all down my front and stuck on my face. It helped that nearly everyone else was having the same problem but I still felt like an idiot. Oh well. The food that did end up in my mouth was tasty and I successfully created several rice-balls in the end, even though my host-family ended up using utensils.
When we were finished we spent some time talking and trying out some new fruity drinks and tea. Apparently I was drinking juice made from the fruit of a baobab tree and tea that you normally spend 2-4 hours making and drinking. Both were amazing and unlike anything I’ve ever drank before. I'm also thrilled with all the students in the program. Everyone has an incredible personality and we all get along really well, as though we've known each other for years.
I’m constantly noticing huge differences between my time in France and here, and I’m very glad that I was able to study there before coming here. I didn’t have the uncomfortable and difficult language transition here, since I learned how to more or less say anything I wanted to in French by the end of that trip, and now I just need to use this one to become fluent. And I’m realizing now that I learned the very valuable skill of how to transition into a different lifestyle more gracefully, because I haven’t struggled as much with that, or at all really, with this trip. I think I’ll be able to spend more time speaking to my host-family and the Senegalese friends I’ve already made here rather than focusing so much on the other challenges I learned how to overcome. Indeed it feels like there was no transition period at all and that I feel at home and very happy here.
But back to my first day (which felt like three squashed into one). After lunch, we all went to a Senegalese wrestling match. It was complete chaos around and inside the stadium. When we finally got inside, we were lucky enough to be seated in the shade, got a few fruity sodas and then began the three-hour-long extravaganza that included approximately three minutes total of wrestling. That’s not to say there wasn’t always something to watch: there were a dozen or so men in matching shirts (advertising something or another) who I don’t think stopped dancing the entire time, all lead by a tiny 3- or 4-year-old in the front; there were two separate areas of men drumming, sometimes playing separately and other times together; there was a group of four women who I believe didn’t stop repeating the same two phrases of some sort of song the full three hours, getting progressively louder and louder until several people around me had their fingers jammed in their ears with grimaces on their faces. An hour into the spectacle, four heavily painted men dressed in the wildest, brightest tribal gear you’ve ever seen came rolling, jumping and dancing out of nowhere and seemed really out of place the whole time, yet fit in with the plethora of dancing and singing people.
All the while it wasn’t uncommon for your neighbor to comment on the minute-long match you just missed because your eyes were elsewhere and somehow didn’t notice the two men, who finally stopped sprinting the lengths of the field, finally meet in the sandy arena to wrestle.
I was so confused afterward as to why there was such little wrestling and so much else going on, until Chris, a returnee from last year’s program, explained to me that it’s more about the cultural aspects (singing, dancing, story-telling) than about the actual wrestling itself. That would have been good to know beforehand so I wouldn’t have been in a constant state of anticipation, forever waiting for “la lutte” to begin.
Regardless, I really enjoyed myself and am happy to have had the opportunity to go. It was an interesting first day in Senegal to say the least.
January 6th 2009 9:15 pm
With the goats bleating so loudly outside my window that I can barely hear myself think, I have just experienced another day where 95% of the events were completely new and foreign.
Yesterday we took a tour of Dakar. We drove our bus through the mind-blowingly crazy traffic and stopped several times so we could explore and/or listen to Waly explain some landmark or another’s historical significance.
It was an incredible day. I got an excellent feel for the city and learned about some major aspects of Senegalese history and culture.
My favorite visit by far was when we went to the furthest point south in Dakar and got out to explore. There were huge cliffs of all varying sorts of brown, and when you looked down you were blinded by the white waves crashing into the cliffs from every side. When you looked out you saw the ocean never ending and felt quite at peace with the world.
We quickly discovered the rickety steps that led way, way down to the bottom and were promptly told by Waly that it was too dangerous to go down. Two minutes later we were gripping the railing and hopping over broken steps thanks to Awa, who decided it wasn’t that bad, so down we went.
It was beyond worth it. We were giddy like little kids who got to do something they’re normally forbidden from. We hopped clumsily from rock to rock, occasionally slipping on some algae and constantly snapping pictures of each other while enjoying the fantastic view and ocean spray, until it turned into a huge wave and nearly swept a few of us away. We laughed it off but Waly decided it was time to go, and we didn’t argue.
Afterward, we drove up to the highest point in Dakar and then climbed to the top of the lighthouse that was on top of it. The stairs eventually got so close together it was more like a ladder, but worth the view when you got to see all of Dakar from the top.
But by far my favorite moment of the day was when we were returning to the guesthouse for the night and Awa, Waly and Joséphine all insisted we sing an American song (since they have been singing non-stop Senegalese songs) and the best we could come up with was “I want it that way” by the Backstreet Boys. I will never forget that incredibly awesome moment where I had tears in my eyes from laughing so hard because of the 12 Americans singing the horribly cheesy, poppy boy-band song in West Africa to several Senegalese people who danced right along with it.
Now, I’m sprawled on my stomach listening to a dozen new sounds on my new bed in my new home. The voices of the family speaking next door seem as though in my bedroom, my teeny host-brothers are still arguing with their mother to have me come out and watch cartoons with them, and all I can think about is how on earth am I going to sleep tonight.
But I haven’t said much about today yet except for the noises I’ve heard at the end of it. This morning we all packed up at the guesthouse because we were meeting our host-families. We had breakfast at WARC (The West African Research Center, where all of my classes will be) and it was as delicious as the morning before, consisting of an omelet with onions (and yet tasting as differently as possible from an “American” omelet), some baguette and butter, and some peachy orange juice.
When we were finished, we piled once more onto our bus ready to meet our host families, and my stomach filled with a balloon-sized excited bubble that was sadly deflated when there was nobody at my house except the maid, who speaks neither French nor English. Through some awkward and uncomfortable gestures mixed with the 10 phrases she does know of English, we somehow communicated that even though I wasn’t hungry she was going to make me a huge plate of rice and fish. It wasn’t going exactly as I hoped.
I tried to eat as much as I could so that I wouldn’t end with a plate that said “I’m a sassy American who eats like a bird and thinks fish are smelly” but concluded that no matter how much I ate she was going to look at me the way she did that said, “You’re annoying and I don’t want you here.” I opted to go for a walk.
Best idea I’ve had since I arrived. I enjoyed myself immensely as I met about a dozen new people over the next two hours without going a block from my home. I would sit down on a box or I just stood on the sidewalk while I talked to people. It felt so good to realize how much better my French is here and that I’ll actually be able to show my personality instead of just always struggling with verb tenses and vocabulary (though I still do, let’s be honest).
I didn’t want my host-family to come back without me there, so I eventually went back. It was still just Aisstou and she asked me if I would come with her to pick of Yves and Louis-Albert, my host-brothers. For lack or anything better to do (and wanting to meet them) we hopped in a taxi that seemed as though it may fall apart any minute and away we went.
It was their grandparent’s house we picked them up from, and they were so excited to meet me. It was about the shyest I’d ever seem them, I later learned. Before we even left the building they had already claimed a hand apiece. I walked with them across the road and Yves sat on my lap in the taxi.
I think I grew a little on Aisstou too, because when I attempted to speak the little Wolof that I know (the other language spoken more than French) she seemed to warm up and laughed when I butchered a simple greeting. Maybe it won’t be so bad.
I met my host-parents when I got back, and both were friendly enough, though I was surprised at how different they seemed than nearly everyone else I had met. They’re just a little more quiet and reserved really, everyone else I had met gets right up in your business two seconds after meeting them, in a good way. I don’t know if it’s because they’re Catholic (most are Muslim here) but it was a little jarring since it almost felt like they didn’t care for me being there, though I later learned from my host-cousin that’s not the case, they’re just different. Oh, and I have a third host-brother on the way. Three months or so and I won’t be sleeping for the last few weeks I’m here. Oh well, I don’t sleep very well right now as it is.
January 8th 2009
Though they have their adorable brotherly moments, such as:
Yves and Louis-Albert are definitely a handful. As soon as they come home until they go to sleep they are go go go go go…high energy, loud voices, always grabbing me to come and play, coming in and out of my room, never leaving me alone. I think it will calm down in time when they realize I’m not going anywhere for a while, but it can be so overwhelming when all you want to do is study or read or simply have a moment to yourself. I woke up this morning to Louis-Albert in my face, and even though the smile was adorable, I really do enjoy sleeping. To say the least, I’ve learned at least five or six new ways to say “don’t do that, get off, don’t touch that,” etc. very quickly. They don’t always listen.
There is so much to learn and get used to; I hardly know where to start. It’s overwhelming having to change your lifestyle completely and so abruptly, especially when it’s so very different than your own. I have my moments, but I’m actually really surprised with myself with how well I’ve adjusted. I really am so happy to be here.
January 9th 2009
What an awesome, awesome day.
Even though I had to get up early to take a French placement test I’m already excused from, I didn’t mind in the slightest because I got to see everyone and spend nearly the whole day with them.
We spent a while at WARC on the internet for the first time, and I was overwhelmed with a full inbox and turtle-speed internet, but I was happy to have even the slightest connection to my family and friends back home.
We don’t start our classes until the 19th but we did have our first Wolof class, which was fantastic. It’s completely different than English or French, but because I’ve already gone through the process of learning another language, I found that I was comprehending the way things work in Wolof much more easily than if I had never learned French, but that’s not to say it wasn’t still really difficult. The days of French 101 are so far behind me I didn’t even realize I had forgotten how hard it is to learn a new language. But I think taking Wolof is going to be such a good experience for me if only to teach me what that process feels like again, which will hopefully better enable me to teach English in the future. Knowing what your students are going through can only be a plus.
After class, Sarah, Meera and I walked home. They live in the same home and I live about 10 minutes from them, and it’s about an hour-long walk back, which actually seems like it will be one of my favorite times of the day. We’re all free-spirited, easy-going people and get along wonderfully. That combined with the sunset gave me happy bubbles galore.
The best part was when we got back to their place (where I actually spend more time than at my own home) and we had a conversation with some relative of a relative that covered everything from Adam and Eve to your Adam’s apple (literally) while we sipped the beers we couldn’t politely refuse.
I love it here.
January 11th 2009
How can it keep getting better?
Even though we were late in meeting our group at WARC due to Sarah and Meera’s host-mother’s insistence that we take a bus (which took about the same amount of time as walking) we set off once again in our big group bus, this time to a monastery.
The ride itself was enjoyable (albeit long- was it two hours?) because once we were out of Dakar we actually got to see GREEN things, and overall some pretty awesome African scenery. More palm and baobab trees than you can imagine.
Once we got there, we actually attended one of their masses first. It was really long, yet somehow exactly the same as all the masses I’ve ever gone to. The only differences included the 30 or so monks present, the fact that it was in French, and that African drums and the coura replaced the organ. The décor was also a bit different, but that’s to be expected.
After the service, a monk gave us a tour of the grounds, which is normally forbidden to women. It was a very beautiful and peaceful place; the comparison between it and Dakar is like comparing two different countries on different ends of the world. It was so quiet, you could actually hear yourself think, as well as the sounds of nature that get drowned out in the city.
We walked the red sandy paths surrounded by all kinds of trees; baobab, grapefruit, mango, and dozens of others whose names I don’t know or remember. The monk showed us their simple homes, the gardens they tend and live off of, the hen house, the pigs:
and the bulls, the small, shed-like building where they build the couras, and the soccer and basketball areas where they get to play once a week. Overall, it was a very tranquil place.
Afterward, we went to Lac Rose (Pink Lake) where the salt concentration is so high that it’s…well, pink. There were mounds of salty foam on the shore surrounding boats as colorful as a bag of faded Skittles (ha), and the fiercest vendors you’ve ever met. Coming at you in every direction with baskets full of souvenirs on their heads, they literally push bracelets on your wrists, force dolls or paintings in your hands, tell you they’re gifts, only to walk away and come back within two minutes demanding that you pay for the gift, take a picture of their baby and send it to them or demand marriage. It was madness. We were all scared and running onto the bus at the end. It was actually quite hilarious.
From there we drove a short distance to some sand dunes. College students transformed into children as we all kicked off our sandals and gleefully ran up the first hills without really realizing we’d be exhausted after 10 steps. But we trudged along and made it to the top and then to a spot where Waly set down his drum and began to play. Over the next half hour we were each pulled into the circle to make fools of ourselves and dance clumsily in the sand.
Afterward, we got some pictures with a few random camels before we left. The ride back was the most fun I had on the trip, yet all we did was talk and joke non-stop for two hours. I really can’t say enough good things about the people on this trip and how happy I am that they’re here.
And it's just the beginning!
(note: there are photo issues)
Two steps off the plane and I was already in love with Senegal. At 5:30 in the morning, I was full of the kind of nervous excitement you might feel when you are about to take off on your first roller-coaster ride; you don’t know what it’s like but you’ve have heard a lot about it.
The smell of the air was the first thing I noticed; something so indescribable it’s probably a scent unique to Dakar; a combination of the ocean and warm, tropical things.
We got through the airport with minimal difficulty and met up with the coordinators who would be here for our stay: Joséphine, Awa and Wally. We took a bus to the guesthouse (where we dragged our luggage up four flights) and were able to sleep for a few hours before going to our first cultural orientation. It was on the rooftop terrace of a woman’s home (she does this every year for the new students and also helps throughout the program) and there was a huge tent to protect us from the sun, though we all still got our first dose of Senegalese heat that afternoon.
We all sat around in a big circle while the woman (whose name I either forgot or never learned) gave us a rundown on the major cultural differences we would encounter, leaving us a bit wide-eyed and nervous at the end. We more or less learned we would should no longer expect much privacy (as the Senegalese share everything), we should never bring food into our rooms or even home without having enough for everyone (“They will hate you,” she said…again, the sharing thing) and we should spend a lot of time with our families and make an effort to help out (I was looking forward to this part since I didn’t really experience it at all in France). Nothing and nobody is ever on time, as you spend so much time talking to people on your way anywhere, since you generally greet anyone you've ever made eye contact with. Therefore, the mindset of most Senegalese people is infinitely times more relaxed than Americans, who are usually always in a rush and so private that you rarely even look strangers in the eye on the street.
Afterward, we had a traditional Senegalese meal, which consisted of one huge plate of sticky brown rice, vegetables and fish (among other unidentifiable objects). The interesting part was that we could only use our right hand to eat (your left hand is associated with dirtier things, such as cleaning the more intimate parts of your body). Awkwardly I grabbed my first handful of rice and tried to squeeze it into a ball to make it into something edible (something Joséphine made look easy) and proceeded to get fishy rice all down my front and stuck on my face. It helped that nearly everyone else was having the same problem but I still felt like an idiot. Oh well. The food that did end up in my mouth was tasty and I successfully created several rice-balls in the end, even though my host-family ended up using utensils.
When we were finished we spent some time talking and trying out some new fruity drinks and tea. Apparently I was drinking juice made from the fruit of a baobab tree and tea that you normally spend 2-4 hours making and drinking. Both were amazing and unlike anything I’ve ever drank before. I'm also thrilled with all the students in the program. Everyone has an incredible personality and we all get along really well, as though we've known each other for years.
I’m constantly noticing huge differences between my time in France and here, and I’m very glad that I was able to study there before coming here. I didn’t have the uncomfortable and difficult language transition here, since I learned how to more or less say anything I wanted to in French by the end of that trip, and now I just need to use this one to become fluent. And I’m realizing now that I learned the very valuable skill of how to transition into a different lifestyle more gracefully, because I haven’t struggled as much with that, or at all really, with this trip. I think I’ll be able to spend more time speaking to my host-family and the Senegalese friends I’ve already made here rather than focusing so much on the other challenges I learned how to overcome. Indeed it feels like there was no transition period at all and that I feel at home and very happy here.
But back to my first day (which felt like three squashed into one). After lunch, we all went to a Senegalese wrestling match. It was complete chaos around and inside the stadium. When we finally got inside, we were lucky enough to be seated in the shade, got a few fruity sodas and then began the three-hour-long extravaganza that included approximately three minutes total of wrestling. That’s not to say there wasn’t always something to watch: there were a dozen or so men in matching shirts (advertising something or another) who I don’t think stopped dancing the entire time, all lead by a tiny 3- or 4-year-old in the front; there were two separate areas of men drumming, sometimes playing separately and other times together; there was a group of four women who I believe didn’t stop repeating the same two phrases of some sort of song the full three hours, getting progressively louder and louder until several people around me had their fingers jammed in their ears with grimaces on their faces. An hour into the spectacle, four heavily painted men dressed in the wildest, brightest tribal gear you’ve ever seen came rolling, jumping and dancing out of nowhere and seemed really out of place the whole time, yet fit in with the plethora of dancing and singing people.
All the while it wasn’t uncommon for your neighbor to comment on the minute-long match you just missed because your eyes were elsewhere and somehow didn’t notice the two men, who finally stopped sprinting the lengths of the field, finally meet in the sandy arena to wrestle.
I was so confused afterward as to why there was such little wrestling and so much else going on, until Chris, a returnee from last year’s program, explained to me that it’s more about the cultural aspects (singing, dancing, story-telling) than about the actual wrestling itself. That would have been good to know beforehand so I wouldn’t have been in a constant state of anticipation, forever waiting for “la lutte” to begin.
Regardless, I really enjoyed myself and am happy to have had the opportunity to go. It was an interesting first day in Senegal to say the least.
January 6th 2009 9:15 pm
With the goats bleating so loudly outside my window that I can barely hear myself think, I have just experienced another day where 95% of the events were completely new and foreign.
Yesterday we took a tour of Dakar. We drove our bus through the mind-blowingly crazy traffic and stopped several times so we could explore and/or listen to Waly explain some landmark or another’s historical significance.
It was an incredible day. I got an excellent feel for the city and learned about some major aspects of Senegalese history and culture.
My favorite visit by far was when we went to the furthest point south in Dakar and got out to explore. There were huge cliffs of all varying sorts of brown, and when you looked down you were blinded by the white waves crashing into the cliffs from every side. When you looked out you saw the ocean never ending and felt quite at peace with the world.
We quickly discovered the rickety steps that led way, way down to the bottom and were promptly told by Waly that it was too dangerous to go down. Two minutes later we were gripping the railing and hopping over broken steps thanks to Awa, who decided it wasn’t that bad, so down we went.
It was beyond worth it. We were giddy like little kids who got to do something they’re normally forbidden from. We hopped clumsily from rock to rock, occasionally slipping on some algae and constantly snapping pictures of each other while enjoying the fantastic view and ocean spray, until it turned into a huge wave and nearly swept a few of us away. We laughed it off but Waly decided it was time to go, and we didn’t argue.
Afterward, we drove up to the highest point in Dakar and then climbed to the top of the lighthouse that was on top of it. The stairs eventually got so close together it was more like a ladder, but worth the view when you got to see all of Dakar from the top.
But by far my favorite moment of the day was when we were returning to the guesthouse for the night and Awa, Waly and Joséphine all insisted we sing an American song (since they have been singing non-stop Senegalese songs) and the best we could come up with was “I want it that way” by the Backstreet Boys. I will never forget that incredibly awesome moment where I had tears in my eyes from laughing so hard because of the 12 Americans singing the horribly cheesy, poppy boy-band song in West Africa to several Senegalese people who danced right along with it.
Now, I’m sprawled on my stomach listening to a dozen new sounds on my new bed in my new home. The voices of the family speaking next door seem as though in my bedroom, my teeny host-brothers are still arguing with their mother to have me come out and watch cartoons with them, and all I can think about is how on earth am I going to sleep tonight.
But I haven’t said much about today yet except for the noises I’ve heard at the end of it. This morning we all packed up at the guesthouse because we were meeting our host-families. We had breakfast at WARC (The West African Research Center, where all of my classes will be) and it was as delicious as the morning before, consisting of an omelet with onions (and yet tasting as differently as possible from an “American” omelet), some baguette and butter, and some peachy orange juice.
When we were finished, we piled once more onto our bus ready to meet our host families, and my stomach filled with a balloon-sized excited bubble that was sadly deflated when there was nobody at my house except the maid, who speaks neither French nor English. Through some awkward and uncomfortable gestures mixed with the 10 phrases she does know of English, we somehow communicated that even though I wasn’t hungry she was going to make me a huge plate of rice and fish. It wasn’t going exactly as I hoped.
I tried to eat as much as I could so that I wouldn’t end with a plate that said “I’m a sassy American who eats like a bird and thinks fish are smelly” but concluded that no matter how much I ate she was going to look at me the way she did that said, “You’re annoying and I don’t want you here.” I opted to go for a walk.
Best idea I’ve had since I arrived. I enjoyed myself immensely as I met about a dozen new people over the next two hours without going a block from my home. I would sit down on a box or I just stood on the sidewalk while I talked to people. It felt so good to realize how much better my French is here and that I’ll actually be able to show my personality instead of just always struggling with verb tenses and vocabulary (though I still do, let’s be honest).
I didn’t want my host-family to come back without me there, so I eventually went back. It was still just Aisstou and she asked me if I would come with her to pick of Yves and Louis-Albert, my host-brothers. For lack or anything better to do (and wanting to meet them) we hopped in a taxi that seemed as though it may fall apart any minute and away we went.
It was their grandparent’s house we picked them up from, and they were so excited to meet me. It was about the shyest I’d ever seem them, I later learned. Before we even left the building they had already claimed a hand apiece. I walked with them across the road and Yves sat on my lap in the taxi.
I think I grew a little on Aisstou too, because when I attempted to speak the little Wolof that I know (the other language spoken more than French) she seemed to warm up and laughed when I butchered a simple greeting. Maybe it won’t be so bad.
I met my host-parents when I got back, and both were friendly enough, though I was surprised at how different they seemed than nearly everyone else I had met. They’re just a little more quiet and reserved really, everyone else I had met gets right up in your business two seconds after meeting them, in a good way. I don’t know if it’s because they’re Catholic (most are Muslim here) but it was a little jarring since it almost felt like they didn’t care for me being there, though I later learned from my host-cousin that’s not the case, they’re just different. Oh, and I have a third host-brother on the way. Three months or so and I won’t be sleeping for the last few weeks I’m here. Oh well, I don’t sleep very well right now as it is.
January 8th 2009
Though they have their adorable brotherly moments, such as:
Yves and Louis-Albert are definitely a handful. As soon as they come home until they go to sleep they are go go go go go…high energy, loud voices, always grabbing me to come and play, coming in and out of my room, never leaving me alone. I think it will calm down in time when they realize I’m not going anywhere for a while, but it can be so overwhelming when all you want to do is study or read or simply have a moment to yourself. I woke up this morning to Louis-Albert in my face, and even though the smile was adorable, I really do enjoy sleeping. To say the least, I’ve learned at least five or six new ways to say “don’t do that, get off, don’t touch that,” etc. very quickly. They don’t always listen.
There is so much to learn and get used to; I hardly know where to start. It’s overwhelming having to change your lifestyle completely and so abruptly, especially when it’s so very different than your own. I have my moments, but I’m actually really surprised with myself with how well I’ve adjusted. I really am so happy to be here.
January 9th 2009
What an awesome, awesome day.
Even though I had to get up early to take a French placement test I’m already excused from, I didn’t mind in the slightest because I got to see everyone and spend nearly the whole day with them.
We spent a while at WARC on the internet for the first time, and I was overwhelmed with a full inbox and turtle-speed internet, but I was happy to have even the slightest connection to my family and friends back home.
We don’t start our classes until the 19th but we did have our first Wolof class, which was fantastic. It’s completely different than English or French, but because I’ve already gone through the process of learning another language, I found that I was comprehending the way things work in Wolof much more easily than if I had never learned French, but that’s not to say it wasn’t still really difficult. The days of French 101 are so far behind me I didn’t even realize I had forgotten how hard it is to learn a new language. But I think taking Wolof is going to be such a good experience for me if only to teach me what that process feels like again, which will hopefully better enable me to teach English in the future. Knowing what your students are going through can only be a plus.
After class, Sarah, Meera and I walked home. They live in the same home and I live about 10 minutes from them, and it’s about an hour-long walk back, which actually seems like it will be one of my favorite times of the day. We’re all free-spirited, easy-going people and get along wonderfully. That combined with the sunset gave me happy bubbles galore.
The best part was when we got back to their place (where I actually spend more time than at my own home) and we had a conversation with some relative of a relative that covered everything from Adam and Eve to your Adam’s apple (literally) while we sipped the beers we couldn’t politely refuse.
I love it here.
January 11th 2009
How can it keep getting better?
Even though we were late in meeting our group at WARC due to Sarah and Meera’s host-mother’s insistence that we take a bus (which took about the same amount of time as walking) we set off once again in our big group bus, this time to a monastery.
The ride itself was enjoyable (albeit long- was it two hours?) because once we were out of Dakar we actually got to see GREEN things, and overall some pretty awesome African scenery. More palm and baobab trees than you can imagine.
Once we got there, we actually attended one of their masses first. It was really long, yet somehow exactly the same as all the masses I’ve ever gone to. The only differences included the 30 or so monks present, the fact that it was in French, and that African drums and the coura replaced the organ. The décor was also a bit different, but that’s to be expected.
After the service, a monk gave us a tour of the grounds, which is normally forbidden to women. It was a very beautiful and peaceful place; the comparison between it and Dakar is like comparing two different countries on different ends of the world. It was so quiet, you could actually hear yourself think, as well as the sounds of nature that get drowned out in the city.
We walked the red sandy paths surrounded by all kinds of trees; baobab, grapefruit, mango, and dozens of others whose names I don’t know or remember. The monk showed us their simple homes, the gardens they tend and live off of, the hen house, the pigs:
and the bulls, the small, shed-like building where they build the couras, and the soccer and basketball areas where they get to play once a week. Overall, it was a very tranquil place.
Afterward, we went to Lac Rose (Pink Lake) where the salt concentration is so high that it’s…well, pink. There were mounds of salty foam on the shore surrounding boats as colorful as a bag of faded Skittles (ha), and the fiercest vendors you’ve ever met. Coming at you in every direction with baskets full of souvenirs on their heads, they literally push bracelets on your wrists, force dolls or paintings in your hands, tell you they’re gifts, only to walk away and come back within two minutes demanding that you pay for the gift, take a picture of their baby and send it to them or demand marriage. It was madness. We were all scared and running onto the bus at the end. It was actually quite hilarious.
From there we drove a short distance to some sand dunes. College students transformed into children as we all kicked off our sandals and gleefully ran up the first hills without really realizing we’d be exhausted after 10 steps. But we trudged along and made it to the top and then to a spot where Waly set down his drum and began to play. Over the next half hour we were each pulled into the circle to make fools of ourselves and dance clumsily in the sand.
Afterward, we got some pictures with a few random camels before we left. The ride back was the most fun I had on the trip, yet all we did was talk and joke non-stop for two hours. I really can’t say enough good things about the people on this trip and how happy I am that they’re here.
And it's just the beginning!
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