About to Peace Out

Leaving tomorrow for Kedougou, so wanted to briefly post before I leave. Wont have internet access until I'm back in Dakar (most likely) which will be March 7th. Am excited to see the rest of the country a little bit -- Dakar does not seem representative of the types of statistics one reads about Senegal or West Africa in general. While one of the richest countries in the region, almost 50% of the people here still live on less than $2 a day. But Dakar is where people come to make money, and because the country is so stable students and devoted workers flock here to establish some semblance of a concrete lifestyle. Women here are commonly educated, dress is as often Western as not... Except for the trash everywhere, the lack of street lights once you leave highway sidewalks, and the sand everywhere, you might think you weren't in Africa. Well that's not entirely true -- the idea of a boutique here is most comparable to a small free standing shack, which you would never find in another similarly "cosmopolitan" city. But regardless, I'm excited to get out of town for a bit. I'll be staying with a fishing village for a few days as well (Monday to Thursday I think) on the Gambia river I believe... I'll wait to talk more about this after I've been, but suffice to say it should be very different from my upper-middle class life in Dakar, despite what I still believe is a tiny house for a family with their means. Abby told me the other day that if I come back in a few years (she said with my parents -- Mom, Dad, wanna take a trip?) she hopes they'll have found a bigger space by then. I don't get the impression that they're looking for a new house right now though; they're so busy working all the time, I barely know how they find the energy to live as it is.

This week has been pretty normal -- classes as usual in French and Wolof, Field Study Seminar lectures on how to conduct interviews and develop our independent study topics, Arts and Culture sessions on the educational system of Senegal and transportation in Dakar... Feeling good enough to eat some of the fabulous, really greasy food that is everywhere here. For example, today I had for lunch an egg and french fry sandwich containing hard-boiled eggs, paprika, mayonaise, mustard, ketchup, and french fries on a baguette. It's actually just a heart attack waiting to happen, but it's delicious. Life at home is generally good as well -- I love the girls and I am finally starting to develop strategies for doing homework in the house (just don't respond to anything they say when they try and distract me) which was helpful as I had two French presentations this week. (Keba is such a hard professor! And by then I mean not at all in comparison with any class I've ever taken since middle school, I'm just really lazy here.) Bashir and Abby are a blast to be around when they are in good moods, which is most of the time. Abby last night used me as a human shield against Bashir when he was trying to throw pillows at her after she told him that he could sleep in the bathroom if he was going to make fun of her so viciously... They're sickeningly adorable. But this morning they had a fight about something (I think it had to do with Abby leaving for work before Bashir, and him wanting her to stay with him and go in late... Gender roles are so incredibly complicated here, and I'm constantly perplexed by how they are being challenged by the growing numbers of working and highly educated women.) I would be able to speak more eloquently about it but they switched into Wolof, so I lost most of it. Our new live-in help only speaks Wolof, so I have a new incentive to learn. I wish I could communicate with her -- I doubt she's much older than me and her life seems very exhausting. She goes to sleep around when I do, maybe earlier I guess around 10 or 10:30, but she's up at 6 and working nonstop until she sleeps again. Anyway, I don't remember how I got on this topic anymore.

Other highlights from the week... The girls got really dressed up for Mardi Gras on Tuesday! It was basically Halloween. I went in with them to school for a few minutes (and was accidentally late for Wolof, but luckily Matou my Wolof professor loves me and just shook his head with a smile... I'm so smooth!) and was shocked by the incredible costumes. Soukeyna was dressed as a Spanish woman, and between the bright red dress and all the makeup she looked about 25. (She's 5, in case you've forgotten.) Girls were dressed in everything from wedding dresses to traditional African robes with huge hoop earrings; boys came dressed as old wise men, Zoro, Superman, and I even think I saw a Ninja Turtle! The cultural melange here is truly unlike anything I've ever seen; it's hard to know how people feel about it. It's not like Mardi Gras is a Muslim tradition after all, but I am not exaggerating to say that every child in this school, years pre-K to 5th grade, was dressed to the nines. My sisters were up two hours before they needed to leave for school in order to get ready... They were not messing around.

Now I'm off to buy a mosquito net and to pack. if you want to call me you should feel free to take my Senegalese cell phone number off Facebook if you can access it (I should have my phone in Kedougou, though I may turn it off while I'm at the village: the Diakhanke village in Samecouta if you feel like doing some research about my whereabouts.) Otherwise though, expect to hear little from me until I return! Know that I am still happy and healthy (comme d'habitude) and am still feeling enchanted and overwhelmed by all things Senegalese. The big joke with my friend Lily has become that everything here is a part of a larger paradox -- things that don't make sense together in the slightest -- and every day seems to add to that feeling. It's odd to feel like I am trying to be Senegalese when I am so obviously not; and it's difficult to feel like I am here for such a long time but simultaneously that my time here is so fleeting and I want to do the touristy things that are out of the way... Anyway, these are just some of my frequent cultural/study abroad musings. Hope you are happy and healthy as you read this. Ba beneen yoon, inchallah! (Until next time, God willing!)


PS: Wolof lesson for the day: Counting. 1 = benn. 2 = ñaar. 3 = ñeet. 4 = ñeent. 5 = juroom. Good luck studying!

Weekend and a Routine

Friday night I went to the largest fish market in Dakar with Abby to by some poisson for dinner. I'm going to retype an excerpt from my field journal written the morning after right into here--it was an incredible experience:

...incredible amounts of fish of all sizes and kinds! some were truly enormous, maybe 3 feet? smaller ones stacked sometimes 5 high on frisbee like plastic or metal dishes, big beady eyes glazed over. vendors all talking, to each other mostly (unclear to some extent who works with whom) and certainly to customers, encouraging them to look and buy and bargaining. all taking place on cedar block benches maybe 4 feet high lined in long columns perpendicular to the ocean. and the ocean -- right there! boats still in the water, like a national geographic cover or a movie. intensely metallic blue fading into a deep navy as the last rays of sun stop surving around the horizon. until the prominent rock island which was so black in comaprison to the water when i arrived can no longer be seen at all. and the seafood! shrimp, oysters, muscles i thought i saw, fish fish fish fish... all just lying there. no ice -- bucket of water to rinse things in should something fall on the ground. i tried to describe the pike place market in seattle with all its fish offerings to abby but in comparison it hardly seemed like the same thing. asking abby questions afterwards was invaluable too -- about the cleaning, prices, quantities, freshness. meant to ask about the joking...

Saturday was a fabulous day. We went on a mini safari in Parc Bandia -- huge 25 person jeep driving around an incredibly dry park. But the animals were breathtaking. It was like taking a real life tour of the Lion King (and yes, I did sing a huge number of the songs with the people sitting near me as we drove around.) Giraffes, warthogs, beautiful birds... I touched an ostrich! It was a female and so apparently not dangerous. It walked right up to us (they are the most awkward birds -- neck is truly like a garden hose) and I got to reach out and pet it. Incredibly soft. The baobab trees were equally breathtaking; they stretch out in bizarre, thick and twisted limbs but they have no leaves at this time of year I guess. And the fruit drapes down kind of like lanterns -- thick black canteen-looking pieces dangling as if they've been strewn by fratboys after a wild night.

After the Parc Bandia we went to a fancy beach type resort which it turns out we are coming back to for a week at the end of the semester! The beach was beautiful and the bungaloos were adorable -- I went swimming in fabulously chill water, though it was dirty and the bottom was alternatively slimey and rocky in different spots. I played soccer at the edge of the surf for a while as well until a local man was hitting on me and my Wolof professor (late 20s maybe?) inserted himself into our conversation in order to get the guy to leave me alone. Things escalated really quickly and the guy nearly took a swing at Matou, but in the end everybody was fine. I felt horribly guilty, but Matou assured me that it wasn't my fault and that he was just glad that he could cut off our interaction before it got to a point where I felt uncomfortable. But I have now developed the reputation of causing men to fight over me. Awesome.

At night we all went to a gala at the Theatre National -- well, we attempted to at least. Right away we were bounced by the ushers for not being dressed nicely enough, thus perpetuating the one of the largest stereotype here about Americans: they are super casual and always underdressed. After spending 40 minutes in a tiny backstage room, our djembe professor was able to get us front row seats in the balcony. And it was well worth the wait -- from super traditional dancing to a strange melange of Senegalese flailing with club moves on modern urban attire, it was a heart-stopping showcase. I've never seen so many flips in succession, nor have I ever seen someone dressed like a haystack bend backwards and spin so quickly. It was a pity that I was so exhausted by that point -- I wish I had been more awake for the long description of the gala at the beginning. In french, it was difficult to follow after the first 15 minutes.

I'm gonna run home for the evening now. Sadly I actually do have homework here -- a french paper due tomorrow, a small french presentation, Wolof exercises, my independent study to contemplate... And when Bashir and Abby are in good moods, they are so much fun to be around. Besides being adorably in love, they make fun of each other all the time. Needless to say I fit into the Gueye family quite nicely. As my french has improved, my ability to mock people has quickly entered Senegalese personality. Being healthy and happy at the same time feels pretty fabulous, needless to say.

Ba beneen yoon!

Whew

Spent this morning at the Musee d'IFAN, which is one of the first museums ever created in Africa about black Africa. Not quite up to the standards I've come to expect after frequenting the Met and the Museum of Natural History, but it was still fascinating. The featured exhibit was all about fertility, mostly as represented by wood carving sculptures of women. I'm particularly fascinated by the completely different way beautiful breasts are depicted here. None of this large and round nonsense we have in the States, or any type of single ideal boob. Breasts are sometimes supple and sometimes incredibly flat and droopy, pointy, elongated, sometimes sticking straight out. It's refreshing to see art that embraces so many different body types. The permanent collection in the museum is a series of lifesize scenes of different traditional African rituals -- a female puberty ritual from Guinea Bisau demonstrated by mannequins in traditional costumes in front of a replica of a local hut -- a celebration of the learned art of land cultivation in a rural Mali tribe -- others that were not from West Africa too but I can't remember them all now. There was also a modern art exhibit in a back section of the museum, which featured a challenge from the Guethe Institute (I'm sure I'm butchering this name which is embarassing, but I'm trying to speak of the big German art museum) asking artists to make daily objects out of other daily objects. I can't remember if the artists were African or not, but the pieces were pretty cool and it was at least fun to see some modern works, given that I feel a little more knowledgeable about that branch of art than everything else I've been seeing lately.

After our morning excursion, I adventured out with five other friends into the craziness that is downtown Dakar. We were searching for a restaurant highlighted in our guidebooks (thanks again for mine, Freddie and Henry!) but trying to find anything with only an address here is almost a lost cause. Most streets aren't labeled, and as soon as you stop to look around for any marker of location it takes mere seconds for vendors to literally surround you and shove their products at your hands. It certainly makes it hard to even pretend to be a local. After asking about 10 people (this is of course after we had originally gotten directions from our French teachers before even leaving the museum) we finally found the restaurant, which was a lovely little oasis from the busy Dakar streets. I was able to eat real food (!!) though not in huge amounts. But it's probably good that I'm slowing down in my eating; at the rate I was being asked to eat last week there is no way I could return to the States anything other than obese. In particular the avacados and shrimp salad (a common dish here, though sometimes the shrimp just comes inside the avacados and there is no lettuce) was delicious. There was even a kora player accompanying our meal, which was lovely, even though he was not nearly as good as the guy from the Theatre National who played for us early last week. I'm guessing from this experience as well that the quality of the kora itself (imagine an instrument half way between a guitar and a harp) also has a great deal to do with the sound... it seems like there might be a lot of variation in how nicely the strings resonate.

The rest of the afternoon was spent exploring two markets -- the marche Sandaga and the marche HLM. Markets here are even more exhausting than the streets. It's impossible to pause for even a moment without being swarmed. Even if you see something you like, it's better not to touch or discuss unless your semi-interested in actually buying. I was kind of looking for a pair of sandals, but it just wasn't worth the trouble of engaging with the salesmen. It's ridiculous how quickly one can tire of this kind of consumer relationship -- I'm now realising everything I've come to appreciate about US commercialism. For example, unless it's a $50 bill (and frequently even then!) it is guaranteed that you can get change for a too-large-bill at any restaurant, gas station, taxi, ANYTHING. Here, it is almost impossible. And the only way to get money out of ATMs is to get big bills! But the entire way money is treated is different. Even standard things can frequently be bargained down, like powdered milk in bulk or laundry services or shampoo if it's purchased in boutiques. I'm sure I could be getting great deals on some of the things for sale at Sandaga, but it's almost better just to walk by with a purpose and take in how many people and things are condensed into such small spaces. Le marche HLM is the largest fabric market in Dakar, and it's true that the fabrics there have incredible colors. I'm going to ask Abby to take me back, because I couldn't tell how badly I was getting taken for a ride by the vendors. Mostly what the women wear here is known as wax, which is a not very soft fabric coming in bright colors and big patterns. There's a lot of orange in women's wardrobes here, and a lot of green. I love how bright all the colors are; it is impossible to wear something traditional and not to make a bold statement. Even though HLM was less busy, it was also exhausting and I was ready to leave after 45 minutes.

I'm going to head home soon, hopefully to learn how to do my laundry by hand as I am now completely out of clean underwear. (Side note: this blog has become increasingly blunt, perhaps you've noticed. Consider that a direct trend of how blunt life here has become for me -- we talk about details of our health, details of our homestays... none of us have personal space or privacy anymore, so very little seems inappropriate to me these days.) Maybe live jazz later, maybe going to a local bar for a chill drink... Tomorrow we are going on a small safari in a national wildlife preserve (!!) and then spending the day at a beach a couple of hours outside of Dakar, and then tomorrow night the whole program is trying to go to the National Ballet (which is not the same thing as what we call ballet in the US -- think African dance) and then out clubbing. The drummer from our dance workshop this week is actually performing at a club, so hopefully we will meet up with him during his show. I got his number just to make sure -- seriously, the Senegalese men love me. Maybe it's just because I do a lot of smiling to stall while I search for the correct French conjugation of my verb. A tout a l'heure. (See you later.)

Sickness

It was inevitable -- my first batch of intense sickness. I don't know what exactly I ate, though Bashir spent at least half an hour grilling me the other day to try and find the cause, but something completely through my digestive system out of whack. On Tuesday night I couldn't even keep water down, which had me (and my mother, Faith not Abby) very worried. And being sick in the Gueye house was definitely an experience. I nearly had to cry to convince Abby and Bashir that I couldn't eat dinner; they kept telling me I had to force food down. I spent the entire night watching Euronews, until Abby told me that I was only allowed to watch programs in French or in Wolof. I decided to choose my battles wisely, and proceeded to watch Dawson's Creek dubbed in French, followed by High School Musical 2 dubbed in French. It actually might have been fun and entertaining if I hadn't felt like a mess, lying in the fetal position for hours. But don't worry! Now I am almost entirely better, except that I still have no desire to eat Senegalese food. Every dish here is drenched in oil. Meat is directly from the animal, so it's not like any of the fat is trimmed, and I eat with only a spoon and it's culturally not appropriate to trim off the fat. It is impossible to avoid grease, butter, bread (oh my gosh, I never want to see a baguette again...) I crave a salad more than anything. My saving grace has been that clementines are in season, so I eat lots of them. And the bananas are pretty fabulous as well; I buy them from a friendly vendor across the street every morning. For the past few days though I've mostly been eating the equivalent of Riz crackers, with whatever fruit or vegetable seems appealing in the moment. Last night I had mashed potatoes... Hopefully whatever is on the menu for tonight will be easy to digest as well.

Expect another post tomorrow; I ended up spending this evening talking with friends in a classroom at SIT. The people here are really fabulous -- I'm making excellent friends. So expect highlights of the week tomorrow, but for now rest easy that my stomach is feeling 90% better and I'm back to my bubbly sense. Ba beneen yoon. (Until next time.)

Weekend and Theatre National Workshop

I'm learning to accept doing less. But it's not coming easily. I spent much of the weekend doing nothing: wandering around the neighborhood where SIT is with a friend, being dragged to Abby's Mom's house and being left there with the girls and nothing to do for the entire day... (I feigned sickness and booked it out of there to Caitlin's house, where we talked about homestay experiences and what we want to do with the rest of our semester...) It's odd for me to feel like I literally did nothing for two days. Other people are getting taken cool places by their homestay siblings or parents, but my house isn't really like that. I am however getting a crash course in parenting, though I am still nowhere near comfortable assisting with the toilet training of my two-year-old sister Djara. (See picture at right, taken in the courtyard of house. The same courtyard that I locked myself in last weekend, yes. I've also uploaded a video of Soukeyna (age 5) and Djara. See below.)

Today has been a roller-coaster. I felt pretty sick earlier and haven't eaten a lot, which came back to bite me during our first dance workshop at the Theatre National. The woman who is teaching us (Touty) is definitely not as good a teacher as Maguette back at Barnard... I felt ridiculous. But I'm excited to improve! I did however kick major butt at "djembe," which is the main drum used in almost all traditional Senegalese music. I had a blast learning the rhythms and turning my hands bright red by the end of the hour. I was also feeling much better by the djembe session, which made it that much more enjoyable.

There's so much more to write about, but truth be told it's hard to know where to begin. I'll be spending the rest of the evening interviewing Senegalese pedestrians for my urban art presentation due Wednesday. I'm on team "Transportaion as Art," and I'm focussing on highway mosaics. It is truly shocking how much money the Senegalese government spends on arts and cultural projects here. There was a dry spell between 1980 and 2000 when Senegal was under tight Structural Adjustment Plans (yay economics major relevency!) but the current President (Abdoulaye Wade) has re-expanded the budget for artists and national culture projects. It's hard to imagine, coming from a country where the budget for the National Endowment for the Arts is always on the chopping block! Then I'll go back to my house and attempt not to eat -- I don't want to jinx my now better stomach, but everyone in the house is always telling me to mange plus! It's ridiculous.

What else can I reflect on... I'm starting to enter the downward part of the "U Curve" theory says cultural newbies experience. After the initial thrill and shock has worn off, frustrations start to emerge. I'm still very much struggling with how to be an adult in a house where I don't know how to do anything for myself. I'm finding myself in a very awkward part-tourist, part-resident situation where I feel bad doing nothing but find going downtown overwhelming and exhausting. And while I have great friends here already, it's odd to be at square one with people as we go through highly emotional situations. Anyway, this is an awkward musing.

For those of you following along regularly, you'll remember that I was going clubbing on Friday. I did indeed, and it was marvelous. Not that I look good dancing AT ALL, and the club that we went to had mirrors along the longest wall which was incredibly awkward and embarassing, but it was fun to hear French pop, Senegalese hip hop, and lots and lots of Akon (as he is Senegalese!) I'm giving up on the video uplad I was attempting, but will try again soon. Am posting some other pictures to tide you over in the mean time. (Soukeyna, my five year old sister... A random picture from a cafe on Ile de Goree, only posted because it has me in it... A boat and some locals...) Miss you all and love you lots!

Recap

It has been an exhausting two days. Yesterday was my first real breakdown, with the exception of when I locked myself in the courtyard of course. Part of had to do with social stuff (but everything is fine -- nobody worry!) and a lot of it was just about letting all the little stuff I've been swallowing and trying not to let bother me come to the surface. My homestay is absolutely exhausting, I get lost with frequency which is very unusual for me... Living here is just exhausting, and it was only a matter of time before I crashed. It was okay in the end -- I went home and basically just disengaged from my family for the night. (Bashir was at his other house and Abby had to work late at her telemarketing job.) After a long night's sleep, a lot of journalling, and some for-pleasure reading (thanks Clem for Ella Minnow Pea! What a fabulous, fluffy read!) I felt much better.

Today my french class went with another french class to Isle Goree, which was a major colonial port most known for it's important role in the Senegalese/West African slave trade. Walking around the Maison des Esclaves reminded me a little of walking around a concentration camp.... About 200,000 people from Senegal and the Gambia were shipped to the United States and Western Europe during the 18th century alone. I get the impression (though our tour guide spoke in french, so I know I missed a lot) that almost all of those people at one point lived in this house. In tiny rooms with no light and often no windows, packed in like sardines. On the coast of this beautiful little island about a 20 minute ferry ride from Dakar. The building is a deep coral red, though apparently it was more of a topaz/yellow before slavery was abolished in the Francophone world. (I'll try to post some pictures soon -- early next week, ideally.) I certainly had flash backs to my visit to Majdanek in Poland, feeling the horrible juxtaposition of gas chambers and butterflies on a beautiful sunny day. It was hard to read quotations discussing the incredible devastation of what this human trafficking did to West Africa, and then spend the rest of the afternoon walking around down cute alleys with Portugeuse architecture and large art gallerys for tourists to peruse. And beautiful beaches! This country is full of just incredible beaches. The water here is so blue -- it reminds me a lot of the Pacific. But it's the Atlantic! Funny that I'm still on the Atlantic.

Tonight (assuming Bashir and Abby let me out of the house) the whole group is going to find a boite de nuit (literally translated to mean "night box" but generally meaning night club) and go dancing. We're meeting at a gas station near school (I'm totally serious) to buy some cheaper beverages and come up with a game plan. But apparently night life here doesn't really start until 1 AM, so we could be in for a late night... It should be a blast though; I'm very excited to be with my friends in a more honestly local scene than all the field trips we've been doing recently. Other plans for the weekend are mostly ambiguous... Might go to a fabric market (marche HLM) with a friend and her host mom... Who knows. Will try to catch up on the readings that I'm already behind in (aha so fast) and the field notes that I was supposed to start yesterday. Miss you all much and hope that you are well and healthy. Bon weekend!

Beach Day

I had class for ten minutes this morning. We recieved our first assignment (maybe second, if you count "thinking about our learning goals for thursday" as an assignment) and then were released into the Senegalese wild. I, along with maybe half of the program participants, headed straight for the beach. It's hard to believe that this is school, although it's absolutely true that this is a program based on "experiential learning." I'm learning how to bargain with taxi drivers (slashing the price by over fifty percent, ideally,) turn away from begging children, deny water to persistent soccer players... Being white, wherever I go I am flanked by vendors trying to sell me jewelry, towels, shoes, perfume. It's exhausting. But the beach was beautiful. Cold like the Pacific, but the waves were lovely and small. I basically bathed myself in sunscreen to avoid getting burned, which I don't regret at all. It's hot here, especially in the middle of the day, especially lying in the sun for almost 8 hours. It's hard to believe that it's a Wednesday, in my first full week of classes, in February.

Yesterday seemed to be the kind of day that will happen to me with frequency. School starts at 8:30 AM. I have Wolof language classes, with maybe the coolest guy ever. He can't be older than in his late 20s -- his name is Matou. I'm kind of obsessed with him. We live in the same neighborhood, and whenever we're practicing our dialogue (e.g. Hello! Hello! How are you? I am fine. How is your family? Well. What is your name? Elena. Your last name? Mayer. Where do you live in the United States? Seattle. Where do you live in Dakar? Mermoz.) we both get really into it and pretend like we haven't heard the other's answers fifty times already. Plus we both live in Mermoz, so we always high five when we get to that part. He's adorable. Then we have a half hour break, when we all lie in the front lawn of our villa and eat mandarins and drink water. Then is a two-hour french class, which might be the best French class I've ever taken. (Which is saying something, since I've had some great French professors.) There are five of us, and somehow (!!) I managed to land in the most advanced class. We basically just talk, and Keba our teacher, who is also probably in his mid-twenties, corrects us every time we mispeak. We go on super random tangents (like discussing female West African wrestlers, or how Senegalese names frequently come from biblical names) and just discuss grammar and Senegalese culture. It's fabulous. We talked about polygamy alone for half an hour. (I'll explain why in a second.) Then we have two and a half hours for lunch (!!) where we wander the neighborhood for restaurants and lounge some more on the lawn eating fruit. We basically keep the fruit stand across the street in business. Then we have our Arts and Culture seminar, which varies from government speakers to musicians or artists. Yesterday we had an ethnomusicologist who works with local school children come and talk to us about traditional instruments. Then he taught us some songs in Wolof and led us in some very elementary, grapevine type dancing. We finish around 4:30 or 5, but everyone hangs around at school until 6:30 or 7. Dinner here isn't until usually 9 or even 10.

Back to polygamy: I found out two nights ago that Bashir (my "father" here, who is only 32 years old and thus will not let me call him "papa") has another wife! She lives elsewhere in Dakar -- he said he would take me sometime. They've only been married for two years I think, but they have a one year old daughter together. I tried asking a few questions about her, but Bashir said Abby (my "mom," the matriarch of the house I am living in who I assume is also in her early 30s) gets very jealous whenever the other wife is discussed. Islam condones (does not encourage, but permits) up to four wives, but they all must be treated 100% equally. Keba referered to it as a poisonous gift. Bashir spends two nights at my house, and then two nights at his other house. It was particularly shocking to me because they are so young and western -- they wear shoes in the house, they heat water for showers, they have hundreds of channels of cable television... I'm certainly still finding that there's lots to learn every day.

I'm gonna pass off my computer to a friend who's internet connection isn't working... Hopefully in a couple more days I will get my own cell phone that works (I should have just bought one a week ago. The story is not worth explaining, but yea, everyone else has a phone except me.) I'll try and post again on Friday. I miss and love you all, and am still (alxumdulilaay! = praise be to god!) very healthy and happy. Ba beneen yoon! Until next time!

First Day of "Real" School (and all the time in between)

I've been without internet access for a few days now, so I apologize for the delay. The days here are so long and yet they fly by... It's such a strange and wonderful feeling. So since I definitely don't have time to summarize it all, I'm just going to pull a few extracts from my personal ramblings and post them. I'll add some embelishments when I feel like it, too. Hopefully now that I have a more regular schedule I'll be able to post every few days again.

Thursday, Feb. 5:
The Drop Off. Exhausting. Have never spoken so much French before... After admitting to some idiot mistakes, like thinking Souleye said "money mint" instead of "monument" when describing where we were headed, and after a long debriefing with the full group, I feel much less overwhelmed by what happened. Literally emerged from taxi at a train station and was left to find answers to a full page of questions, with only two other SIT students. Besides being flogged by people wanting to sell us everything from t-shirts to guided tours (we accidentally fell into a guided tour, though... it's so hard to tell when the Senegalese are being friendly and when they are selling you something!) I learned quickly that downtown Dakar is unlike anything I have ever experienced. In some ways New York prepared me well, but everything is more intense. There is no such thing as solace. As a white person you are immediately and obviously labeled as a foreigner, and "non, merci" just wasn't enough to get vendors to stop following us--honestly for hundreds of feet. I'm also out of practice at bargaining (how long ago was my trip to Thailand? I was so much more precocious then!) By the time we finally got back to school after 7 hours out and about, I collapsed into a friend's lap. Thank goodness SIT has beautiful grounds--a garden with a palm tree looking bush in the center, mats to lie on, cool water... It's an oasis, to be sure...

Friday, Feb. 6:
Famous musicians came today from le Theatre National, sat in our meeting room and played a private concert for us. With dancing, no less! World renowned, absolutely incredible musicians. Am seriously considering forsaking my microcredit and economics related ideas for the independent study portion of the program in favor of an indepth study of the kora, a local instrument that is half way between a guitar and a harp. I was elated watching them play. Seriously, my face hurt so much from smiling. The djembe (drum) was pounding in my cheeks and in my chest and in my toes... World class musicians, three feet away from me. The woman who danced for us--Touti--looked so beautiful, it made me feel like my dance classes at Barnard were worlds away from reality. [Side note: we're visiting the Theatre National tomorrow for rhythm and drumming! You can imagine how excited I am... :o)]

Sunday, Feb. 8:
Past two days are blurring together in a bizarre blend of sensations. This has been my first weekend with my homestay family. Bashir is out of town on business, and la bonne (the live-in help) was out of town for a wedding, so it was just me and Abby and the girls (ages 5 and 2) for much of the weekend. Except today--Abby was at work and the girls were at their cousins. Which is conveniently when I managed to lock myself in the courtyard of our house (which is simultaneously inside and outside) for over an hour before a neighbor broke the bolt on the front door to help me out. I kept my cool for about 45 minutes, even with the sun and the flies, before realizing that both of the neighbors I had spoken to (through a small grating up high in the wall that divides the houses) were not coming back it seemed. I have no learned that crying is the universal sign for immediate help. Now that it's over I can laugh about it, but it was a long 75 minutes... I've rarely felt that completely helpless. Our academic director (Sarah) says that the homestay experience is a little like taking the 20 or 21 years you've spent developping independence and throwing them out the window. I certainly felt that way. It would have been embarassing to be locked out of my room in my pajamas at Barnard. To do it in Senegal, when I had to explain that the front door was bolted shut in french while being completely overwhelmed and upset, contemplating waiting 4 hours until Abby came home... I've almost never felt that completely overwhelmed by my own dependency... In fairness to myself, though, I've never seen this kind of lock in the US before. (You have to turn it... It can't be opened with a key. I had the key with me, at least, though it didn't do any good.) I had just woken up and I was going through my room, through the courtyard to the kitchen (which is kind of a free-standing building) to warm up water for my bucket shower. As you can imagine, the shower was very much needed by the time I finally got to take it... Oy. This story is better when I tell it out loud -- ask me about it sometime. :o)

The house is small. Very small. Which is interesting only because Bashir and Abby seem very upper-middle class to me. I guess I don't really have a frame of reference, though. There are four rooms: the master bedroom, the girls' bedroom, my bedroom, and the bathroom. Through my bedroom is a lovely little courtyard, and "in" the courtyard is a small building that contains the kitchen. We have a fridge and a freezer (and a microwave, though it's not plugged in. But microwaves are very rare here, indeed.) But the house has cable TV, and I am one of the few SIT students who is getting a warm shower (even if it is a bucket shower) every day. (We heat the water on a gas burner and then mix the boiling water with cold water from the tap.) The girls are adorable, though absolutely a handful. Soukeyna is five, and is incredibly bright. She's doing the kind of cursive practice excersises I did in 3rd grade. She wants to ride horses (or ponies? I can't really tell) but apparently it's very expensive and her school costs too much for Abby and Bashir to afford both. Djara is 2, and is either adorable or super annoying depending on the moment. I forgot that there was a universality to two year olds... I feel like I spent so much time preparing for how different everything would be that I didn't consider the similarities. Though my family has a much more western family dynamic than most: mother, father, two daughters, live in help. Many of my friends are living with families that have grandparents, children, grandchildren, cousins, all coming and going at different times, so much so that it's hard to tell who lives with them. I've visited two of my friends' houses so far -- it's a really cool experience.

I should probably run home for dinner now. I'll try and talk about the food sometime soon... It's... different. For sure. And if I had in any way wanted to lose weight here, it seems near impossible. People don't believe me when I say I'm full. My mother practically scolds me for not eating more. It's difficult, at times! And the food is so rich... Anyway, more on that later.

Expect another post Wednesday, maybe? Miss you all. Please know that I am happy and healthy (yay for being healthy!!) and that I am learning a lot. "Experiential learning," as we told to call it. :o) This is definitely a magnificent adventure I am having.

Whirlwind Days

It feels as if I've been here for so much longer than three days. I am quickly finding myself immersed in all things Senegal, and I'm happier every day. Despite the fact that my malaria profilaxis is disrupting my sleep (or so speculated the nurse from the American embassy,) I'm managing to follow along in French surprisingly well. I am absolutely impressed with myself. Today for example, I spent half an hour (maybe 45 minutes?) conversing for the first time with my host "parents." They immediately made it clear to me that I am not to call them maman and papa, even though most people will refer to their host parents as such. Bashir and Abby are probably in their late 30s, and definitely do not feel old enough to have me call them mom and dad. I move in with them and their two daughters (ages 5 and 2!) and Friday, which is super exciting. I wasn't nervous before -- I think I was mostly putting it out of my head -- but I am increasingly excited about the situation. Bashir speaks English quite well, as he has siblings I think in the US. The girls apparently talk all the time, and both want to learn English, so I expect I will constantly have people with whom I can practice the three languages I am speaking every day (French, English, and Wolof.) Bashir works at Microsoft (OH the irony... we talked about some of the company's layoffs today... seriously, I leave Seattle and end up living in a Microsoft family in Senegal?? It's too funny,) and also another West African software company I think. Abby works for a telephone company I believe, but I'm not totally sure. Apparently the girls are a riot, so it seems like my homestay experience will be full of new experiences for all five of us. There will definitely be kinks to work out (we have yet to discuss what happens when I go out to a bar or a club, as it should be noted that real dance clubs don't start receiving patrons until 1 or 2 in the morning and clubbers stay out until dawn) but I'm sure those things will all be discussed soon enough. For now I've been content to spend my evenings at the hotel with my fellow SIT friends.

I've also learned (quickly) that Senegalese men love me. Which begs the question of why American men haven't come around to this same obvious conclusion nearly as quickly. But no matter -- it has become evident that I will need to learn some dating etiquette. What I think of as a friendly smile and some normal banter in French seems to be more flirtatious than I had imagined, and it takes no time for men to ask you out to go dancing. (Don't worry parents -- I haven't said yes to anyone yet. I don't even have a cell phone yet whose number I could give out. I promise I am being safe. Seriously. I promise.) Aha anyways, I want to be very careful not to send any mixed signals, so I'll be asking our program leaders in the next few days how exactly I can remain my charming, adorable self while minimizing the undesired attention I might receive. :o)

Other highlights of the past few days include an exercise yesterday where we were sent out in pairs into the quartier (neighborhood, Point E to be exact) with an important cultural Senegalese object. I had un chapelet, or a string of Muslim prayer beads, and I had to ask a dozen or so locals about it significance and when it was used. It was a really fascinating experience. To start, strangers are incredibly friendly here. It's a completely different sense of interpersonal relations with strangers. Greetings are of the utmost importance. I've quickly learned that a classic Wolof greeting can take minutes, asking about a person's health and the health of their family, all of which come with pre-decided answers that are only modified if something is seriously wrong. Even without knowing the full greeting though, I was able to transition from my weak Wolof skills into French and ask some basic questions. Just being here, walking around, and having these superb program leaders talk to us about Senegalese culture makes me feel very adept already. Of course, that fades the farther outside of a "school" environment I get. But tomorrow is our "drop off" excersise, an SIT classic in many countries, where we are dropped off in pairs in various places we have never been before, in our case in downtown Dakar. We will have to find various cultural objects, take note of local art and music, and somehow find our way back to the SIT site. I'm not nervous, which makes me wonder if I should be... I suppose I'll know tomorrow! But walking around Point E is starting to feel more and more comfortable. I'm learning that my French is really quite decent if I don't try to sound fluent. When I go slowly and speak clearly, I am almost always understood. (Understanding others is a different matter, though the Senegalese speak French much slower than French people do -- thank GOD.)

Speaking of SIT, the school building is beautiful. Today I had my first formal Wolof class in an outdoor classroom. It has a roof and blinds and stuff, but it's in a courtyard of sorts exposed to the fresh air through the sides. It should also be noted that my Wolof class has five people in it, and my French class will be the same. (Gives a whole new meaning to the idea of small classes...) The whole building is beautiful, though. There are small seashells along one side of the villa, and a grassy field in front with a palm-like bush in the middle that offers some shade. Not that we need any right now -- it's not cold, but for the wardrobe we were asked to bring it certainly feels that way! I'm wearing a light sweater over my tank tops and t-shirts along with jeans or skirts. And open toed shoes, don't get me wrong, but at night it's in the low 60s or high 50s and I barely brought any clothing for that kind of weather. Seriously, I have only one sweatshirt. Which is very unlike me, as most of you know.

I will try to bring my camera along tomorrow and add some pictures in a few days -- I've been leaving it in the room this week to remind myself to look around with my eyes and not through a lens. But I think my descriptions will be enhanced by some pictures, for sure. I'm already learning to eat using only one hand (and no utensils -- it's tricky and I'm a slower learner than others, which is okay because I'm faster at Wolof than some others) and to avoid using my left hand whenever possible. I'm also learning the beauty of a good French pastry, the importance of drinking water (and peeing ALL the frickin' time,) and how quickly I can make friends with my peers in the course of a few short days. I speaking with a friend of mine Aurora earlier, and we were talking about a bottle of shampoo she bought a few days ago; I asked if it was the one she bought last week, before realizing that I didn't know her last week. The days seem so long. Professor Stokes would say that is because it is the beginning of a trip and I am seeing more new things which don't have pre-existing schemas to fit in; in the future, the days and weeks will fly by much faster and begin to blur together. I hope I manage to keep everything separate as much as possible. There's so much here to absorb, and I'm trying to find a balance between going slowly (to take care of myself) and jumping at every opportunity to try something new.

I'm going to try to post every 2-3 days, but I won't have my computer at my homestay family's house so I might post tomorrow night and then not again until Monday when I am back at school. (Although the building is open on Saturdays too, and we might actually have class this Saturday morning... Hmmm, I should check my schedule again...) Anyway, check back frequently for more adventures. Miss you all lots -- truly.

Day 1!

AH! Back in my hotel (Good Rade) at the end of my first full day in Dakar. I'm finding that I vascillate between sheer excitement and various states of being overwhelmed. Little things like getting directions to a jazz club proved more challenging than I would have guessed (two friends of mine had to speak to a nice hotel bartender at least three times before he finally just had a friend of his lead us there) but in general, the language barrier could definitely be worse. I'm feeling much more comfortable about my french skills now that I see how shaky other people are feeling. (That sounds horrible, I know, but so much of communicating in a foreign language is confidence, I've discovered, and I am absolutely expecting to make a fool of myself frequently for the next few weeks.) I now know three questions/answer phrases in wolof, which is pretty cool. Sadly I didn't have a pen with me when I learned them so I've already forgotten how to say "and you" in response, but I have faith that it will come to me "petit à petit" as one prof. told us today.

Generally today was very slow. We're still being oriented, discussing our expectations and fears, asking questions about cultural faux-pas (pl.) and trying to remember everything we're being told. We had lunch at a Senegalese restaurant right down the street, which was delicious. I already forget the name of what we ate --jab el jam? I promise I will learn it soon -- but it is the national dish of Senegal and is basically comprised of fish and rice. Delicieus. After lunch I took a nap (I can already tell that I will be loving this afternoon rest situation... I kept thinking how proud of me Burt and Suzanne would have been for taking a successful nap) and then we continued with the orientation work in the afternoon. For dinner we went back to the same restaurant, this time without program staff, and had chicken and french fries. I'd say that I felt cheated out of local food, except that then we experienced our first of what I imagine will be many rolling black-outs, and I was releaved to be able to still grasp at french fries while I talked to my new friends in the dark. (No worries -- within five or ten minutes the power was back. But I may bring my head-lamp with me from now on.) This may be one of the only times I eat this kind of food with a knife and fork -- soon it will be communal bowls and my hands. I wonder how close it will be to Ehtiopian food...

Speaking of my new friends, I'm really thrilled with the group of people I've met so far. Everyone seems interesting and lovely. I'm definitely the wildcard in terms of my interests -- I'm the only political science or economics major, and I'm also one of the only people who isn't at least minoring in French -- but that just highlights for me how cool it is that I'm really doing this. We start dancing on Friday I think (!!!) and my heart almost skipped a beat when I saw it on the schedule. There are studio art workshops and long excursions to other parts of the country... It looks more and more like the adventure of a lifetime. Even though I'm waking up at 7:30 tomorrow morning (ugg) I can't wait for it all to continue.

I also had the opportunity between orientation workshops and dinner to wander around Dakar with a large group of other girls on the program. Besides feeling like a HUGE group of tourists, it was incredibly comfortable and interesting. The city feels very safe. And to be honest, it looks much like I had imagined. Some of the houses are beautiful, with Arabic-looking architecture and Spanish-style roofs. (I'll try to take some pictures soon and post them for you.) There are also definitely tin shacks, maybe not right next to the bigger houses but not far away. There are horse-drawn carriages next to taxi cabs, and goats tied up near boutiques. It's not jarring, which perhaps means I was well prepared? I keep feeling like the culture shock will set in, maybe tomorrow, maybe next week or next month, but for now I feel okay. Not like a local by ANY means, but mostly comfortable. I'm getting a slight sense of what I can wear, for example I passed women today wearing beautiful boubous (traditional looking African dresses, coming down to the ankles with either t-shirt or full-length sleeves) and on the same sidewalk would be a woman wearing tight jeans and American-brand tennis shoes. I'm still not sure what "poor" is yet, but I know that will come. I've already learned important details though, like not to call women's children cute (it's a sign of bad luck that it might fade,) and to be careful when taking pictures that you get the consent of all subjects, especially children. The women and children seem absolutely beautiful, though. Thin women, curvy women... Everyone seems to glow. Young children walk on the sidewalks, sometimes far ahead of their mothers, looking up at you with beautiful eyes and smiling.

The roads are fascinating: there are multi-lane highways right next to dirt roads. Cars seem indifferent, though very few look to be of any recent make or model. Sanitation is also very different. There are few garbage cans, and there is no way to recycle plastic bottles. I had a really hard time bringing myself to throw a huge 1.5 litre bottle into a garbage bin earlier, but I guess I'll adjust soon. Other things I will need to adjust to include above all, the humidity. My hair is almost 3 inches shorter and incredibly frizzy. I need to go buy some moose, for sure... Ugg I felt vaguely ridiculous all day, and pretty vain as I put my hair up and down over and over and over trying to look even remotely nice.

Well, it's after midnight so I think I am going to retire. I'm still figuring out how exactly I want to use this blog... As this post has developed, it seems part journal-entry, part daily recounting... Anyway, perhaps it will remain just that. It's odd to think that I've only been here for a day, and that today was a very slow day! There is definitely big stuff still to come this week; tomorrow we visit the SIT villa for the first time and I will see our program headquarters and classroom space. Very exciting. Jusqu'à demain! Bon soir!