Where to begin...

Dakar is an incredible city. The more I follow the agendas written out in my guidebook, the more I'm realizing just how cosmopolitan a place it is. My experience at the Lonely Planet locations is almost a separate experience than my average life here, and it's wild to think of how different an experience I would be having if I was here for a week as a tourist. Take my day yesterday, for example. Or the past two days. Friday night I went to La Maison Culturelle Francaise Douta Seck, which is a hidden oasis near the University of Dakar Chiekh Anta Diop (all of this in the neighborhood of Point E, which is the same neighborhood of my school.) My friend Rachel had heard earlier that day that a Mandink (local ethnic group) folk singer was going to be performing at 21:00 in the cafe there, and so we agreed to buy dinner out as our ticket into the show. After visiting her house (which is so different than mine -- I definitely need to spend more time visiting other people's houses... One of the weirdest details was that her house has a ballon in the middle, which seems like a cement dome potentially remniscent of a hut. Then there's a big courtyard around it, and then there's a small three story house that's very long and not very deep. She was explaining that the subsection of her neighborhood is called Le Ballon because all the houses have them, and that apparently they were built by Americans. Which is odd because they are really small, maybe two rooms with a divider in the middle, and an external bathroom. Her current theory is that perhaps they were built by Americans who assumed that since rural Senegalese live in huts, in Dakar people would want something similar to that cultural legacy... Of course what happened is that people built houses around the ballons and use them as an oddly separated room.) But yes after visiting her house we set off via taxi to la Maison, where we stumbled upon a cultural festival celebrating la Francophonie, or all the places in the world outside of France where French is spoken. There was a live band, as well as stations (booths) from a variety of different countries, all serving little plates of local food. Of particularly memorable cuisines were the Congo, Switzerland, Canada, and Cameroon, but it was all delicious and really fun to see. There were women in fancy traditional outfits dancing with husbands and friends, lots of people standing around in suits watching with huge smiles on their faces. A huge buffet table in the back of traditional Senegalese dishes and every kind of local juice, including my favorite: bissap. It was just incredible, exhilerating, and hugely local and obscure. I was so pleased we stumbled upon it. Then we walked out of this hanger-like space towards the cafe, where there was no food to be had at all (or wine, which had us a little bummed) but a few more friends came to meet us and the six of us had truly enormous beers as we listened to this man with an incredible voice (think half way between the classic American pretty boy with a guitar and African folk music) serenaded us in an intimate setting -- palm trees, few others around, his guitar strumming through huge speakers and another man drumming on a calabase (hollowed out gourd which is a bowl/drum) with rings on to give it a particularly metallic clicking... It was just breathtaking. If it hadn't been a little cold, though in fairness I was only wearing a light sweater over a tank-top and jeans, I easily could have stayed there for hours.

Then yesterday, I did a grand tour of Dakar following highlights from the guidebook. With my friend Erin we visited the Grande Mosequee and climbed to the top of the tower for a small fee, perused the Marche Chinois or the Dakar equivalent of Chinatown, walked a couple of miles into the center of downtown Dakar through endless stall-lined streets and down random alleys, only to end up in the Institut Culturelle Francaise which is like a strange paradise in a fancy section of downtown. Huge and lush trees, an art gallery where Erin and I ended up talking to the artist of all the beautiful recuperation work (art made out of garbage) on display in French/Wolof for an hour, touring around the gift shop and eating fancy pastries in the shadow of a baobab tree. Beautiful, but highly touristy. If not touristy, than the toubab crowd at least (toubab = white person, usually though not necessarily referring to a tourist.) We then went searching for a movie theater that apparently no longer exists, and wandered around the jewlery market in the guide book and another market highlighted in the guidebook only in respect to the building it's located in. Which to begin with is pretty rare for Dakar, to have a market inside a building. While outside the vendors were catering almost exclusively to tourists, and nearly accosted me as I was looking at new shoes since the flip flops I bought (for 2.000 CFA = $4) at a market last week are kind of giving me blisters, inside the building were fruit and vegetable vendors, flower vendors (also rare for Dakar,) and the unmistakable smell of fish that's been sitting out all day and has filled the air. Sadly it was starting to close and so we didn't get to see the market in action, but it seemed beautiful and strangely local and touristy at the same time. Perhaps the least touristy part of the day was that we took car rapides to get to and from downtown, which are kind of like Dakar's buses except that they're 40 year old vans and unregulated. Also they are painted in crazy colors with random Wolof and English phrases on them, as well as random images like eyes, American flags, mouths, triangles and striped, etc. They cost about 100 CFA (25 cents) if you get charged the actual price, but sometimes as a toubab you have to pay more (125 CFA) just because.

While I had a fabulous day, and it was wonderful to see so much of downtown and feel confident doing so (especially as compared with how I used to feel wandering around downtown... I'm really starting to learn the geography of the city which is wonderful,) but I couldn't help but feel like my day was not at all what an authentic Senegalese experience would be. And part of that I think is that no matter where you are, when you are seeing the sights you are not tapping into the culture of the quotidienne. I'm certainly thrilled to be hitting all the must-sees, but I'm pleased to be exploring Dakar in a tourist sense in the context of a bigger cultural understanding. I didn't even feel like a tourist for most of yesterday (a lot of that is the fact that I can speak some elementary Wolof -- I'm floored by how much of a difference just the greetings and a few sentences or words can make) and that was a really proud feeling.

For the sake of an update on my home life, I feel like I should mention what happened last night. Though I preface this story with a few important considerations. 1: this may sound very inappropriate, that I am living in this house. I do not feel uncomfortable (well, most of the time) living here, and certainly have no desire to switch homestays for the really only 2/3 weeks I have left in Dakar.) Please do not be worried for me. 2: Bashir and Aby are, to the best of my witnessing, excellent parents. Though to be sure parenting seems very different in Senegal, given that there are a number of different cultural values that begin to be instilled at a young age. 3: recounting this story to "strangers" on the internet seems to me a little voyeuristic, and I'm not sure that I am comfortable airing out other people's private lives in my own personal blog. However, because Bashir and Aby's relationship is such an integral part of my homestay experience, I think writing about it and talking about it is helping me better process the situation. I'm certainly learning about myself on this trip that I am really good at going with the flow and accepting things that challenge me, but mostly because I don't process the things that are difficult until I've exhausted my emotional space for putting things aside. In an attempt to do that less, I now discuss the ongoing saga of life in the Gueye residence.

To start, I don't know exactly what happened. I was watching TV with Bashir, talking about how he had made a joke that he wanted to take me out clubbing this weekend to the places where he and his friends go. I told him that I thought he was kidding, since even he admits that he's a pretty bad dancer. I had accidentally made other plans to go to my favorite live music place (Just 4 U) in Point E, but the plans weren't final by any means so I told him we should discuss it after dinner when I could call my friends. Then something happened, Soukeyna did something, and nobody would explain to me what had happened. But for about five minutes she looked like a ghost and kept hiding behind me or Aby saying that she thought Bashir was going to hit her. I was completely confused, and nobody would explain anything to me so I went back into Bashir and Aby's room to watch more Latin American soap operas (they're ridiculously addicting, even if the dubbing into French is awful.) The next thing I know, Bashir is following Soukeyna into the girls' bedroom with his belt off, and closes the door behind them. I hear the light cracks of the belt and Soukeyna screaming and crying, and though she cries easily and often my jaw just about hit the floor. I didn't know what to do. I've heard Aby spank Soukeyna before, which was awkward enough and certainly prompted an internal discussion in my head about the purpose of and problems with spanking, but this immediately struck me as child abuse. I had no idea what to do -- I completely froze. After a few minutes and really only a few "hits," none of which seemed super loud, Bashir opened the door and they left the room. Soukeyna's face is covered with tears, Bashir looks as serious and upset as I've ever seen him. Aby immediately calls us all to dinner, where Bashir sits for the entire meal looking incredibly upset and disappointed, (really in himself it seems, though I could easily be creating this idea,) and barely looking at anyone except Aby. After half of the meal in silence (not so weird in Senegal generally but very weird at our house) it becomes so awkward that Aby and Awa (the bonne or maid) and I start talking just for the sake of talking. Dinner seems to end fine, but Bashir is still obviously upset.

I ask him a few minutes later if he's not going to go out now, since he seems so obviously not in good humor. He instead tells me that he is absolutely going to go out, that he can't stay in tonight for sure. I start texting with my friends to try and figure out what our plans for the night are, but I'm kind of drifting in and out of sleep in front of the TV. I definitely remember though hearing Bashir tell Aby that he was going out, and hearing her say that he couldn't go. They were arguing about it a little in both French and Wolof, and then eventually they went outside and I lost the rest of the conversation. The next thing I know I had fallen asleep in Aby and Bashir's bed in front of the TV and it's 1:30 AM; Bashir is gone. I get up and go take out my contacts and brush my teeth, upset that I've blown my opportunity to go out and see one of our drumming teachers at Just 4 U (though as it turned out my friend hadn't gotten my text expressing interest until 1:30, and she was up and still interested then, too! If only we both had known... Dakar nightlife really doesn't end until 5 or 6 so we would have had plenty of time, though I suppose Just 4 U closes around 3... Anyway, I digress.) As I'm hopping into my own bed, I send Bashir a text (texto) saying that I'm sorry tonight didn't work out but that next time I would love to go out with him to his favorite salsa places and other clubs. He almost immediately calls me back. "You're still up?" This is all in French, of course. "Sort of, I fell asleep and now I'm heading to sleep for real." "Oh, okay, I thought you might be going out." "You're not already at a nightclub?" "No, it's not too late if you want to meet up with me and Djibril (Bashir's best friend.)" "No, I'm already in my pajamas, but thanks. Next time, for sure." "Next time, absolutely." I go to sleep.

Next thing I know it's maybe 3:30 AM, and the doorbell is ringing. I have immediate flash backs to last weekend, when Bashir went out on a Saturday night and Aby stayed in. He must have come home at 5 in the morning, and he's ringing the doorbell and nobody is getting up to let him in. Eventually I get out of bed and open the door, unbolting it with the key that is left in the lock overnight and walking over to the front gate to unhook the part at the bottom that can't be opened from the outside. He's incredibly apologetic to wake me, but I keep saying that it's not a big deal and I'll go right back to bed. Then I hear him yelling at Aby about how when he rings the doorbell she has to go answer the door, she can't just leave him outside for minutes and minutes in the dead of night. He sounds livid. The next night, when he's out of the house (read: at his other house,) Aby tells me that if that ever happens again I'm not to open the door for him. She says to me, "We're both young. But I don't go out with my friends on the weekends, even though I'm only 29. Because I'm a mother and I have these girls and I want to be home for them, and I have a job that's exhausting and demands that I talk all day long and so I need to be well rested. And it's completely unfair that he goes out on the weekends and expects me not to care, when he's already only around 50% of the time. So the next time he wants to go out like that, he can go to his other house or he can stay overnight with Djibril. But he can't come back here." At the time I remember hoping dearly that this situation would never happen again. And then here we are, a week later, in the same situation. Even before this story starts I had been talking to Bashir last night about life in general, and he made a comment about Aby being crazy. I said someting like "Well that's love!" and he shook is head in a way that wasn't quite joking, saying that it's not love and that both of his wives are crazy... This doesn't really translate into English clearly, but it was sort of cluing me in to Bashir's own thoughts about his marriages without really saying anything explicit. I felt really bad for him -- here is a man who is tired, who's in a life he can't get out of really in any way, and who is dealing with at least one marriage (maybe two?) tangled in a complicated web of love and history and frustration and growing apart. And he's really a great, playful, kind guy, I truly believe. And now he's standing outside his house in the middle of the night, in need of somebody to open the gate for him.

Right away I get out of bed and walk the four steps towards the front door. But the lock is bolted shut and the key's not there. It's as if Aby knew that I would get up to open the door for him, despite her having asked me not to, and she's taken precautionary measures. I'm standing there looking at the lock, having no clue what to do, and Bashir keeps ringing the doorbell. I don't want to yell through the door and the little front courtyard -- the girls (and maybe Aby, for all I know) are sleeping! But I have no clue where the keys would be; they're always left in the door overnight. So I start to head back to bed, as the idea of asking Aby for the keys seems like a mess I don't want to involve myself in. But as I turn around to head back into "my room," Aby walks out from behind the curtain that serves as a door to her bedroom and puts the keys in my hands. Then she walks straight into the bathroom and closes the door behind her. I open the door and go to unlock the gate for Bashir, apologizing that it's taken so long. "Sorry, I couldn't find the keys." "What do you mean you couldn't find the keys?" "They were somewhere else." "Where were they?" "Somewhere else." I don't know what to say or do -- I'm obviously in the middle of something that has nothing to do with me. "Where's Aby?" "In the bathroom. Did you have a good time dansing?" "We never went to a club, after all." "Oh. Well, I'm going back to bed, see you in the morning!" "Good night Elena, thanks." A minute later Aby comes out of the bathroom (Bashir's been awkwardly waiting for her outside the door, and pacing around the small floor space in their room -- I can hear him) and Bashir starts yelling at her. Not incredibly loudly, but it's a heated fight. He sounds incredibly upset, as does Aby, though her voice sounds half way between anger and tears. They're switching back and forth between French and Wolof so I can't really follow what's going on (most of the time this kind of switching seems to occur when something is easier to say in French than in Wolof. In general this might include numbers, days of the week, expressions, contextual things, professional remarks,) but I can tell that this is tense and personal. So I try to zone it out and quickly fall back asleep, despite the fact that my door doesn't close all the way, and litterally making a 90 degree angle with my door is their "door," which again is only a curtain.

This morning I woke up early and went to the lighthouse in Oakam (another neighborhood, just north of Mermoz where I live) with two friends. It was beautiful, and a lovely respite from the tensions of the house. When I got back, Aby and Bashir were by themselves in the girls' room having what seemed like a much calmer but still very personal conversation. All day today they seem to be in the kind of peace you feel when you had a really rough night the night before, and even though it's a new day you're still feeling beaten up and uneasy. They were a little physical with each other during lunch, but definitely not the way I've seen them other days. I'm so overwhelmed by the situation that I can tell I'm not really processing it. It's hard for me to think about it in any way other than to recount it without choosing sides and putting my own values into the situation, and then it's really exhausting for me to live here. It's much easier just to see and engage and not process, even if I know that's worse for my longterm mental health. After all, I do really like and care about both Aby and Bashir, and both girls as well (adorable and terrible as they are.) Of course no house is perfect, no marriage is perfect, and again the cultural life that is just beneath the surface here is where I'm learning the most about Senegalese values and beliefs. But it's hard, and I'm very unsure of my footing. Being out of the house a lot is good, necessary even. I don't know, it just is, it's my experience and it's hard to imagine it being anything other than this right now, I'm so far "in it."

I need to go do some homework now, both on my Field Study Seminar methods presentation and on my French presentation on tontines (small networks of usually women who serve as almost a bank or microlending organization for each other.) Plus I just need more sleep here -- less than 8 hours and I'm exhausted the next day. The days are just so full here, and every day has new and unexpected cultural challenges. It's strange to feel very at home and very not at home here all at the same time. And then I'm leaving Dakar on Thursday for almost two weeks! But no worries, by then I will have given my tailor a final answer on his marriage proposal offer. I'm picking up my altered clothes from him (hopefully they'll be cute... fingers crossed, as really only half my stuff was at all attractive on the first round) on Wednesday, inchalla. (God willing.)

A parting Wolof lesson, which I hope all readers of this post will accept in lieu of me proofreading this entry for grammar and/or content: Informal Salutations, the ones that I encounter most frequently.

Yaangi noos? Literally, "Are you having a good time?"
Possible responses: • Waaw, mangi noos bu baax. "Yes, I'm having a great time."
• Tuuti tuuti / Tuuti rekk. "A little, a little."
• Noosumadara. "Not at all."
• Yow yaay noos. "It's you who are enjoying yourself!" (Playful.)

Lu bees? (This is my favorite.) "What's new?"
Possible responses: • Dara beesul. "Nothing is new." To which the other person says, Ca degg degg? "Really?" To which you respond, Waaw, ca degg degg. Or waaw, degg la.
• Yow ya bees. "You're what's new!" (Also playful.)

Naka suba si? "How the morning?" That one translates pretty badly into English...
Possible responses: • Suba saangi nii rekk. "The morning goes okay."
• Ni rekk. "Okay."
• Mungi dox. "It's walking."
• Maangi ci kawam. "I am on top of it."

Ba beneen yoon! Until next time! (Hopefully at least one more post before Thursday... inchalla.)