Managed Chaos

So, it’s been awhile. Quite a bit has happened since my last entry, including the sad demise of my computer charger (also the reason why I have been incommunicado).
Today, just when I was beginning to appreciate the quality of Senegalese home cooking, I had Suppa Kanjay. This dish has made everything else I’ve tried up until now seem heavenly in comparison. It’s an okra-based stew with chopped seafood served on top of white rice. I hardly notice the vast array of bones, scales, and other unidentifiables also present- it’s the viscousy part of okra used as the base for this dish that gets me. I imagine this is what a “booger stew” would taste like.

Last Saturday we spent the day at Ngor Island with Cisco, Thalisto, John, and Ibou. We had to wait a couple hours in Lauren’s house for the sudden downpour of rain to stop before we could leave, and even then the day was overcast and windy. But don’t worry; we didn’t let a silly thing like lightning or unpleasant weather stop us from going to an island! Turns out the weather was the least of our worries. The boats that transport people to and from the island are large and sturdy enough in and of themselves, it’s the incredible number of people they cram in each one that made me think the life jacket they gave us was more than just a precaution. In order to board the boat, we waded into knee-high water and awkwardly clambered over the side while trying not to get our shoes, purses, or our skirts wet. Unsurprisingly, I immediately got soaked up to the chest in saltwater. Once aboard, I stepped from one high bench to another until I reached the back. This description is entirely more orderly than the actual process. Ellen’s description of “managed chaos” is very fitting if you recognize that the only way anything was “managed” is that everyone wore a life preserver. Finally, I was relieved to be able to sit down. I hardly even noticed the knees pinned against my back or the people I didn’t know whose laps I were kind of sitting on. When it seemed like they couldn’t fit any more people into the boat, five more stepped aboard. My jaw dropped. Even though we were on a fifty foot long boat, the side edge was a mere couple inches from the water level. Miraculously, the engine was able to propel the huge load there and back, and we all made it in one piece.

It's not me, it's the rice.

So today my host brother, Facary (Fa-kah-ree), and Ellen went running. The whole ordeal was quite scandalous- what with Ellen and I being toobab women AND wearing running shorts. A couple of guys even yelled at Facary, "Hey, you runnin' with two toobabs!" We ran down a road that follows the coast of Dakar, and I'm pretty sure we went a total of six kilometers. During the whole run, Facary never even lost his breath. He told me he does 200 pushups a night. Disgusting. But not uncommon among the freakishly fit Senegalese men.

On our way back to the house, a guy on the road called out something along the lines of "It's hot out, eh? I can see it in your face!" My conclusion: I haven't quite acclimated to the heat as well as I'd like to think.

The only excuse Ellen and I could come up with for our sluggish pace was "It's the rice." (Which, you should know, we eat as the main ingredient in two of three meals every day.)

At least I have plenty of time to get used to it!

le cafard

Last night, we had quite an interesting meal. It consisted of spaghetti, hunks of bread, french fries, a chunk of "sheep", and some barbeque-like sauce. Surprisingly tasty. Also, surprising to see so many typical American ingredients combined in a totally un-American way. I think someone decided we all needed to carbo-load on American food.

Also last night were my first close encounters with "le cafard". In english, "the cockroach." I was sitting on the terrace, watching movie with one of my host brothers when I saw a cockroach moving toward me. It was so fast, I hardly had time to jump up before it ran between my legs. I was quite disgusted. None of my host siblings seemed to understand why I would react so strongly to a mere cockroach. I think cockroaches are to the Senegalese as daddy long legs are to Michiganders. They are a part of life- you kill them when you can, but they're always going to be there.

With my new found confidence, I retired to my room for the night (the power out, of course) and reached into my luggage to change into my pajamas. When I lifted a pair of jeans from the top, guess what nasty little bugger I saw scuttling ALL OVER the top of my luggage? Yup, cockroach. I lost it. Jumped on my bed. I couldn't even get it together enough to kill it. I just watched it until it disappeared somewhere in my closet/luggage. UUGH.

My heart rate returned to normal when I tucked the mosquito net around my bed and was safely inside. I don't think I'm going to get along with my new roommate...

Ecole de la rue

Today we visited a tiny informal school meant for impoverished children who don't live close enough or have the test scores to qualify for public school. The founder, director, and single professor are all the same man. He maintains the establishment by working his small farm on the weekends and selling the produce. It's not enough money to sustain the program, though. He says sometimes he has to skip breakfast to have enough money to buy chalk to use for the day (300 CFA or 75 cents). I have no idea how the children are able to concentrate in the classrooms- flies are buzzing around, and multiple lessons are going on at the same time (all ages are taught in the same classroom).

Walking through the surrounding town, the living conditions are unlike anything I've ever seen. Such small space for families to co-exist, they looked like shacks constructed from scraps.

As we walked through the neighborhood, everyone was busy either cooking or cleaning, and many people smiled and offered friendly greetings. It was obviously a tight-knit community. Its probably unavoidable when another family shares the same wall as you, and if you walk 5 feet, you'll run into at least three of your neighbors.

Check out the pictures, there's no way I can really describe it with words-

http://photobucket.com/ecoledelarue

Salty Milk

I feel my french improving every day. At least that's what I think right before I make a horribly embarrassing mistake like I did on Sunday. I was sitting on the beach with Lauren, Ellen, and Lauren's host brothers when I wanted to say "J'ai sel dans mon nez" for some reason, instead "J'ai sel dans mon lait" came out, which instead means "I have salt in my milk" Lauren's brother found this immensely funny and did not hesitate to tell everyone sitting around us my HILARIOUS mistake.

Don't worry, language is not the only way I've found to embarrass myself. Yesterday morning, I was waiting with the triplets for Thiaba to get some documents notarized. We were sitting on a curb, lazily chatting. Ellen noticed a senegalese woman across the drive making large motions toward us, so I waved hello and smiled. She didn't stop. I asked Ellen what she was saying (that's our set-up, I'm better at speaking french, but Lauren and Ellen can understand what others are saying much sooner than myself). She looked at me, then at the woman, then she said, "Grace! She can see your underwear, close your legs!" I felt soooo embarrassed, but was relieved to see the woman was at this point laughing like a hyena. Guess my skirt wasn't as long as I thought it was...

It's not a goat, it's a sheep!

Below is a link where I've uploaded all my pictures. It's quicker for me to share pictures that way- so check there for images of what I've been up to.

Our guide, Thiaba, has been a delight to talk to while we discover Dakar. Today during lunch, we had a bit of a bizarre argument. We asked whether people ate the goats that many people have. It's common to see five or six goats on the side of the road, tied next to a boutique. She said that the people do not, in fact, have goats. They have sheep. And the sheep is what we were eating for lunch. Skeptical, we insisted "No, you must mean GOAT. A sheep has WOOL." And she said, "No, its a SHEEP! I don't know, maybe in Europe the hair is bigger because it is more humid?" At this we all cracked up laughing. At the end of the discussion, we agreed to disagree.

When we were leaving lunch, we were surprised to find out that Thiaba is 29 years old. She looks like she is the same age as us! I asked her if she was going to marry her boyfriend soon. She replied, "Yes, I will invite you to my wedding!" We thought she meant she would send us an invitation sometime next year or something to that effect, but then she clarified "It will probably be sometime in November." Turns out, we are the first people to know she will be married, other than her fiance. Even her parents have no idea! She will wait until about two weeks before the wedding to tell her friends, too. All of this secrecy is totally normal and expected in Senegalese dating culture. She also promised to help us choose fabric and design formal Senegalese outfits to wear to her wedding. I can't wait!

Ile de Goree- We visited Ile de Goree on Saturday. Here, the buildings are as colorful as the history is rich and moving. It is a tiny island a twenty minute ferry ride from Dakar. There, we visited La Maison des Esclaves (The House of Slaves) a place that historically held slaves right before they were shipped out of Africa. The slaves were held on the ground floor, and the master lived luxuriously with his family on the second floor. It wasn't the biggest holding place for slaves, but it is one of the most well-known. I think it represents the general conditions in which slaves were traded. Between 15-20 slaves would be held in a small room about 8 by 12 feet large. If you look at my picture album, there is a picture of the even smaller room they would pile disobedient slaves in. There is a door called "The Door of No Return" through which each slave would pass when leaving the continent.

On Saturday night was the first time we went out to truly party with the Senegalese. My host brother, Cisco, took us out. We didn't leave for the club until some time after midnight- but when we arrived the place was still totally empty. Cisco tried getting us to move our hips with him, but we weren't too keen on starting the party just yet. When it was about 1:30-2:00am, the party had truly begun. Everyone knew how to swing his/her hips, especially the men! They move like snakes and can pop, lock, and drop it better than any American girl I know (Figure of speech, they didn't do too much "dropping"). Cisco insisted on trying to teach us hopeless Americans how to do the same by "slow dancing", but a better way to describe it would have been to say "grinding", or even "dry humping". Oh yes, what a complicated and sophisticated dance to learn! (Note the sarcasm please) Also, everyone was wearing Western clothes. In fact, the three of us were probably the most modestly dressed women there, in our two inches shorter than knee-length shirts/dresses. When it was about 4am, we headed home: quite early for the Senegalese!

Gotta go meet Lauren's host brother to watch a soccer game.

Cheers!

Paradox of Modern Senegal

Lots of Senegalese families like mine can afford to have internet and cell phones and laptops, but for some strange reason they draw the line of unnecessary luxury at toilet paper.

Senegalese families often have very clean homes because they have a maid or daughters to do the chores, but for some reason trash is all over every street, and sometimes in piles in the middle.

A Few First Glances

Lauren with her colorful array of scandalous bathing suit choices at the market in downtown Dakar.



It's common to see goats hanging out on the side of the road that belong to a vendor.



This is the entrance of the Baobab Center (where I'm taking classes). Next to me is Samba, who works for the center and has promised to teach us how to dance senegalese-style!



The view from the apartment where we spent our first night in Dakar. Ellen is checking out the bakery across the street- all those carts are filled with bread waiting to be delivered.



Lauren is tastefully displaying one of the fish we ate on the first night. The fish was served to us whole (skin and everything). Didn't bother me nearly as much as perhaps it should've...



One of the vendor's booths downtown Dakar



The triplets.



The street I live on.

Welcome to the Family

I feel disgusting right now. Sweat, wet animal, mosquito repellent, and the lingering smell of pungent Senegalese food (prepared as a thick stew) permeate my body. It is incredibly hot in my room without any windows, and since the power went out, not even the fan works to provide some relief.

Okay, enough whining. I've been very busy the last couple of days. Tuesday night, I met my host family for the first time. There is the mom (Awe), two daughters (Mona and Sira), and a plethora of sons, nephews, etc. (young men between the ages of 20 and 25) who sleep in the rooms on the top floor. Everybody is very welcoming, and seems willing enough to dumb down his/her french for periods of time to accommodate my minimal understanding. It's much easier to speak with the guys, though. Apparently this is something that is common for American girls to experience within a host family.

The guys spend all of their time at home on the top floor, either on the roof terrace or in one of the rooms. Me, I've been spending most of my time on the terrace as well, especially when the air cools off at night. Usually one of the guys is praying in the corner of the room on a mat while everyone else is either napping, playing on his/her personal computer, or chatting. During the day everyone has class or work. The girls, Sira and Mona, stay home during the day and do chores (including tidying up my room).

Today was the first day Ellen, Lauren, and I ventured downtown. Not going to lie- I was very intimidated at the prospect. Other students who had been there warned that the vendors are obnoxious, manipulative, and give unfair prices to Toubabs (white people). Since I'm still getting used to the Senegalese french accent (good excuse for my difficulties communicating, eh?) I was especially concerned.

Turns out, it wasn't so bad. Most of the vendors were friendly and did not make me feel uncomfortable. Don't be confused, they were persistent, but somehow in a polite way. For example, he would stand quietly behind one of our elbows for about five minutes waiting for use to stop talking before he would interject. When another guy tried pushing perfume on me, I held up my bag with my wraparound skirt I purchased and said in flawless french/wolof, "Sorry, I already used my money up!" He laughed and said, "ok, ok. thats good!" and left. I would've thought that friendly interactions like this would invite more aggressive selling, but it had the opposite effect.

I did feel bad for asking one guy to cut his apparently already reasonable price in half, though. I just assumed he would be ripping me off... Whoops! In the end, he did lower the price because it was Lauren's birthday, and because we look like triplets (refer to the attached pictures, and note the hilarity of that). Also note that Lauren was looking for a bathing suit when our delightful guide Thiaba showed us to a vendor of lingerie. Also included is a picture of Lauren with her scandalous bathing suit choices.

The one thing I am concerned about is the public transportation that has no real pattern or schedule. You have to ask the toll collector on each bus when it passes where it's headed (difficult when he's located on the back of the van- yes you heard me right- he stands on the rear bumper, holding on with one arm). Somehow we'll figure it out, just don't ask how :)

I'm out. Love to you all.

Salaa Malekum!

Packing to leave was an extensive process, including treating my clothing with a mosquito repellent called Permethrin and containing the next six months of my life to two suitcases.
When we flew into Senegal, it was 7am local time. I did not feel well rested- my back ached between my shoulders, and I never slept for longer than 30 minutes at a time. Upon the plane’s descent, the tiny palm trees, white boxy buildings, and sand looked like they were little plastic toys. Finally, the strange calm I felt when I left home for the airport subsided and gave way to excitement. I was finally here in Africa---
Ellen, Lauren, and I are staying at a small apartment in Dakar for the first night (tonight). Today we enjoyed our first Senegalese meals! Breakfast was waiting for us when we returned from the airport, and consisted of bread and some thick stew prepared by a nice man named Gom (we’re guessing he’s hired help in the complex, but nobody took the time to explain who he was, and he couldn’t speak French). Then we hit the hay hard, and were woken up by a woman we didn’t know ringing our doorbell. When we opened the door, she walked in without explanation and said it was time to eat. Still groggy and confused, again we assumed she was hired help and had a lunch of rice and grilled fish. It was a bit of a challenge figuring out to dig into the whole fish we were presented with, but it ended up being quite tasty!
After that, we headed to the Baobab Center (where we will be taking classes) and were taken on a little tour of the surrounding area. Things I noticed: the rigor mortus cat we passed laying in the storm drain, no trash cans, and therefore tons of trash in the roads. The highly perceptive among you might notice these are things located on the ground. Ah! Good point! Walking in Dakar is unlike walking anywhere at home- sidewalks aren’t large enough to accommodate street vendors, pedestrians, and people hanging out on blankets outside their home. We were constantly shifting from walking on the road, to the uneven sidewalk, and teetering on the curb when there was traffic coming both ways. It made it hard to look up and around at where I was. For those of you whom I told I wanted a study abroad experience unlike anything I’ve ever done before, that’s certainly what I’ve got.
There is so much more I want to talk about (child beggars, language barriers, mystery meat, etc.) but I can’t possibly cover it all in one entry, and this one feels plenty long to me.
Love from Dakar!