Christmas in Dakar

First, apologies and thanks to my dear family and friends in the states who have decided to continue reading my blog despite my most recent hiatus of about a month. Since classes have ended, I’ve gone on one trip after another without access to internet and sometimes electricity, and currently have my mom staying with me as a visitor for a couple weeks. Thus, I’ve been a bit preoccupied, and am completely overwhelmed at the prospect of covering all that has happened in the past few weeks. So, I’m going to start with my mother’s visit, and work my way backward from there. This might take a few entries... The picture above is a sunset on the gorgeous, peaceful beach situated on the doorstep of our favorite hotel, Boboi Lodge, in a small village, Kartong, located on the very southern coast of Gambia.

As I mentioned earlier, I was lucky enough to have my dear mother come and visit me here in Senegal for the holidays. She arrived a few days before Christmas, and will be leaving this Thursday night. She’s been staying with my wonderfully gracious host family and me, meals and all. The first day she arrived, my host mom, Ma, asked me what she should make for my mother’s first Senegalese lunch. I foolishly replied that it did not matter, whatever she made would be delicious. Her immediate reply was something along the lines of, “I know! I’ll make her suppakanja, that will be perfect!” In a previous entry, I explained suppakanja as “booger stew”, and Mom verified this comparison after the meal. Welcome to Senegal, Mom!

At mealtimes, Ma insists that Mom and I eat at the table in the living room from a platter separate from everyone else. It’s a bit awkward to be separated from the family at mealtime, but I know that Ma is simply trying to make Mom feel more comfortable and welcome as a guest. In the first two days of her arrival, Mom met dozens of members of my family, and struggled to remember names and piece together how everyone was connected. Everyone who meets my mother is thrilled, and greets her warmly. Usually, their first reaction is something along the lines of, “Really?! This is your mom? I thought it was just a girlfriend of yours! She looks so young!” While I agree that my mother has a young spirit and is a beautiful woman, this reaction is probably due to the fact that my mother is a very thin lady, and most Senegalese women her age are quite… plump. A very thin middle-aged woman is a bit of a foreign concept.

Two days after Mom arrived, it was Christmas. I woke up at 5am to go with Ellen to pick up her brother, Logan, and his friend, Patrick, from the airport who came to visit as well. We had to find two taxis to take them to their apartment across the street from my house in Karack, because Logan brought some extra luggage loaded with second-hand soccer equipment he brought from the states to give away in Dakar. It was my job to get Logan his taxi. This time, things did not go quite as smoothly. As usual, when we were leaving the airport, we were flocked by a group of 8-10 Senegalese men trying to get us to take their taxi. There was one man in particular who refused to leave us alone even though we were waiting by the gate for a taxi we had already arranged to come pick us up. He was very upset with us for not hiring his taxi. After we forced our way through the throng of men to our hired taximan (who was oh-so-helpfully leaning on the door waiting for us to push all the luggage the 50 meters to his car), loaded up the car, and got in, the same guy reached in the driver’s door for what looked like a reconciliatory handshake from the backseat. That was no reconciliatory handshake. If Logan hadn’t shut the door when he did, he might’ve actually pulled me over the passenger seat and out the door. That was the most aggressive interaction I’ve had so far here in Senegal. Actually, now that I think of it, probably the most aggressive interaction I’ve ever personally had. I suppose I should consider myself lucky that I haven’t experienced worse.

After the guys got settled in their apartment, we went directly to Christmas mass at the Keur Moussa monastery: take two. We didn’t take public transportation this time; instead the five of us piled into a Toyota Corolla taxi, with Mom sitting on my lap. The dusty drive to Keur Moussa took about an hour. When we finally arrived, the Gregorian chants were cool, but we were all struggling to keep our eyes open during the hour and a half long service. The highlights of the trip were the goat cheese, Senegalese jams, and fruity liqueurs produced by the monks that we purchased after the mass. The other highlight was on the ride back into Dakar, when Mom said she saw a naked man running along the side of the road “his organ bouncing around and everything!”, but sadly everyone else was asleep (except Patrick, who simply didn’t notice) and could not share in her exciting discovery.

It was a merry Christmas indeed.

After the first few days of immersion into Senegalese family life, Mom decided to splurge and stay at Hotel Sokhamon, which is about as “whimsical” as an entirely cement building can manage to be. In the same enormous lobby, there were African, modern, European, and Middle Eastern inspired pieces of art and furniture. The rooms themselves were lined along dark cave-like hallways, again made of molded cement. The hotel is located just next to the Corniche, right next to the ocean. The beachside of the hotel was covered in strings of Christmas lights and was equipped with an open-air bar that serves some Long Island Iced Teas that pack quite a punch, as Mom can attest to.

I can see my mom getting used to family life here. She no longer asks me for permission to take photos of family activities; she now uses her new French and sign language skills to ask my family members herself. She's even picked up a few Wolof greetings! Today, she managed to hand wash a few articles of clothing alongside Geneva, our newest maid, before Ma came upstairs and insisted that Mom shouldn’t be washing her own clothes despite my insisting that she wanted to learn, and was enjoying herself. I’m proud to see her exploring a new culture and learning two new languages (French and Wolof) despite all the challenges and frustrations that come with it. It’s also interesting to see her first reactions to the new sights, smells, and tastes, and reflect back on my own impressions of Dakar when I first arrived. So many of my perceptions have radically changed in a short period of time, like the concept of sanitary food preparation and what it means to have a balanced diet (the food groups are bread, rice, and meat, right?). My mother has but two small weeks to observe, process, and adapt to all of these cultural differences. And so far, she's done so with enthusiasm, grace, and patience.

I couldn't be more thrilled to be able to share my Dakar experience with someone as important to me as my mother. Thanks, Dad, for letting her miss Christmas at home so she could come visit me. Couldn't ask for a better Christmas present! Oh, and the giant bag of Reese's peanut butter cups she brought with her didn't hurt either :)