I left out a few interesting details of the tail end of Mom's visit here in Dakar, which I will now describe:
Pat and Logan's last day here (I believe it was not last Sunday, but the Sunday before that), Ellen's host family invited the five of us over to have Yassa Poulet for lunch. Personally, it's my favorite traditional Senegalese dish. It's quite simple: grilled chicken served with onion sauce on top of a giant bowl of rice. Ellen's family has a tradition of preparing this dish every Sunday afternoon.
So, it was about 2pm and Mom and I were taking the short walk to Ellen's house from mine. Right after we passed the Police Academy something out of the ordinary happened. Two men sitting on a motorcycle maybe about 20 yards ahead of Mom and I started moving. They were parked on the sidewalk and looked like they were getting ready to turn left onto the road. Seeing that they were turning in front of us, we didn't pay much attention, although we did slow down to give them more space. The motorcycle inched along in front of us, and turned sharply past Mom. Next thing I know, Mom's turned around, halfway into a nosedive, and all I can see is her long purple skirt flying up in front of me.
When I finally reacted and grabbed her arm, she was already standing up straight again, holding her wallet in the air, and exclaiming, "HA! I WON!" It took me too long to piece together what had happened: That mongrel tried stealing my Mom's wallet out of her hand, and she's much too stubborn to give up a fight that easy. So she didn't let go, and neither did he, not until he realized that the wallet wasn't coming without an angry toubab lady attached anyway...
I was super helpful and did NOTHING until the motorcycle had already driven away. However, a taxi driver saw the whole thing happen, yelled out his window if we were ok, and then took off driving after the motorcycle. The guard in front of the police academy might've waved and said something, but that was about it.
The taxi came back a few minutes later, having lost the perpetrator (motos are apparently quicker than cars), and checked on us again. Apart from that, there was nothing else to be done. I don't know the specific 9-digit phone number for our local police station, and even if I did, they probably wouldn't have a car or gas available for a significant amount of time. The most that could have happened would have been if the taxi driver caught up with the motorcycle. It seems like there is a lot of self-policing in Dakar, especially with cases of theft. If a thief is caught by a group of men, I have heard a couple stories where he was bound and beaten (once, even killed) by the men who caught him.
So, the guy on the motorcycle got away, and we continued walking to Ellen's house as before. I was still in shock- mostly because it took me so damn long to figure out what had happened. Crime simply was not one of my first conclusions for two main reasons: 1)It was 2 o' clock on a Sunday afternoon and 2)I have not ever been personally pickpocketed or mugged. Ever. And nobody else in our program has said they've had issues in Dakar, either.
Somehow I'd forgotten that, just like any other big city in the world (albeit less than most), crime is something that comes with the territory. I will definitely be more careful here on out- I'm just glad that this lesson didn't result in anyone getting hurt.
No comments:
Post a Comment