And You Thought It Was Over

I don’t know why, but ever since I came back from Senegal I just feel like I’m in a funk. Normally I’m as busy as a bee and can’t wait to just dive into things, but now I just feel like “being” for awhile. And I guess I just have to deal with this. Sometimes I feel guilty that I’m “wasting” time or that just plain bored, but it does feel nice to notice time without being ruled by it. I recall a passage from the Odyssey where the Titaness Calypso tells Odysseus that time is just a thing that humans created in a futile attempt to measure the infinity of eternity. At the time, in my sixteen year old American know-it-all manner, I thought that with technology we had finally woven time into the very fabric of existence. But now I’m glad to realize just how relative something as absolute as time can be. I can allow myself to take a few days to craft a wonderful response to an email without obsessing that the recipient will think I hate him/her for not responding within 24 hours. Leaving Senegal has been harder than I’ve thought – certainly not as easy to verbalize. But there is something to be said for crawling into pajama pants in a heated home and watching movies while the snow blows outside. A few more reentry posts to follow...

School Daze - Almost Over!

I’m writing this blog post as a warm-up exercise to finishing my final Senegalese Society and Culture paper en français. Last week I took a two-part French final: the first was a comprehension exam with lots of information hidden in sidebars and the second was a ridiculously easy grammar test which made us all feel like we had wasted our time sitting in class. I also handed in my final history paper with neither pomp nor circumstance. Yesterday, I took my Wolof oral and written exams. This past weekend, I had heard several other students saying that their final would just be three paragraphs – one in the past, one in the present, and one in the future. Our exam had the same questions – at the end of four pages of grammar exercises! My professor was very willing to help us along though and it went fine. I had reviewed my phonetics packet for French and just read the 40 three to four word phrases aloud with no trouble. Tomorrow, our Public Health class is analyzing the data we collected to determine how much and what kind of malnutrition, if any, is present in the village.
Final exams also mean teacher evaluations! I’ve been lucky enough to only have one professor merit a truly bad evaluation from me – the rest were either all excellent or just good enough. This semester, however, I was very open and honest about issues that needed to be addressed. Exams also mean goodbyes and I’m attending a goodbye dinner tonight. Tomorrow we have final housing meetings and a Reintegration seminar. Contrary to popular belief, final exams do not necessarily mean concentrated studying. Jen and I had reviewed during our road trips and during downtime this weekend and felt perfectly justified in taking yesterday afternoon off to hang out in my room eating ceebu jen, talking about our lives, and taking pictures with my grooming mitt.

Edit: The paper is now 2/3 of the way done and not due until Friday!

A Faticki Weekend Continued

After we left the mental hospital, we visited another Poste de Santé. Jake and I had stayed at one in Samba Dia (Jen ended up as an unexpected guest!), but this was much nicer. We’re talking faux-marble on the outside waiting benches nice. This also happened to be the “living laboratory” where the double-blind experiments on conjugated vaccines were carried out. A partition separated the preparation area from the actual exam room so that the patient could not see what was going on. During the next short leg of our journey Madeleine, Jen, Jake’s father and I had a discussion about drug trafficking in West Africa and why it was more of a problem in the United States. We then arrived at a church that had a hospital wing and were greeted by a nun in a full habit. Of course, this being Senegal, the head nurse with whom we were supposed to speak was absent, so we more or less just chilled outside speaking French and Wolof to the nun. After a wonderful dinner of fish n’ fries (which is Kate’s FAVORITE DISH EVER since it’s all her family is willing to feed her), I chatted for awhile before heading to bed around 11:30.

Sunday came more quietly and as I was freezing in the shower, I heard soft church hymns. I actually enjoy the Muslim Call to Prayer, though I prefer it as an accompaniment to my dinner than breakfast. We all descended on the delicious village bread which is made with whole grain instead of being stuffed full of sugar and air like the Dakar version. Traffic wasn’t horrible on the way back and I was able to carry on some very interesting conversations with Andrew. Then back home to homework and napping!

A Faticki Weekend (sans Pu Pu Platters)

I just returned from a weekend in the region of Fatick in the Sine-Saloum area where I conducted a public health survey for a course. Nine of us left Dakar at 9:30 am on Friday morning to be met by our comrades at a later date. Predictably, we were stuck in traffic at 10:45 in the town of Rufisque and had plenty of time to listen to the radio. Our favorite songs? A techno remix of the "Titanic" theme (for clubbing?!) and "Scrubs" by TLC. According to the latter, "a scrub is a guy who can't get no love from me, hanging out the passenger side of his best friend's ride, trying to holler at me." All of the female passengers agreed that this accurately described Dakar men and resolved to sing, or at least hum, the song the next time that they were hissed at. I worked a little on my Wolof homework, as we all know the week before finals is the PERFECT time for a field trip, before passing out. Upon our arrival, we ate delicious ceebu jen and were shown around the research facility where we would be staying. The goal of the team was to test whether a conjugated or a non-conjugated vaccine for meningitis would be more effective - important when one considers that Senegal is in the "meningities belt" of Africa and experiences severe epidemics every eight years. We read, talked, and hung out for the rest of the day before peacefully reposing under mosquito-repellent nets in our individual cabins (which looked like tiki huts).

Saturday began early with the 5:45ish call to prayer being blasted over the compound. Several birds were apparently awakened as well and decided to praise Allah for the coming morning by shrieking at the top of their lungs. I took a freezing cold shower in the 65 degree weatherbefore walking around a bit and taking some pictures. Breakfast was amazing village bread with chocolate, cheese, and lots of milk. We then split up into three teams in order to measure the height, weight, and arm circumference of local children in order to determine if any were acutely or chronically malnourished. The data we collected and will analyze this week will go back to the village chief who will speak with the families and use the figures if any NGO's (non-governmental organizations) come by offering to help. Jen, Kate, Andrew and I set off to measure 20 representatives of the under-2 set, a daunting proposition. Since the researchers had been in place since the 1960s, the mothers had been measured before and were very cooperative when our Serer-speaking guide approached them. Most of the children screamed, but we had a few who slept through the procedure, alxamdulilaa ("thanks be to God" in Arabic). We even encountered a set of female twins named Awa and Adama - versions of Adam and Eve. That afternoon, we received a tour of a psychiatric health center. Conviently, Jake's psychiatrist father was visiting and was able to help us understand what some of the drugs were used for in the US. Yet things were still rather off - the doctor was out for awhile, and our tour was initially led by a bipolar patient who described his white happy pills. Computer lab closing in five - will write back with more tomorrow!

PS I got a beard trim the other day and now look far more Euro-chic than Backwoods-brush.

Weekend Round-Up

I spent most of my last actual weekend in Dakar engaging in the Senegalese national past-time: waiting. The archbishop of Dakar was ordained as a cardinal on November 27 and was coming to celebrate Sunday mass in a stadium. My maid used a portion of her meager salary to purchase tickets for the two of us to go to the Welcome ceremonies on Friday, while Maman took care of the Sunday arrangements. Friday afternoon, we arrived at the stadium at 3:30 pm. The cardinal was supposed to arrive at 5:30 pm, but did not actually enter the stadium until 8:22 pm. The ceremonies took three hours: dancers, middle school pom-pom girls, and a high school interpretive dance regarding Christian Africa. Yes, readers, I sat in the stadium for 8. Freaking. Hours!!! Saturday, I finished my history paper and celebrated by going "en ville" with Jen to buy gifts at Sandaga. After dinner and a little studying, I went out with my friends to a club that holds a "Once a Month" Party. Sunday morning, I awoke after too few hours of sleep at 7:15 am to get ready to go to 10:00 am Mass. This time, the cardinal arrived at 10:30 am and the service began at 11:00 am. Considering how many people were there, it was a surprisingly efficient affair: the service was done by 1:00 pm and Communion took 20 minutes! They had deputized most of the local priests and things went smoothly. I went home, passed out, ate wonderful yassa poulet (chicken with a delicious onion sauce over rice), passed out again, and finally woke up at 6:15 to call my family and be productive again. Though I spent a total of 13 hours in a stadium, it was still a wonderful weekend. One of the side effects of having to wait so long is that I had to be very productive when I wasn't. Now if I can survive the rest of my two finals week and a trip this weekend to Fatick to do a survey on malnutrition!

St. Louis (sans Arch) Part II

Upon our return to St. Louis, I quickly changed and met up with Joniffer (my name for the California classmates Jonathan and Jennifer), Elle, Lindsay, Ali, Kate, and Faith. The plan: to get our passports stamped by crossing the Senegal River into Mauritania. After walking for several kilometers, Jonathan proclaimed a grove of trees to be the border. A while later, we asked someone coming back to Senegal with rice where the border crossing was – surprise, surprise the International Relations major was right! After frolicking in the sand and surf, we returned to find a lovely dinner and running water!!! I changed and went out with the crew to a bar, the tavern, and a disco. Ali described the last as being “attacked by wild sharks” – there were no Senegalese women in the club, and several amorous Senegalese men. We managed to huddle together like musk oxen and form a protective circle, but everyone was still ready to head home after a few hours.

Sunday started slowly for me, as I had learned not to expect prompt meal service. After breakfast, we loaded the buses and went on a quick tour of some of the town’s highlights: a square with a statue of Louis Faidherbe (first colonial governor of Senegal), the Langue de Barbarie (a peninsula which shields the island from the ocean), and a museum. Ceebu jen was had and somewhat enjoyed by all, and we departed again for the return trip. My host mother still wants me to keep searching for the spoon, but is not too upset about it. Now to work on that final history paper…

Update: No one has mentioned anything else about the spoon, and I'm NOT going to bring it up!

St. Louis (sans Arch) Part I

I spent the last weekend in the city of Saint Louis, the original colonial capital of Senegal. We left only half an hour behind schedule, during which time I asked everyone if they had seen a giant spoon after Thanksgiving dinner. My seat mate was the always amazing Jen, and we had a relatively enjoyable five hours of chatting, reading, and napping. I brought along a novel and some homework for Wolof class – yay pretending to be productive! The program was split between two separate inns: one was more of a youth hostel with a really cool vibe, and the other was a more traditional hotel at which we ate all of our meals. I stayed in the more convenient accommodations. I would’ve said nicer, but there was no running water in either place, which isn’t a big issue after living here for over three months. Friday night, I headed over to the hostel and it was decided over beers that my friends and I would head over to this cool tavern to hear a free concert by Orchestre Téranga (Hospitality Orchestra). I was still in my school T-shirt and shorts, so I walked home to change only to find that my roommate couldn’t open the door from the inside without a key. Now, my own door works this way at home, but we keep the key in at all times in order to prevent people from being locked inside and outside of the house at one time. A quick jaunt back and forth, and I managed to briskly walk in the moonlight to the tavern for half an hour of good music. I hadn’t slept well the night before, so I went to bed in order to be up at 6:00 for the bird park!
On Saturday, I learned why we refer to these trips as “excursions,” which evokes camping, instead of “vacations.” We awoke to find that the water had turned on briefly during the night – just long enough for the back of our toilet to overflow the bathroom and soak an arc in the carpet of our room. No one’s stuff was damaged, alxamdulilaa (thanks be to God), but it did not bode well. After rationalizing to myself that no one would get a shower, I headed down to breakfast at 6:30 am to find that a) it was very cold and b) nothing resembling breakfast settings was in place. Several of us warmed ourselves by the oven until items began to trickle in at 7:00. Jen and Isaac passed the time by discussing favorite coffee-like beverages. Sadly, Nescafé didn’t make anyone’s cut. We loaded the buses at 8:30ish and arrived at the park before 11:00. For some reason, I had been expecting something similar to the boardwalk in the Everglades. Instead, we went off in two pirogues and were able to get very close to pelicans, cormorants, and other lake fauna (like crocodiles!). Our lunch was amazing: we each got a chicken sandwich, a cheese sandwich, an orange, a banana, and a pop!

Thanksgiving, Teranga Style

Happy Belated Thanksgiving everyone! We celebrated yesterday as a combined American/Senegalese cohort, complete with administrators, at the residence where I spent my first week in Senegal. All of the Americans brought a side dish (stuffing, pies, sauces, etc.) and the Senegalese provided the Fanta and Coca-Cola. Of course, being proud US citizens, everyone went to the grocery store around the corner and bought five buck chuck (from the south of France, no less!) to pass around the dinner table. My lovely friend Kate, who will make an amazing room mother in the near future, and I made Dirt and Worms. Well, it was instant pudding cooked over a propane tank with gummy gators and smurfs, but somehow "Dirty Swamp" just didn't have the same ring to it. I received several compliments on the dish and my new Senegalese clothes. The mitt story (see previous entries) was also good for a few laughs. The administrators made an admirable effort to mix up the two groups, with mixed results. Three Americans left our table of seven to be replaced by...thin air. Oh well, more wine for us! We had one Senegalese student - Jen's language partner Pathe - at the table. She enjoyed saying "Il faut bien manger" (It is necessary to eat well) instead of just hearing it! It was fun to explore the building and chill on the roof after the official gathering ended. When I returned home, my family noticed that the spoon I had taken to the gathering had been switched up with another in the process of serving. Thus, I write this after having spent 45 minutes walking along one of the main roads carrying a spoon. We'll get the mess sorted out...inchallah (God willing). I'll be in Saint Louis until Sunday night - have a great weekend!

Antsy and Anxious

Back in the United States, I'm not exactly known for being a "calm" or "chill" person. I always have to be doing something - one reason I exercise so much is that it allows me to reflect while still DOING something. But in Senegal, ca ne marche pas (this doesn't work) with the more relaxed conception of time. I've had some great discussions with my far more relaxed friends Isaac and Alicia, and plan to continue the habit with my far more relaxed friends Katie, Rehaan, and Kelly back home (hi guys!). It's also been very nice to talk with Molly about how frustrating it can be for someone used to always being on the go to be told to SLOW DOWN. I'm succeeding, petit a petit, and now have a set of goals for each day, but without planning it down to the half hour. I still get everything that truly needs done accomplished without stress.

Another reason for the title of this post relates to academics. As I mentioned on Wednesday, after three months of listening to lectures and doing a few presentations, this last month is when everything else comes due. Most of my finals count for 50% of my grade - I have an oral exam, two written exams, an in-class group project (OK, so that won't be hard), and a final paper. None of these assignments by themselves are very difficult, but in the aggregate when I'm trying to savor my last taste of Africa for a long time, they sometimes loom over me.

Furthermore, while I'm excited to enjoy my last few weeks in Senegal, I'm also pumped to return to the United States. I miss my friends and family, and I've been informed by multiple sources that you don't realize the true power of your study abroad experience until you return. Yea reverse cultural adjustment!!! But I also have some nagging worries, since I'll be making some academic changes at the same time. Who will be my new cohort? How will I make time to see my friends when we're all being pulled in different directions? Where will I live next semester?! (OK, I have an email relating to this, but an actual piece of paper would be nice too). I've never been a "good enough" kind of person and seek out challenges if I feel myself growing too complacent. Time for some more personal growth...

PS The computer lab is supposed to be open from 12:00-10:00 pm on Saturday and the library from 12:00-4:00 pm. The former was closed. US Steven would've just cursed about how nothing works in this country. Senegalesteve is writing this post from the library library. The system does work, with modifications.
PPS When my host mother was driving me to the tailor yesterday, several taxis honked at her. She just scrunched up her face and said "Waaaaaahhhh (imagine baby crying). There's nowhere you need to get THAT quickly in Senegal!"

School Daze: Wednesday Morning Musings

I'm sitting in the university computer lab, trying to edit a French presentation outline I've been working on for a few days now. One thing that strikes me is how Senegal has rendered me "weak sauce" in terms of sleep habits: back home, I could easily go from 8:00 am to 1:30 am with a quick half-hour nap squeezed in between classes, meals, working out, etc. But here, I go to sleep at 11:00 pm and wake up sleep-deprived at 7:00 am. But it has gotten better, considering that I couldn't make it through a day without reposing for at least an hour. Perhaps the weather change has something to do with it? The temperatures have been falling pretty drastically since we returned from rural visits - my Wolof professor had to cancel class on Monday since as he couldn't stop shivering! In any case, I've been experiencing the joys of the French school system, wherein one submits the majority of one's graded work during the last few weeks of class. My French professor bumped up our final exams by a week and changed our oral presentations from "evaluation" to "final" grades, adding just a bit more stress. Yesterday, my history prof announced that our final paper would not be due on December 11, but on November 30. Here's the ridiculous thing: these assignments AREN'T that hard. Yes, I had to read the novel and prepare a 15-minute presentation in my non-native language, but I've had to do harder assignments in the States. My history paper will be 10 pages in English and I've already done the majority of my research and have a strong thesis. But after coasting for so many weeks, my work ethic is being a bit sluggish. At least I can give the presentation today and get a wonderful night's sleep before diving into my next project: reading a collection of critical essays about African-American literature. But that one's just for fun...
PS My host family and I are still getting along quite well - they bought me bon-bons on Monday while I was finishing my society and culture paper!

Back on Track

Yesterday was exhilarating and exhausting. I woke up at 7:00 am, and since Suffolk is doing construction on the soccer fields where I usually jog, I decided to jog along the Corniche. It was beautiful to watch the sun rising over the Atlantic with a few pirogues out in the water, especially after finishing “Old Man and the Sea.” Public Health was canceled (again), so I was able to check my Wolof homework and make some serious headway on my French presentation. I checked out a new fataya place with Isaac and Alicia – for the uninitiated, a fataya is basically meat and onions wrapped around fried dough. It reminds of a) my elementary-school bierocks and b) something you would see at a county fair but SO much better! After class and the obligatory web-surfing, I dropped my stuff off at home and went out to eat with my friend Molly at On the Run before heading downtown. While walking home, I noticed that campus was swarming with cream-colored butterflies – I asked the program director if this was an annual migration, but he said that he had never seen so many together in his life! The French Cultural Center and South Korean embassy were sponsoring a film festival and we saw “The Chanteuse du Pansori” about a tragic musical family. I returned at 11:00 pm, worked out a misunderstanding with the family which left me relieved, did some Pilates, and had a wonderful night’s sleep.

Dernière Partie

Day four began and continued to be a lazy day. After eating breakfast, I polished off “The Old Man and the Sea” (nothing like some tragic Hemingway to start the morning off right!). The only thing that was going on due to the national holiday for All Saint’s Day was the weekly market which attracted villagers from all over the delta region. This was actually a common theme throughout the week – several of our students lived outside of Samba Dia, and the school was getting ready to erect a “lunch hut” so that they could have a place to eat and rest while their classmates went home. Moreover, the fabric that the young ladies helped to dye is sold every Thursday and the profits are recycled back into the village. Jen was still in the clinic, and our host dad asked Jake and I to ask her some questions in English so that she didn’t have to translate while experiencing vertigo. Then, Jake and I set off with our host brothers, who needed to borrow a CD-rom for 8th grade mathematics. (Side note: the French version spelled it out as “cédérom”).

The market took up the village square and spilled off into a few alleyways, but was as lively as any other Senegalese market – vendors selling produce, fabric, playing cards, sunglasses out of little stalls. Jake bargained for some fabric and managed to reach a reasonable price, but one that seemed a bit high. Our host mother later explained that it had been brought from Dakar and the transport added at least 10% to everything sold in the village. Hannah and Tessah were able to have pants made by the tailor that day, but he was too swamped by the time we reached his atelier (workshop). Thus, we decided to meet Malang and some of his cooler friends for ataaya. As the week progressed, Malang became increasingly needy, calling Jake’s cell phone frequently to hang out. We headed home for lunch and just chilled out. Jen was feeling better and came out to sit on the veranda with us while we all shared stories about our families, our friends, etc. Hannah and Tessah went back into the village to purchase rice for our families, as a sign of thankfulness for all of the teranga (hospitality) we had experienced. While Tessah invited everyone to one of the many impromptu dance parties at her house, we just hung out with our host family and learned to play a game in the sand during a power outage (with generator!). Later, Jake and I helped our brothers with the mathematics CD-rom installation and exercises.

Friday morning came very fast, and we packed up into the bush bus after breakfast. Several of us were very sad to leave our wonderful host families to come back to noisy, polluted Dakar and schoolwork.

Dernière Partie

Day four began and continued to be a lazy day. After eating breakfast, I polished off “The Old Man and the Sea” (nothing like some tragic Hemingway to start the morning off right!). The only thing that was going on due to the national holiday for All Saint’s Day was the weekly market which attracted villagers from all over the delta region. This was actually a common theme throughout the week – several of our students lived outside of Samba Dia, and the school was getting ready to erect a “lunch hut” so that they could have a place to eat and rest while their classmates went home. Moreover, the fabric that the young ladies helped to dye is sold every Thursday and the profits are recycled back into the village. Jen was still in the clinic, and our host dad asked Jake and I to ask her some questions in English so that she didn’t have to translate while experiencing vertigo. Then, Jake and I set off with our host brothers, who needed to borrow a CD-rom for 8th grade mathematics. (Side note: the French version spelled it out as “cédérom”).

The market took up the village square and spilled off into a few alleyways, but was as lively as any other Senegalese market – vendors selling produce, fabric, playing cards, sunglasses out of little stalls. Jake bargained for some fabric and managed to reach a reasonable price, but one that seemed a bit high. Our host mother later explained that it had been brought from Dakar and the transport added at least 10% to everything sold in the village. Hannah and Tessah were able to have pants made by the tailor that day, but he was too swamped by the time we reached his atelier (workshop). Thus, we decided to meet Malang and some of his cooler friends for ataaya. As the week progressed, Malang became increasingly needy, calling Jake’s cell phone frequently to hang out. We headed home for lunch and just chilled out. Jen was feeling better and came out to sit on the veranda with us while we all shared stories about our families, our friends, etc. Hannah and Tessah went back into the village to purchase rice for our families, as a sign of thankfulness for all of the teranga (hospitality) we had experienced. While Tessah invited everyone to one of the many impromptu dance parties at her house, we just hung out with our host family and learned to play a game in the sand during a power outage (with generator!). Later, Jake and I helped our brothers with the mathematics CD-rom installation and exercises.

Friday morning came very fast, and we packed up into the bush bus after breakfast. Several of us were very sad to leave our wonderful host families to come back to noisy, polluted Dakar and schoolwork.

Troisième Partie

I woke up at 7:20 in order to get ready for my exciting day of interacting with local students. Full of hope, I merrily ate my bread with butter, which Jake thoughtfully suggested we place next to the hot water such that it was soft and creamy. When we arrived at school at 8:30, we saw a lot of students still sitting around in the courtyard. They turned out to be OUR students who had been waiting for computer lessons. After the principal turned the computers on, he proceeded to instruct the students how to open the Encarta Encyclopedia program. I should mention at this point that we had six very nice computers for 13 students, and there was a range of skill levels represented. The mice didn’t work very well on the wooden tabletops, which didn’t help the students without much computer experience. While in the US the teacher might have been encouraged to gently aid the student, the principal was rather brusque and didn’t seem to have patience with a few that just hadn’t mastered the unique coordination that comes with working on a computer for awhile. Jake took charge as usual and was in the middle of teaching them how to open a file when the power went out – quelle surprise! As we waited, we asked the students in Wolof how many times they had used a computer – responses ranged from months to never. To pass the time, we played a game in which the student gave a Wolof word, we guessed the French meaning and gave the English denotation.

At the end of class, the principal returned and thanked us for our help. Since the power was out, we couldn’t teach more computer classes, and since the school was on the French system, no classes were held on Wednesday afternoons. To boot, Thursday was All Saint’s Day and the whole village shut down save for the weekly market and we left Friday after breakfast. We exchanged contact information and wandered into town, wondering how to pass the time in Samba Dia. Tessah had came to school with her sister, so we just walked around for awhile before adjourning to the clinic for discussion and lunch. Evidently, the women didn’t require their help for much. Jake made ataaya for us after lunch and we just chilled some more. Hannah came by and we went off to explore a little clearing wherein we found several cute donkeys.

That night, we were trying to figure out a way to celebrate Halloween in Samba Dia after dinner. Tessah, Amelia, Hannah, Jake, and I were on the way to the village when we saw Jen riding in the back of a horsecart with her host mom to the clinic – never a good sign! She assured us that she was not in imminent danger and just needed some rest in a room with a fan. Still, the fête must go on and we bought some mango-flavored candies at a boutique before purchasing Fanta, Coca-Cola, and beer at a liquor store named (in the I-couldn’t-make-this-up category) “Jesus, Joseph, and Mary.” We sat under a little hut for awhile talking about holiday traditions and favorite TV shows. I was truly tired that night and was looking forward to making the most of my last day in Samba Dia.

Les visites rurales Deuxieme Partie

Day 2 for me began at 9:00 am when I went to the little hut outside the house where we took our meals. There was a man waiting for me there who asked me how I was doing, if I had eaten and slept well, etc. Then he explained to me that once Jake was up, we should go to the school and start working on our project before disappearing into the house. Shrouded in the haze of sleep, I had an epiphany while buttering my bread – this was our coordinator/host father! We had a purpose! After breakfast, I finished “A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man” and was left feeling like I needed to do some serious reflection/philosophical diagramming to understand the novel. One of host brothers came over and said, “It’s time. We’re going to school.” Like I said – we may not have had a clue what was going on, but someone obviously did!
Upon arriving at the school, which had been proudly built by USAID, we were ushered into the principal’s office. He explained that we were to install Encarta Encyclopedia 2007 on the school computers, then move on to some light programming. I am quite capable at many things, one of which is NOT technology. However, I perked up at the mention of possibility of helping with an English or science class. We set to work on the new computers, and the installation process went rather smoothly once we got the password to the administrative identity from the IT guy/secretary (watch for his return). Returning home for lunch, we ate delicious ceebu yapp (rice, meat, and legumes) and drank ataaya (tea). Making ataaya is a ritual, so specific that the Wolof language has a separate verb simply to refer to this one action. One pours some tea into a glass, which one then hoists before a quick turn of the wrist pours the ataaya into a second glass. Repeat until foamy. While no more tea leaves are added to the kettle, spoonfuls of sugar are, such that by the third round you’re basically drinking sugar. We were supposed to return at 3:00, and arrived at 3:40 pm to see the principal hanging out with some friends just outside of the office. Once we got the installation routine set, we explored the playlists for jazz, classical, and rock music. When the IT guy came in to check on us, he just sat down, grooved out to our music, and rolled a cigarette. After finishing around 5:00, we were led on a tour of the school by the principal. He asked us to come in the next day at 8:00 to teach computer class, making sure to explain that if we showed up at 8:30 no one would really care. On the way home, we ran into Tessah, Amelia, and Jen, who had indeed gotten off in the right village and had just been placed with a slightly-out-of-the-loop host mother. Amelia, Jake, and I met Malang at the boutique and went off to visit his family. He has a lot of siblings, a very nice mother, and a blind father who is a Koranic teacher. It wouldn’t have been a truly Senegalese evening if the power hadn’t gone out, and we walked home in the dark with Malang. Twenty minutes later, everything sprung back to life and we sat down to dinner after refreshing bucket showers. Our host mother asked Jake if we wanted forks to eat the spaghetti with, to which he replied “No” before looking across the table to see if I wanted one. I came here for cultural immersion, right? “Cultural immersion” amounted to my host mother feeling offended that I wasn’t eating a lot of her spaghetti because I couldn’t master the art of twirling the noodles around pieces of bread. Tired from the day, I dozed off as soon as I hit the mattress.

Les visites rurales: Première Partie

I was very excited during the days leading up to rural visits, but also a bit cautious. I was at the stage where if I carefully budgeted my money, I could have taken a bit with me and not have had to leave gobs of cash just sitting in my armoire all week. Thus, I found myself on Sunday with $1 in CFA to my name, having economized my way through a beach party on Friday night – Saturday morning. Luckily, Senegal is a developing nation and things are quite cheap here. I was able to buy several little goodies for my future host family in Samba Dia with a little left over (aka $0.30). On Monday, I was double-checking that I had packed correctly when I saw one of the maids come out. I asked her if there happened to be any left-over bread from dinner last night, being careful to add that if it would be a problem, she didn’t need to bother. Five minutes later, my very angry host mother appeared at my door and asked me what would make me think to ask for bread at 6:30 in the morning. I didn’t fight back, but when the maid asked if I was going to eat the bread, I just brushed past her to the door with an “Au revoir!” Luckily, I had stockpiled some crackers for just such an occasion and had a decent breakfast nonetheless. I had let her know I was leaving a little earlier in the morning, so was a bit surprised. At school, I turned on the mooching skills and got some pieces of baguette (thanks Jen!) and learned that most of the other host families sent someone out to buy bread for the family a little earlier than usual. My friend Sally is living with my host mom’s BFF, and has concluded that she could never be a Senegalese woman as she is not “complicated” enough.

After waiting 45 minutes for some stragglers (one repeat offender in particular), we headed out of Dakar at 8:00 am only to run into morning traffic. It didn’t help that due to our strange itinerary, we had to go to Thies to pick up a coordinator for the Meouane group, drop the group off at Meouane, backtrack to Thies, and THEN head to the destination for the other three groups. Once we arrived in Samba Dia, the housing situation was worked out in a “first-come, first-served basis” – reminiscent of the orphan train tales I used to read in elementary school. I was surprised to learn that Jake and I would be sharing a host family, and very excited to learn that we would be living at the health clinic which serves a population of 9,000. Upon exiting the bus, we were greeted by our host mother who showed us our room off to the side of the clinic. My guess is that it’s the Senegalese equivalent of the Ronald McDonald House, which would make sense if you needed to travel several miles with your ill friend/family member. We ate delicious ceebu jen (they should probably just add it to the Senegalese flag), and then sat around for awhile. For you see, dear reader, while we were informed that we there were things to do in Samba Dia, no one had yet told us where they were or at what time to do them. After chilling, Jake and I walked around the village, at which point I realized that Jake is far better at Wolof greetings than I am. We met a guy at a shop named Malang, who was studying for his baccalaureate in languages (English, French, Portuguese, Wolof, Mandinka, etc.). Having seen where Amelia disembarked, we visited her house and met her host mother, who walked back to the clinic with us. About 15 minutes after we arrived, Tessah showed up, saying her host mother had suggested she go to the clinic as well. Hannah wasn’t far behind. I for one was relieved to discover that someone knew what was going on! We chatted for awhile before someone broke the news that our coordinator wouldn’t be back for our little orientation meeting that night, so we decided to explore a path which led to a beautiful clearing with trees. Upon our return, I showered and read a bit of “A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man” – so thankful I didn’t go to Catholic school in turn-of-the-century Ireland!!! Dinner was an amazing plate of French fries, grilled fish, and onion sauce, and our host mother continued with her refrain of “Lekkal! Lekkal bu baax!” “Eat! Eat well!” Stuffed, we headed to our room and talked for a bit before falling asleep around 10. Stay tuned...

The Silence Breaks

Note: I wrote this post before going on rural visits (October 29-November 2), but the power went out before I was able to do so. Yay development! More substantial entries to follow soon.

I just noticed that I hadn’t posted for a few weeks – whoops! However, this is not in itself wholly unfortunate, for it is partially the result of my integration into life in Senegal. My family and I haven’t had any big issues for awhile, except laundry. I NEVER expected this to be such a vibrant conversational topic, but I have learned the hard way to not bring white things to Africa. When my host mother asked me to get grey socks instead of white ones for running as they were quickly turning brown, I treated it as a reasonable request and bought some from the market. OK, she actually bought them at the market, but I paid for them and went back to said market by myself later so I could get the “cultural experience” of being hounded to purchase cheap American-made goods. But now she’s moved on to my shower towel, and actually suggested that I was not washing myself well enough (because of course it couldn’t be that we live on a dusty road and one of the maid’s daily duties is to sweep the dirt in front of the house). She bought me a shower mitt, which resembles something I saw years ago during a late night infomercial for pet grooming products. I’ve been using for a few days now and have been pronounced “bien frotté” (well-brushed), but the towel remains dirty. Her latest solution is that I should just buy another one – I think I’ll just stick to my blue beach towel from now on. But I actually do appreciate all that my host family does for me. We woke up this morning to no running water, yet they still managed to make a delicious macaroni and cheese lunch with a bit of steak on the side. Plus, my friends (especially Jen) and sometimes even their immediate family members have derived hours of laughter from my mitt.

Lack of running water might be a serious issue next week during rural visits. I’m excited about my group and the tasks we’ll be doing. Part of me wishes I were going with a Peace Corps volunteer to see if it’s something I would be interested in, but I’m also glad to have the chance to see how several different organizations work together in a community. I’ll be back on Friday with tons of journal entries (in Wolof, no less)!

Thankful

On Monday, the sandwich stand I normally frequent at school was closed, so I ventured off to a new restaurant with some friends. We ate a pretty good meal and very cheap meal of rice and fish. Flash forward to 10:00 pm : I'm lying in bed with a fever and my digestive system is rebelling against me. By the next morning, I had woken up four times with "intestinal difficulties," but my fever broke around 2 am. Too sick to attend class, I sletp in and felt much better for awhile. Then, confident in my body's self-healing abilities, I went to school to meet with my language partner. I almost passed out, but Jen was there for me, going so far as to refill my water bottle. I went home and fainted onto the bed. Not having learned my lesson, I dragged myself to Senegalese Society and Culture, where I experienced horrible back spasms and had to lie down after class. Isaac and Alicia accompanied me to Elton, and their witty reparte (along with some salty crackers) helped immensely. A special shout-out to my host family who didn't force food on me and my fabulous program assistant Elizabeth for taking care of school-related stuff. Beyond these individuals, there were a number of others who expressed genuine concern. Thank you to everyone who helped me get through my no good, very bad day.

Allusions

I think I need a new town, to leave this all behind…
I think I need a sunrise, I’m tired of the sunset

- Augustana “Boston”

These lyrics describe how I felt at the end of last semester. It was the craziest of my life: my courses stretched me to the limit, but I also found amazing, supportive friends who helped me balance work and school (hi K and R!). My study abroad experience was supposed to take place in the spring, but scheduling factors related to a major I’m no longer pursuing and family events (sister’s graduation, etc.) forced me to move it to the fall. Thank goodness! I’m discovering things about myself every day. It may be cliché, but sometimes you really do have to get lost in order to find yourself. I’m about to embark on a pretty dramatic change that I know will be good for me. But I hesitate just a bit, wondering if this is really what I want to do. I guess it’s hard for me to accept that part of growing up is closing doors on perfectly good ideas. I’m currently reading “To the Lighthouse” by Virginia Woolf (thanks for the tip Alicia!) and one of the main characters, Mrs. Ramsay, envisions Life as a force to be contested. Either you get the better of life, or it gets the better of you. I hope I made the right bet…

“To dare is to lose one’s footing momentarily. Not to dare is to lose oneself.”

- Soren Kierkegaard

Fêtes Religieux

It’s only October, but ‘tis the season for religious celebrations (fêtes religieux) in Senegal. My friend Jen was treated to a wonderful one last Tuesday night as marabouts proclaimed the word of Allah. All night long, right outside her door, with megaphones. Korite, or the end of the Muslim month of fasting known as Ramadan, is this weekend and I’ve been trying to score invites to my friends with Muslim families. I just returned from a mini-fête religieux held in my courtyard. My mother is evidently part of a rotational rosary circle and tonight was our turn to host. One of the nice things about being Catholic is the universality of the religion – we used the same prayers in the same order as back home. And with all of those Hail Mary’s in the rosary, I picked up on that one quite quickly.

I discovered that today was Korite when I left for the gym and found all of the roads blocked by hundreds of people praying towards Mecca. After finding a side street, I discovered that the gym was closed and would possibly, but not probably, be open this afternoon. As the air was actually cool for once (yay weather changes!), I jogged at school before returning home and waiting for lunch. It was served later than expected and thus I missed the chicken meal at cousin Kalii’s, but did arrive in time for fruit and juice. The way our program staff played it up, Korite sounded like a religious observance in the morning with a full-out party in the afternoon, complete with the ritual sacrifice of a ram. However, I found out that it’s usually a much more tranquil affair during which friends and family come a-calling.

Going to church tonight was like a having another mini-fête religieux - the hymns were accompanied by African drums. And after the service, several gentlemen attempted to relieve themselves inside the church compound walls (not in the sanctuary) before being corrected by a kindly deacon. But moreso than that, my host mother is happiest at church. She smiles and says hello to everyone, and makes her friend pull the car over for a quick chat. Even though she has a very strong personality and is very commanding, it’s nice to remember that we do have things in common.

TMA 2

Another issue has come up around mealtimes. Through painful trial and error, my family has learned that my digestive system was not built with Senegalese porridges in mind. I have a rather hit-and-miss record: lach (which is my friend Cybil’s favorite dish) was a disaster, but ndala is amazing! Armed with this knowledge, the cook usually prepares something different for me and I eat a little off to the side. At the beginning of the semester, my cousin Daba would be sent up to say “Come eat” but since she left for school, they usually just call my name. I, however, was treated to a presentation of polite eating by my mother which consisted of the following: “When you eat by yourself, you must invite us. Even when we tell you that everything on the plate is for you alone, invite us. Though we will always say no, invite us.” I don’t have a problem with this practice, but it’s quite different from my usual dining habits. My two year old nephew Amadou was angry at me for 15 minutes on Monday night because I failed to invite him to eat so that he could have the opportunity to say no. We’ve worked out a system now, but sometimes this whole super-politeness thing is still foreign to me.

Yet my family in general is one of the better ones when it comes to sharing. Michelle and Kate live with a constant chorus of “Gimmes,” and other students have been pressed to help pay for the rent! Moreover, my family genuinely does share everything. Our little ritual is to share roasted peanuts while watching soap operas after dinner. The next time I buy treats I intend to offer them each a bit, if only to see their reactions!

TMA 1

The previous posts about fall break were entitled TIA: “This is Africa.” TMA was an acronym coined by my friend/neighbor/classmate Michelle on her trip. The Wolof word for hospitality is “teranga” and the Senegalese are very proud of being the Land of Teranga. But sometimes you can’t say anything but “TMA: Teranga My Ass!” My friend Isaac, ever the anthropologist had a wonderful observation. “I’ve spent the last few years reading about communal-based societies and saying how much more wonderful they were than American culture. But coming here has made me realize that American culture is MY culture.”

My family and I are progressing towards the second stage of cultural adjustment. We’ve been through the “So you have absolutely NO clue about Senegalese society” phase and are now in the “Stop being a selfish American” phase. When I returned from fall break, I felt that my host family and I had finally found a good groove in a stable routine. Then last Saturday, I came home from the cybercafe to find a woman standing in my courtyard. My host mother explained that she sells bon-bons. I wasn’t hungry at the time and thought it was just a statement of profession. However, she then said “Buy some” in the imperative mood, which is used for commands, before adding, “They’re really good.” I figured, why not and purchased a bag. Then the maid asked me to buy some for her too, and to avoid familial awkwardness I acquiesced to her request. Later that night, my host mother proceeded to lecture me at the dinner table when everyone was sharing the bon-bons that I bought about how I do not know the meaning of sharing. TMA, lady. Oh, and when I offered to share mine, they all replied, “No, I’m full now. But nice effort!” My host mother was however pleasantly surprised when I gave her gifts from America that my parents had sent. I am now allowed to keep sunflower seeds just to myself as no one else enjoyed them, and she has some new tea towels which actually match the style of her own – my American mom is really good at picking out textiles!

TIA Days 4 and 5

The original plan for the second day at Toubakouta was to visit the nearby national park, but our host advised us that it was not the season. Rain spurs vegetative growth and evidently none of the animals would be visible. Plus, the guidebook made getting to the park seem like another adventure entirely. Instead, we took a short pirogue tour to a delta island where the village had a female chief and played in the saltwater for a bit. While the ladies had hamburgers again for lunch, I decided to try charwma, whose closest Western equivalent is probably the gyro. Tuesday afternoon was spent either reading on the porch or sleeping in the bungalow. We had picked up supplies for the return home at a boutique and had a nice picnic dinner. Colette is quite the nuturing provider: not only did she contribute most of the snacks like oranges, a Senegalese woman trusted her to carry her baby on the pirogue ride back from the island! After having asked the hotel staff earlier if the djembes would be playing a receiving an answer of 9 pm, we dutifully headed over in order to be informed by another hotel employee that of course there were no djembes that night! Naturally, upon waking on Wednesday morning, the power and water were again working. We ate a quick breakfast and got on the road by 7:30, returning to school by 2:30 pm. The most interesting part of this stage was being stuck in a bush taxi with seven seats and nine people (one woman was traveling with her very young children) in a traffic jam with no breeze for what seemed like the longest 20 minutes of my young life.This vacation has taught me a variety of things. For instance, Africa does not have acne. Or freckles, as Molly added. Everyone here has perfect skin – hypotheses include the humidity or something actually in the water. Thus, when my maid saw me with a few pimples upon my return, she tried to spread itching salve on them. Interesting side note: I have yet to see many Senegalese people sweat up close, though this may have more to do with Ramadan dehydration than anything else. But it was nice to experience genuine teranga and get away from the hustle and bustle of Dakar for a few days. Now for some sleeping, reading, and writing…

TIA Day 3

Bright and early the next morning, we headed off to Toubakouta on an Ndanga Ndiaye, which is the national version of a car rapide. Thus, it was cheap and crammed. It didn’t help that the only road to Toubakouta was riddled with potholes, causing our large white van to offroad at various points and preventing Liana and I from ever finding our balance. It was a relatively short 2.5 hour trip for 70 kilometers, and we were unceremoniously dumped by the side of the road with our luggage. We followed the first path until we saw a large pink building which resembled a hotel and consulted a local woman, who said it was abandoned. After a quick phone call from Molly, the proprietor arrived shortly from his other property and explained that this was the new compound. Being the only guests, we decided it would be fun to have the place to ourselves. Yet when we entered the room, there were lots of spiders (which did wonders for Molly’s arachnaphobia) and no power. Determined to find lunch during Ramadan, we sallied forth to Toubakouta proper, helped by a “friendly” artisan who showed us his older brothers’ ateliers so that we could gaze at their synchronized repertoire of elephants and hippopotamuses. While genuine teranga is always appreciated, we hadn’t signed up for the tour and hoped to ditch the guy by going into a hamburger joint for lunch. They were amazingly tasty and filling, which was fortuitous as we needed to muster all of our strength in order to look at all of the artisans’ wares. Evidently, during the November to February tourist season there are enough customers for them all, but with only 8 toubabs in town, their prospects didn’t look so good. After fending off the last we bought some water at a boutique and headed home. Liana hadn’t been feeling well and had headed back early, leaving Molly, Colette, and I to get totally lost in this (literal) backwater. Some nice neighbor kids walked us back across town to our compound, only to discover that the water was no longer working. Sweating on a mattress for two hours was delightful, but it was worth it for the amazing pirogue ride. Toubakouta is in the Siné-Saloum river delta, and the mangrove swamps which line its brackish shores host large bird and crab colonies. Just floating on the river, watching the sunset, I thought “TIA.” Our host’s wife had prepared dinner for us at the main compound and after some quick discussion we decided to move to a place located near another place with running water. We stayed up and chatted until we heard djembe drumming. Unfortunately, the spectacle had ended by the time we arrived, but it was still beautiful to listen to.

TIA Day 2

Day 2 in Kaolack started off relaxed and easily with a visit to the Alliance Franco-Sénégalaise, a beautifully tiled and constructed center which was unfortunately closed on Sundays. A little further down the street, we patronized the artisinal market. The vendors here were more proactive than their market counterparts, but none were too pushy and we all came away with beautiful finds. I would classify my purchases more as “nice things I would’ve bought anywhere” as opposed to “essentially African,” which is another post entirely. We returned to the French restaurant for lunch and all ordered steak with fries, which turned out to be a three course meal complete with actual salad. Everyone was very excited about having a non-rice based dish for once. A trip to the Grand Mosque, which was actually in Medina, was in order and afterwards we bought some muchies and had a picnic at the inn. Unfortunately, we were returning from the boutiques around 8:40 pm, which is when the last call to prayer for Muslims end, and we had to pass the town mosque. I was walking along the sidewalk one second and slipped through a crack the next – right into a sewer pipe! Several people seemed very concerned and helped me stand on my filthy, bleeding legs until I could make it back to the hotel. The innkeeper washed my feet in a bucket of diluted bleach and even offered to fish out my sandals, which I declined. A sterilizing wipe and a few bandages later, all was well and after a quiet dinner we watched a horrible American movie poorly dubbed in French at an ampitheatre-style cinema.

TIA Day 1

The title of this post comes from the movie “Blood Diamond.” It stands for “This is Africa.” Common usage for CIEE students is illustrated by the following examples. “We were at the beach, and when the farmer started washing one of the rams in the ocean, the other started mating with a ewe ten feet away from where we were sitting. TIA.” More universally: “I woke up to find out that my house had no power, no water, and my digestive system was in rebellion. TIA.” While I experienced plenty of this TIA on the trip, I also discovered a gentler side.

Molly, Liana, Colette and I left on Saturday morning at 5:30 am from school. We reached the gare routierre at 6:00 and were on the way to Kaolack by 6:30. Trying to bargain with persistent drivers in your non-native language that early in the morning can become very interesting. It doesn’t help when your main travel, and thus, pricing resource is a three year old guidebook. Despite being quite cramped, we made it to Kaolack by 11:30 am. Our lodging, L’Auberge de Carrefour (Inn of the Crossroads), was substantially better than we had expected: the chambres ventilees had giant ceiling fans instead of dinky ones stuck in the corner. Moreover, we had spacious bathrooms and locking room doors. Faucet and interior handles were not as well maintained but livable. After a quick lunch at the Bluebird Inn, we headed off to Kaolack’s famous market, supposedly the second largest after Marakesh. For those not acquainted with Dakar, the main downtown shopping district is Marché Sandaga, where persistent street vendors will hassle you, pickpockets will steal, and you will come away exhausted and embittered at humanity. But when all of the vendors at a market know that there will be plenty of customers, they are far more apt to be pleasant. We were greeted in Wolof and/or French at each stall we passed and everyone came away with some amazing deals. Of course, when everyone was tired from traveling and shopping, the power went out and we were stuck trying to resposer in stagnant heat. A lovely French restaurant recommended by the guidebook proved to be the perfect escape – when they lost power, they simply switched to a candlelit ambiance. Colette, Liana and I headed back to the Bluebird later for drinks and conversation while Molly passed out from the heat and exhaustion. As my roommate and I were chatting before bed, the fan came on and all was well.

Travelin' Through

On Saturday, I'm leaving Dakar along with three wonderful traveling companions to spend five days exploring central Senegal. We'll see the 2nd largest covered market in Africa (which I need as my flip-flops have been worn down by constant use) and a national park, complete with mangrove swamps! My host mother is usually very cool about me traveling in Dakar - I simply need to say "I'm going out with ____ for awhile" and all is well. However, I didn't realize just how relaxed the relationship was until I discovered yesterday during lunch that she had left early Monday morning for a region in the south of Senegal. For a week. Without telling me. Oh well, we'll have plenty of stories to swap for the last few days of Fall Break! But her absence has actually forced me to get to know the maids more - I interviewed one for my Wolof class and learned that she was one of 11 kids from a farm family.

On the "Through" part, I'm starting to contemplate my eventual return to KU. I love Senegal, but I miss my family, friends, and working AC, approximately in that order (kidding!). Also, I'm anxious to get back to campus and start making some changes. I didn't realize how strong I could be before coming here, and it's inspired me to break out of the inertia that was driving more of my life than it should have. Personally, socially, academically - not everything will change, but all will be critically examined. No one said personal growth was easy.

School Daze

This post is dedicated to the “study” portion of my study abroad experience. I’m taking five courses through my program’s study center, all of which will transfer back to Home State U for my interdisciplinary humanities major. A brief overview of each follows:

1) La Santé Publique (Public Health) – taught in French by a professor maintaining a VERY active research program. It’s not unusual for him to receive quick phone updates during class, and he already canceled class once and had us do our first end-of-the-unit exercise without him. There are quite a few people passionately interested in health policy (hi Kate!) and sometimes we go off on interesting real world tangents about latrines and cholera.
2) Wolof Language – While French is the official language of Senegal, Wolof is the most commonly spoken African language (my host family usually only switches into French in order to talk to me). My instructor is actually 39, though he doesn’t look a day over 25, and does impressions of Americans learning Wolof for us. He complimented me on my “Senegalese accent,” which mostly consists of thoughtfully considering each question even when I’ve only learned one response. Jenn’s laughter helps to keep the period going.
3) Advanced French II – This course is causing me to question my desire to keep studying this language. My professor quickly “reviews” before testing us over grammatical issues no one has ever really learned before, like tenses used only in formal literature. I’m learning quite a bit, but its right after lunch and the format leaves a lot to be desired.
4) History of Colonization/Decolonization – I found my humanities analogue to Mammalian Physiology. This professor is moderately interesting, but I still have plenty of time to doodle, do creative writing, and otherwise entertain myself while listening to him (I guess I’m a kinetic learner after all). Some of the readings are interesting, but others are just. so. dry!!! I did my presentation on French colonial policy before World War I yesterday and felt awesome – Alicia’s moral support helped! Years of debate/forensics and a semester of teaching have done wonders for my presentation style. Isaac doodles wildly and I create interpretations of his creations.
5) Le Sénégal Contemporain – I’m really trying to figure out what exactly I’m supposed to be learning in this course. It is organized around units such as Religious Beliefs, trying to explain several aspects of Senegalese society and culture. We go on lots of field trips, watch movies, and listen to guest speakers. Our classroom lacked air conditioning for several class periods, which didn’t help, and we never seem to get to the assigned readings. But I did just hand in a 2.5 page paper in French, so it gets points for productivity.
While some of my courses are graded on the American model, with a percentage assigned, others use the French system of a note between 1 and 20. It’s not an exact mathematical system – 18 means “I can’t believe I’m giving you an 18” and 15/20 is not a C. More information forthcoming on this front. However, as in the United States, I’ve figured out that finding a fun classmate makes everything better. K and R helped me get through O. Chem last year and are still some of my closest friends. It is my blessing to usually befriend someone very strong in each of my subjects while I remain more of a generalist. I’ve started to get some assignments back, and a good summary would be: “It could be a bit better, but it could’ve been SO much worse!” I have a semester…

Week in Review

Today marks my fourth Sunday in Senegal, and the first without a mandatory CIEE excursion. Things have begun to settle into a routine, alxamdulilaa (thanks be to God!). I've met a dizzying array of people this week - Thursday was the one year anniversary of my host mother's husband's death. Thus, I came home for lunch to find the courtyard full of people. My host mother just handed me a platter to eat in my room, which minimized the awkwardness. I didn't get home until 7:30 due to a discussion about Goree Island (it really helped to hear other people voice their opinions and to some extent their emotions) and dinner was crazy. I exhausted my Wolof chatting with my mother's friends and my ever-growing circle of cousins. Another big change is the amount of alcohol in the house. Previously, my mom split a beer with one of her friends over lunch, but once she figured out that I did like a drink every now and then, I've had a small glass of wine with every lunch and dinner. Perhaps it was left over from the massive get-together or is a more permanent change - will report back. Ramadan began this week and all Muslims are supposed to fast from food and water from sunrise to sunset. I feel guilty even carrying a water bottle to the gym! Speaking of religion, I went to Mass with my mother today at 7:30 am. At school, I usually jog in the morning and attend 5:00 pm Mass but I *gasp* had homework this weekend, so I needed to be productive. I'm on an illness cycle of about 5 days, but things are starting to look up, and none too soon. My classmates have been out for days at a time with fevers, fainting, and other issues. The worst thing I've had to sit out is the CIEE vs. Suffolk soccer game - girls won, guys lost despite a valiant effort. Currently, my biggest challenge is to figure out a fall break plan in case my charm doesn't allow me to piggyback on someone else's trip. Note to self: pick up more toothpaste/mouthwash...

Soccer and Slavery Part II

The island itself was not quite what I expected. Our first stop was the slave house, where the slaves bound for the new world were kept before passing through the Door of No Return. It was haunting to be able to see all of the cells and chains, and realize that Europeans had been living right above the misery. The curator gave a little speech about some of the specifics of the building, then said that while the Holocaust concentration camps are still remembered today, the slaving tradition which lasted far longer and took countless more lives was forgotten. I could see his factual point, but the comparison of human atrocities did not sit well with me. But when he was talking about how slaves from all over West Africa were taken from here, I had a flashback to the elementary school heritage activities. Everyone in my class was either a) a European mix (German/Irish/English/Dutch for me) or b) a recent immigrant. What were you supposed to go on if the only most specific geographical marker your cultural heritage had was a continent?

After the slave house, we visited a museum celebrating the contributions and achievements of Senegalese women. It was one floor of an old home and while cool, was not particularly engaging for me, which very well could have been the sickness. We split up into groups for tours of the island with our cultural guide – I stuck with Fatou, who calls me “Stevens” and says she will always remember my name as I share it with the leading man of her favorite trashy romance novel. However, the groups were “fluid” and it took a lot of effort to keep everyone together. I had to wait 15 minutes at the last museum while Fatou looked for the rest of our group, but I was content to chill in the shade. The History of Senegal was being reconstructed – literally. There were cement bags and remodeling tools all around exhibits such as “The Neolithic Tools of Northern Senegal” and diagrams of fishhooks. Fascinating…

My group stopped at a restaurant whose restroom had a modern toilet – and water pressure – and soap (still no toilet paper, but everyone usually comes prepared now)! Cousin Kalii and I ordered delicious crepes and dug in with relish, though the other group members waited 45 minutes before giving up any thoughts of actually getting their ice cream creations. Jordan attracted a crowd while he was getting cornrows, and I joined a conversation with Fatou about cultural differences in dating. It was a pretty touristy place and we had a lot of delays, but it was still a (reasonably) good day.

Oh, and my host sister and the maid's daughter - they're actually sisters. And my cousins.

Soccer and Slavery Part I

This weekend was filled with pre-planned events courtesy of my study abroad program. On Saturday, we went to Léopold Sédar Senghor stadium at 3:00 pm for the 5:00 pm game. I carpooled with Shelby and her very nice host sister, who negotiated wonderful taxi prices and resolved a minor ticket snafu for me. Though my conversational French has improved and I’m becoming more comfortable with Wolof, it still helps to have a native speaker around. We sat with our friends Isaac, Alicia, et al. and had a great time watching our first major-league soccer match against Burkina Faso. The Burkinabé players didn’t last long on the field, prompting a discussion about the value of acting in soccer. Senegal won 5-1 and will be advancing to the championships next year. I had gone to Club Olympique that morning, and after all of the yelling was exhausted. Just as well – I had to wake up at 6:45 Sunday morning for our excursion to Gorée Island.

After learning about the island’s slaving past (being near the westernmost tip of Africa, it was the main departure site for West African slaves) in Contemporary African Art last semester, I was pumped. But today was definitely one for patience. Though I had informed my host mother of my plans to leave early, the maid had to run out for bread at 7:30 am. I jogged a bit in my flipflops on the road to school in order to make the 8:00 am bus when I saw several of my compatriots calmly munching pastries in front of the gas station. When we arrived at school, we saw that everyone was still just standing around. It took an hour to distribute all of the sandwiches and load everyone on the buses, causing us to miss the 9:00 am ferry. Once we arrived at the dock, we waited another half-hour before boarding for the 25 minute ride. After a bumpy bus ride through the streets of Dakar and a none-too-gentle voyage, I was feeling quite sick. As luck would have it, our program assistant/activities director didn’t make it on the first ferry, causing us to sit around for 45 minutes.

Hablas espanol?

As I mentioned in the post entitled “Home,” Spanish soap operas are the mainstay of Senegalese television. “La Mujer de Lorenzo” (Lorenzo’s Wife) is a primetime mainstay focused mainly on late twenty and early thirtysomethings working out their issues in Spain. Another favorite is “CLAP,” which focuses on a group of students at a performing arts high school and their families: one girl has a very ill mother, another is trying to get used to living with his older brother. Most of them are no more cheesy than American soap operas and are better dubbed in French. But then I saw the Mexican version of “Passions.” Not only do both series air around lunch, they both involve mysterious evil blond witches. I didn’t quite get the supernatural part until the end of the episode when she started levitating towards a man’s window, then changed from a yellow suit with shoulder pads (think Melanie Griffith in “Working Girl”) into a breezy white nightgown and a bad perm. This phenomenon begs the question: Are there no decent French soap operas which wouldn’t require the use of dubbing? However, television is not the only medium in which one sees Spanish. At the local gas station/convenience store/cybercafe/lifeline known as Elton’s, the orange juice comes labeled as “Néctar de Naranja – Sin Azúcar” (Orange Juice – No Sugar). The same information is repeated in small yellow letters at the bottom of the container on various sides in French, English, Italian, Portuguese, and Arabic. American hip-hop has also found a stronghold in Senegal. My cultural guide’s favorite artists were Akon and R. Kelly (Her: “Does he have problems in the US?” Me: “You might say that…”). Elton’s alternates Senegalese elevator music with 50 Cent’s “Candy Shop” and I spent an hour working out in an (un-air conditioned) gym, taking swigs from my massive water bottle while sweating to J. Lo’s “Love Don’t Cost a Thing” and Destiny’s Child “Say My Name!” Finally, I walk right past the Pakistani and Indonesian embassies on my way to and from school each day: the former is a gated compound, but the latter has a beautiful aviary full of Indonesian birds. Dakar is far more cosmopolitan that I could’ve ever imagined and is more so when you consider how many African ethnic groups mingle here (Wolof, Sereer, Pulaar, etc.).

Toubab Dialaw

Last weekend, all of the students in my program, along with the Program Director’s family and the Program Assistant, went to an artist’s village known as Toubab Dialaw. Despite the first part of the name, which refers to a wealthy person usually of European descent, there were plenty of Senegalese frolicking at the beautiful beaches. During my few short weeks in Senegal, I’ve already discovered that the best way to attract local attention is to walk alongside beautiful American women – in this case Kendra and Shelby. We each had to choose an arts and crafts activity from the following: drumming, dancing, batik, or pottery. I hadn’t done pottery since sixth grade so I figured I’d give it a whirl. When we arrived for the “class,” our “instructor” set a lump of clay in front of each of us and said “Create.” Last semester, my art history professor (hi Dr. S!) led a seminar during one of my classes about an elephant tusk carved with images of slavery. In that spirit, I attempted to make one with symbols of the black Diaspora: cotton, sugar cane, the southern United States, the Big Dipper (used to find North), and an angel that was originally meant to be a tree. It didn’t turn out as well as I’d hoped and was more noted for its phallic rather than aesthetic qualities. Just as well, since firing and glazing were evidently not included in the fee – perhaps it is now available in a shabby-chic gift shop?! Bodysurfing was fun – I’d done in the Atlantic in Florida before, but Senegal was far more intense. Perhaps it was because I was in the company of people who had not spent the majority of their lives in land-locked states?! At the end of the day, I felt like Charybdis (sea monster who sucked in the sea and spit it out in “The Odyssey”). After a multicourse dinner (we were all excited to see bite-size food instead of a giant meal before being informed that we were muching on hors d’oeuvres), we watched a nice dancing and drumming show. I say nice though I’m sure it was wonderful only because I was pretty close to falling asleep through most of it, but eventually got to the “I’m too tired to sleep” phase and was fine. Several of us headed to the compound’s bar/club and danced for awhile to some American hip-hop (sidenote: most people now have had at least one Akon song stuck in their head). I woke up on Sunday at 8:30 am before deciding it was too early and passing out again until 11:30 am. My overachiever side felt guilty, but my relaxing tourist side didn’t care. It was raining anyways, so I just read some more of “Moll Flanders” and chatted before lunch. While some of my other friends bodysurfed, I decided NOT to inhale vast amounts of seawater again and wandered along the beach. I did the ultimate romance novel cliché and spread my towel out on the beach and let the waves lap at my feet. Lap they did for two minutes before a large wave soaked my swimsuit, towel, and T-shirt. Not even the sun could dry them in 45 minutes, and I had to stuff/hold damp and sandy things until I returned home. My host mother was not exactly thrilled, but at least Monday was laundry day!

Also, I’m having a bit of trouble uploading pictures to Blogger – any suggestions would be appreciated.

Home

It’s been a full week since I moved into chez Sene. My host family and I are still in the “cultural adjustment” phase. I live with a widow, her live-in maid, the maid’s elementary school – age daughter, and a teenage girl whom I believe is my host sister. The Senegalese are very into greetings: I received a stern warning after failing to use “Bonjour” or “Salaamaalekum!” (Borrowed from Arabic: “May peace be upon you”) when addressing my host mother. They are not, however, overly sharing with personal information such as age or relationships to each other (hence the “believe is my host sister”). When I first moved in, I was introduced to two other women and another little girl who were staying there for awhile. People just wander in during meals and start chatting without revealing their names. This chatting usually takes place in Wolof, so I can understand snippets of verbs and prepositional phrases. All of the billboards, TV programs, church services, etc. are in French, but Wolof is the language of conversation. Thus, the more Wolof I learn, the more responsive my host family becomes (I received a round of applause from the maid’s daughter when I correctly asked her if she had had a good morning). After the first night, all of the CIEE students had a downtown sortie (excursion) where we discovered 1) how large and crazy downtown Dakar is and 2) that all of the host families are addicted to well-dubbed Spanish soap operas such as “La Mujer de Lorenzo” (“Lorenzo’s Wife”). It’s a good way to practice listening comprehension and my host mother will point out gross grammatical errors. Pictures of the physical plant to follow…

Frustration

At first, I didn’t mind that things here moved slower than they did back home. I was the typical Westerner with the romantic notion that Africa would help me to learn patience and not to be so connected. But I’m rapidly entering the hostility phase of my study abroad time after “le voyage de l’enfer” (the trip from hell). I wanted to go with my friends Shelby and Alicia to a bank downtown in order to exchange our traveler’s cheques, which it turns out are NOT accepted everywhere here like the program brochure said they were. We boarded a car rapide (cheap unorganized informal bus system which costs about 100 CFA = $0.20 USD) after the operator assured us he was going downtown. He neglected to mention the long detour to the picturesque village of Ngor – as in the Ngor beach I visited with Shelby and Kalii on Sunday. We decided to disembark and catch a bus, which cost 750 CFA for all three of us – Alicia paid as Shelby and I were short on cash. The bus took us near downtown before it reached the end of its line and pulled into the bus yard. While riding, we had seen a large bank and headed towards it and home. But when we arrived, we saw that the bank was closed due to construction. A nice man selling hats directed us to an ATM, only to find that it was out of order. Exhausted, we decided to walk until we catch a car rapide. Upon entering and looking at the pictures displayed before the driver, I realized that it was the SAME car rapide which we had left two and half hours earlier at Ngor Beach. Thankfully, we were all able to appreciate the irony. I’m typing this post in the school library, which I had been promised was Internet capable with all computers and that cables would be supplied. Guess whose computer didn’t match the cable….

Update: Shelby and I and a classmate named Alix took a taxi downtown on Thursday and were able to exchange traveler’s cheques, buy cell phones, mail postcards and still make it home by lunch. Oh, and that was with being led astray/bullied by some very persistent street vendors.

Reflections Part II

Thursday: Woke up and felt fine for registration – during Survival Wolof felt my gut revolt – entered the “Hostility” stage of cultural adjustment – passed out for a few hours – went back for family orientation – reminded that my family CHOSE to host – willing to accommodate American students – learned I had a widowed host mother and sister who played basketball
Friday: ACI cross-cultural orientation – hiked through developing Dakar to Baobab Centre – had hella cool resource person named Haby – ate large Senegalese meal out of a bowl – Dakarrhea returned – arrived back at Arc-en-ciel to find that Serigne had already packed up most of my baggage! – moved in with host mother Ariene
Saturday: Felt well enough to jog again – went on long walking tour of downtown Dakar for three hours with a nice guide who called me “Stevens” – upon return, scoped out the host mothers of my group members – found out that Kalii and I are “cousins” through our related mothers – came home and passed out – lovely salad dinner – mentioned “digestive issues” to my host mother – broke out the medicine box!!!

Reflections Part I

Disclaimer: The following posts come from a sleep-deprived and disoriented mind.

Monday: Went jogging – got lost in Mermoz area – roommate Dan does not seem like much of a morning person campus is size of a postage stamp – met Serigne the program director – neighborhood sortie – could see which neighborhood I would be living in. awesome tour guide dressed in Chanel saying, “I hate French” and “In America, Time is Money!” – met up with people at the roof party
Tuesday: Security Orientation – scared the CRAP out of me – girls hit by blunt ends of machetes for refusing to surrender their cell phones – Survival Wolof with AWESOME temporary professor – used computer lab to send email to family – French Placement Test – was as always one of the last to finish – didn’t know some things, but felt decently confident – oral test was wonderful, though I messed up “semaine” (week) and “semestre” (semester) and mild hilarity ensued
Wednesday: Medical orientation – learned that I probably won’t get malaria (thanks modern medicine!) – will go through adjustment phase – gender and diversity pretty cool – Mosaic of Diversity sharing (core values: curious, son, faithful, and fit)– gender role worksheet with Senegalese assistance – did US Embassy registration early so as to change traveler’s cheques with Molly and Faith – Molly was in a hurry to go shopping so I couldn’t walk back to find mine – ironically, we ended up waiting over an hour trying to find banks – able to see just how much CFA the US Dollar is worth – couldn’t fall asleep so chatted with Dan

The Journey

Saturday: Arrived at Wichita airport at horrifically early hour and met Kendra, a participant from my school. Flew with her to Chicago, then continued to JFK by myself. Met Isaac and Dan while waiting for flight – scoped out potential classmates.
Saturday night – Sunday morning: Long flight on South African Airlines. Chatted with my seatmate: a nice middle-aged woman from Durban, South Africa returning from a visit to her daughter. Took a few laps to prevent blood clotting. Watched “Paris, Je T’Aime” pour pratiquer mon francais – liked Natalie Portman’s clip, even though it was in English.
Sunday: Arrived at horrifically early hour and managed to meet my fellow CIEE participants on the flight while figuring out how to check in to customs. Was greeted by very perky program assistant Elizabeth on the bus as we watched the scenery fly by – Dakar definitely puts the “development” in developing nation – everything seemed unfinished – was assigned to Arc-en-ciel (Rainbow) dorm with others from SAA flight – ate breakfast and chatted with others – figured out how to use the télécentre with Kalii – went for a cab ride after lunch with her and Shelby to explore downtown – turned out to be an awesome decision – able to see famous Dakar landmarks and how cheap everything is here! - day seemed to last forever!!!

Leaving

I feel like I’ve been saying goodbye for quite a while now. I made the trek to Lawrence the last weekend in July for a send-off from some friends (hi K, K, and T!), and I received a few gag gifts during my “exit interview” from work. But the hardest goodbyes are the ones left unsaid. People have been chatting about all of the exciting things they’ve started doing this semester. When I saw a Facebook photo album from my scholarship hall’s events during Orientation, I almost lost it. I was fine while browsing through photos of the returning residents – and then I saw some photos of the new men. Men that I will be living with when I return – men who have had a semester of the KU experience without me – men who already have begun to construct their collegiate identities. Another benefit of studying abroad spring semester is that I have no say in roommate choice. This actually isn’t a big problem for me. Last year, I decided to go potluck again and thanks to my wonderful proctor ended up with a fun balanced room of freshmen. Here’s hoping…

Identity

I’ve usually defined myself as a scientist, since I’m further along in that track. But a line from my program’s welcoming email caused me to pause. “I know it will be quite humbling to be in the presence of historians, musicians, anthropologists, political scientists, linguists, literary critics, philosophers, and artists, all of whom are globally minded and determined to absorb Senegalese culture.” Hmmm, no science mentioned. In the process of taking Honors Organic Chemistry, I lost most of my scientific confidence before gaining it back with interest. During the losing stage, I had a conversation with my French professor and faculty mentor, who counseled me to stay in science if I wanted to be an African anthropologist. This quote reminded me that my disparate interests do set me apart from the crowd a bit, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing. I’ve just started to focus a bit on the humanities and hopefully this semester will lead me in a new direction.