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.