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.