Oh to Be a Toubab

The life of a Toubab in Senegal must be very similar to the life of celebrity in the US. Walking down the street people shout out your name, they thank you for just stopping to talk with them for a minute, and the even want to have their photo taken with you. Sometimes it\s hard because you want to go somewhere without being recognized but its impossible- I tried taking pointers from the celebs like wearing a hat and big sunglasses but they were no help, the color of my skin is impossible to miss. If I walk around solo, old women start talking with me in Pulaar- they tell me their names and inform me that they can prepare the best rice and fish meal in town, always inviting me to come be the judge at lunch that day. The other day I was in Dolol (a few villages down the river of Bow, the village I'm staying in), I was meeting with Kadtga, the daugter of the Chief of the Village, as she is a prominent woman in Dolol's Women's Organization. Kadtga, and sadly there is no way put this nicely, could possibly be on of the most unattractive women in Senegal (all she's missisng is the ever so common in Senegal lazy eye).  Some people say that beauty is a power that the beholder can use to intimidate and persuade others (and there are those who use it that way), but I've now known for a long time that physical appearance doesn't define a person and the true power that they hold because as well know beauty can fade (and I don't see any of the Senegalese signing up for a facelift anytime soon.  Kadtga happens to be the most influential woman in Dolol, men and women alike listen to her advice and do well to follow it. Anyways, back to my story.... the other day when I was meeting with Kadtga, two other men from another organization came to talk with her. One of the men who couldn't speak any French got a phone call while we were resting, drinking milk, and eating peanuts. Not ten seconds into the phone call was he passing the phone of to me to talk with the man on the other line, some sort of proof that he was really with a Toubab. Then about 20 minutes later he received anoter phonecall and excidedly answered (or what I can assume he said) "i'm with a toubab, here, here she is" and then passed the phone over to me. Both times I answered with a confused "bonjour, ca va?"- I didn't know who these other men were, I didn't even know who the man was handing me over the phone, I was needless to say uneasy and a little creeped out. Sometime in between the two phonecalls, his colleauge asked is he could take picture. Again, I was uneasy but I did not refuse for the sake of not wanting to be rude and who knows maybe I would have to work with him again in the future (I was also meeting with Kadtga representing my organization Ngaari Laaw and I did not want to leave a bad impression). So a Senegalese man now has a lovely picture of me wearing a grey shirt soaked throug with sweat, my nose sunburnt red, and my hair a complete frizzball- if that's not Toubab in Africa, I don't know what is!  After we ate lunch and I prepared to head back to my village, I was sitting down putting everything back into my bag when the man who handed me the phone earlier sat right next to. I was so confused but looked up and surely enough his friend was taking a picture, or proof- I wasn't smiling in that picture, I gave more of a half exasperated you need to not be taking my picture look. But I guess it register because then they switched spots so the other guy could get his proof, too. Right as I was leaving he snapped one more photo of me outside the house. I have run into a lof sticky situations like this, it's hard expressing I don't feel comforatable doing something when other's around me wouldn't understand. Almost every night after dinner, I sit around with a few members of my host family and a few of their friends who pass by. They are always wanting me to get up and danse in front of them and when I do they laugh (not at me but not really with me either). It's like woah Toubab can danse, okay now let's egg her on everytime a new song comes on the radio- at first it was hard to say no because again I didn't want to be rude but now that I'm a little more comfortable with them I just stay seated and do a little jiggy with my legs.
 The other day, there was a bapteme (a big gathering a week after a baby is born) and I arrived about half way through when there was a big circle of people, mostly women, around a guitarist and a few people drumming away on pots and pans. There were a few women dancing with scarves and when I got there I just sidled up to my host mom and aunt. After only being their for two minutes, Kumba Seck (one of my favorite women in town- she is lively, can speak some French, and the first time we met she felt comfortable enough to jiggle my boob and give me an "ohh girrrl" kind of reaction), she pulled me into the center, threw me a scarf and starting teaching me the little dance. Shortly after we finished dansing, she took the opportunity to introduce me to her younger brother and insist we get married. She was completely ready for me except but I replied "mi yiida wonde debbo am" or in English "I don't want to be your wife". As a Toubab, marriage proposals come by the dozen. Right now the village doctor is asking me everytime I see him if I will be his third wife... haaahhaha no (the doctor also snapped a picture of me on his phone). There are always men coming to have dinner at our house and more often then not before they leave for the night, I am asked for my hand in marriage. The boy that drives the transport from Bow to Matam is always asking if I reconsidered his marriage proposal from the first time I took his mini-bus. My coordinator and I now have a runnning joke, everytime someone asks me to be their wife I tell them I want 400 cows, not 399 not 401, I want 400. In the villages in Africa, cows are very much a sign of wealth- the more cows you have the wealthy you are. Oumar tells me that no one will ever have 400 cows, so I don't have to worry, it's a sure thing no man will have 400 but I am waiting for the day when jokingly I reply to a proposal "How many cows do you have? I want 400" and the man truthfully responds 400. YIKES! I'm keeping my fingers crossed, and you should too mom, that this never happens.

Life in the Village

I am officially living in Africa Africa. My life in Dakar hardly counts compared my life in Bow, a small village 27km outside of Matam (which is a full day's drive outside of Dakar- up to Saint-Louis and east along the Senegelese River). Where in Dakar I had a bed, I now have a mattress pad on the floor with a hard as rock pillow. I wake up bright and early every morning to the cock-a-doodle-do of roosters and the children getting ready to go to school. In Dakar, I lived with a family of 5 and 2 of their relatives- in Bow, I live my host family  and almost all of their relatives. There is my host dad and mom (Oumar and Hule), 2 of Oumar's son's from his first marriage (Muhamed and Papa), Oumar's parents (neene and baaba), Oumar's sister (Ndiaya) and her children (I think she has 4 but I'm not quite sure exactly which children are hers), Oumar's sister-in-law (Hawa), and on the weekends another one of Oumar's younger sisters comes back to stay while she is not in school. On top of all these family members, throughout the day there are a number of people who come to eat meals and rest under the shade, aswell as the 4 men who come everyday to work on the house Oumar is building. Instead of a small TV, there is radio that broadcasts in Pulaar (the native language) and the use of my laptop and internet is limited to when I travel out of Bow to Matam (a 27km/16 mi road that in a developed country might take a bus 25 minutes but here takes almost an hour). The daily 2-3 electricity shortages has now develped into no electricity 24/7, except for the nightly TV watching at the neighbors (a time I can also use to charge my cell phone. The TV, I found out the other day, is actually run off the battery of a car that is hooked up to an electrical outlet which allows the children and teenager alike to gather every night and watch either American action films that have Spanish subtitles or Indian soap operas dubbed in French- I can't tell which they prefer yet: not being able to understand one words and seeing lots of good guys vs. bad guys chase after eachother with guns or being able to understand the horrid excuse for a TV show. In place of my toilet and shower are an outhouse and a bucket of water with a bar of soap. Over the past week I've actually come to enjoy the time I spend with a cup, spooning water out of the bucket, scrubbing the day's accumilated dirt off my body. Having to squat everytime I have to pee or worse is better that the harsher reality that my left hand has taken up the post of permanent asswipper as toilet paper is in no way an option when there is no flushing toilets.... I'll let that one soak in a bit for you as it took some time for me to embrace this aswell- you can even re-read the last sentence if you don't believe it's true.
  The first few days of all the changes were difficult- my mind actually tried fighting my body and it took me four days before I could actually take a poop (sorry if you don't like potty talk but this is part of my experience that must be shared). Now, I have become accustomed, not yet fully adapted, to life in the village. There is always people around and something to do. I have gone to the river, which Bow borders, to swim and help my host aunt and cousin do my laundry. It's just like you'd imagine, women of the village come to the river and do their laundry topless while the children (under 5) run around and play naked. One major cultural difference is that women's breasts are not some hidden secret only to be discovered in Rated R movies or when you get to 2nd base. Boobs are everywhere because they don't have a sexual connotation. They are not for play, they are for nursing your child (which they do from infancy until age 2). If the child is hungry, no matter the place or the company, the baby feeder is pulled out. I have yet to go topless at the river because I don't know how they would react to Toubab half-nakedness. I have also gone to the garden with neene a few times and picked the wild fruit along the way. It is the garder where I will be commencing my first project. The garden is run and kept by the women's organization of Bow and it is my first mission to help them improve how they govern and utilize the organization, to hopefully make it run so that the women can receive the maximum benefits a well organized group can produce. My project, however, has already come across a speed-bump: communication. The language barrier has hit its peek because the women don't speak French and my Pulaar is so minimal right now. I am hoping that sometime this week and can get someone to help me translate so I can interview the president of the organization and potentially a few members.
  In other news, sadly, to all those who advised me to go on a safari while I am here, it's not possible- there are no giraffes or lions for miles and miles. I have, however, traversed the desert in a large vehicle possibly similar to one taken for a safari and from what I have watched of Planet Earth, I can use my imagination to fill in the blanks! Until the next time I have internet sehil-am (my friends in Pulaar).

World Social Forum

Since this is the first time I've been able to use Internet for any extended amout of time (1 hour), I have so much to catch you up on. Although in my last post I thought I was leaving last Sunday for Matam, I ended up not leaving until Thursday (c'est l'Afrique, non?). But those extra days spent in Dakar were jammed packed with the excitement and events of the World Social Forum (). It started last Sunday with the opening parade through downtown Dakar and l'Université à Dakar. All of the orgnizations, most of which were NGOs, marched the streets holding banners sporting which human rights issue they were fighting for, among them organizations for women's empowerment, for improvement of the lives of the handicapped, for HIV/AIDS awareness, for the betterment of Africain scool systems, for African conflict resolution, just to name a few. Organizations came from all over the world: Senegal, Mali, Mauritania, Cote d'Ivoire, France, Germany, the United States, Vietnam, China, and many more. At the end of the parade was a concert featuring two modern African musicians followed by a panel of enthused activists who gave their take on the world's current issues such as those in Egypt- some of what they had to say was a little extreme for me and I didn't like how they refered to Americans as all being capitalist and the negativity used towards the "Jews" occupying Palestine- but besides that I felt like I was back in the time of the 60s surrounded by others who are fighting for peace amongst all. In fact, the tagline for the World Social Forum was "Another World is Possible". If I had any doubts that fighting for the rights of others and a peaceful world for all was what I was put on this earth to do, being amongst thousands of others who have dedicated their lives towards making anoter world possible for all human beings has completely erased all those doubts.  The next day after the parade, the university was filled with stands each organization set up where you could learn each's mission, what they've accomplished, and what struggles they're having accomplishing their new tasks at hand. My favorite was walking up to a tent of women, from a variety of countries, giving their take on the women's issues that face Senegal and the rest of Africa. The entire discussion took place in French-as did all the other panels, round tables and workshops throughout the week- and while I could understand most of the aruement being made, when I couldn't I would imagine myself sitting in the exact same spot a few years down the road with a few more nothches in my education and experience belt being able to raise my hand and give my stance (all in French, naturally) on the matter at hand. Tuesday and Wednesday followed with not as much excitement as the first two days- I sat in on two panels that were given by the larger organization that Ngaari Laaw (the NGO in which I am interning) is a part of. The larger organization works to improve the non-formal education in Senegal and Mali. The panels allowed me to really pick up on the difficulties of one: pulling a country together to agree on something and two: why it is so hard in Senegal and many other African countries that were at one time colonized by Europeans to reach an outcome that all in the agree upon. When Europeans came in and colonized larger parts of Africa and constructed borders to establish what land belonged in their new country, they didn't take into account that the people were seperated already by their ethnicities. Take for example Senegal, colonized by the French. The country of Senegal is home to three main ethnicities who all speak a different language and they remain seperated like so even after years of being considered the same country. One of the problems my organization works to better is the literacy rates but how can you improve the literacy rates of a country whose people don't speak the same language.... it makes it very difficult. French is the official language but only those who have gone to school can speak it, meaning that the number of women who speak French is very minimal. This poses a critical problem for me. My first project is to work improving some of the women's  organizations in the villages surrounding Matam. I've begun work with organization in the village I am staying. Right now I can only observe, however, seeing as the women's French in the villages is mostly limited to "Bonjour, comment vas tu?". Pulaar being their first language (and now my 3rd), has made trying to communicate very difficult. I must have with me always my host brother or sister to translate. I hope that as my Pulaar improves, I can start interviewing soon- I might have to rely on my hand gestures and little drawing skills!

Making Changes

I know its been a week and I apologize, with work picking up mixed with bad timing for electricity cut-outs it's been difficult. I also know it's been awhile since I just wrote about what's going on with my life, I've been sticking to digesting the culture and politics. But it's time for a change because my life is about to do another 180. Although life in a developing country has taken some major adjusting and I've had plenty of moments where I second guess why the hell I chose to come here instead of somewhere a little more glamourous, after exactly one month of being here in Dakar the fact is I've found my groove. I have made friends (Paulette and Bira), I take dance classes with two awesome girls (Awa and Faly), my host mom (Hawa) and I have a connection (even though our conversation is limited due to some major language barrier, there is a sense of understanding, friendship, and protection we share for each other), I've finally mastered the bus system (well, almost) so I don't have to rely on taxis, and I can finally hold decent conversations in French (as long as the person I'm conversing with is patient). Along with the day-to-day life, Dakar also has it's share of tourist options which are nice escapes on the weekends and also allow me to see fellow toubabs.  I've visited Ile de Ngor a few times which is my favorite!  It's a great place to pass the day relaxing on the beach where surprisingly you can get a plate to Thieboudienne for just $2! Last weekend I visited La Maison des Esclaves which is where the West Africans were kept before they were shipped to the United States, sometimes staying in the cramped quarters waiting for up to 3 months. It was separated by designated rooms, one for each men, women, children, young girls, and even smaller one for those who would not comply (can you blame them?).  I also spent sometime one day in the centre-ville which is downtown Dakar. SO AWESOME! I love the hustle and bustle of a big city and for the first time I really saw diversity. Most places where I see other toubabs are tourist hot spots but centre-ville is mixed with many foreigners who work and live there. I've always felt that diversity is key- a combination of races, nationalities, religions, clothing styles, and food- in most Senegal, diversity is very very rare. And I'm about to be exposed to an town where the only non-Senegalese are other interns/peace corps workers like myself.
  When I had planned my trip/intership, I was supposed to be in Dakar for only two weeks to take a language intensive class and then leave for Matam where my internship takes place. However, due to the difficulty of traveling from town to town here, I have had to wait in Dakar for an extra two weeks- allowing me to visit awesome sites, improve my French, grow close with my host family here, and make friends. Now on Sunday I will be parting ways with Dakar and moving my suitcases to Matam but the thing is I didn't think it would be this hard to say goodbye to Dakar after only being here for a month. I've grown attached to the beaches, the buses, my fruit stand vendor, and most of all the few people I've had the pleasure of  spending my time with.
  I have to keep in mind the purpose of my trip- to improve the lives of those living in the rural Fouta region (where Matam is located). My boss man person arrived in Dakar yesterday so that we could travel to Matam together on Sunday and he asked what my goals were that I wanted to accomplish with my internship. I replied with something of the likes to I want to understand what it takes for a small non-profit organization to run, how it operates, how it raises funds- I want to help with the projects that Ngaari Laaw is working on- I want to know if working with a small non-profit is what I want to do with the rest of my life, figure out what I want to do after I graduate- I want to improve the lives of the women I will be working with by bringing them awareness (I also mentioned trying to empower them- but this idea was quickly shot down). My answer was "unacceptable" he said "I want to know what you want to accomplish, what you are telling me is some sort of vision, you are to broad". So my assignment was to come up with real goals by Saturday that I could share with him and two of the other men who will try and help me accomplish my goals best possible. I really respect that he wants to hear what I want to do here and that I am not just here for him to tell me what to do and use as an assistant.  My original thoughts of empowering these women and showing them that there is more for a woman to do with her life than clean, cook, and raise children Ouman explained was out of the question and I can actually see why- although that doesn't mean that in my spare time I won't try to give them a voice, even if its just a little. Oumar explained that it is so engrained in there traditions that men go out and work and bring in the income and the woman is in turn provided for and has time to do all the house chores. In such a region as Fouta the people are not looking to be liberated from their way of living, they are looking for ways to improve upon that way. It means that I will not be informing these women that an education is important so you can work and provide for yourself, it means helping them start a plantation or making them aware of different forms of birth control to prevent HIV/AIDS- simpler things that will change the quality of the life that they are already living. Now that I have a better understanding of what I can achieve here my goals have become more simplistic yet at the same time much more effective. This is truly the experience I have been needing to realize that making a difference doesn't necessarily mean uprooting long standing traditions or battling corrupt politics, those things take years and years and since I am only here for four and a half more months, I'll be making a difference on a level that I can accomplish and probably be able to accomplish much more on a day-to-day basis.  Maybe one day I'll be able to change the grander scheme of things but for my time here I'll be helping with the smaller things which is A-O-K by me :)

No Homo

I've been thinking about this post since before my arrival and I picked today to finally post it given the recent event in Uganda.  For those who don't know, Uganda gay rights activist David Kato was beaten to death yesterday January 26th.  In Uganda, homosexual acts are illegal and can be punishable with up to 14 years in prison- there have even those been pushing for death sentences in some cases.  In Senegal, same-sex sexual activity is illegal meaning not only is it illegal to marry your partner or have a recognized union (what many states are fighting for in the US) but even voicing that you are homosexual could be punishable. In February of 2008, 5 men were arrested following the publication of photos that seemed to be depicting a wedding ceremony between two men. Then in January of 2009, 9 men were arrested and sentenced to 8 years in jail. They were charged with two things. The first being conspiracy. Among the arrested was a man who runs an organization that provides condoms and counseling for the extremely underground gay community of Senegal.
 Because Senegal is mostly Muslim, it is believed by most that homosexuality doesn't even exist which is why it is not uncommon to see to guys who are friends holding hands walking down the street. This is where I get confused, being gay: illegal, gay activity: illegal, so naturally boys and girls alike would choose to hold hands in public??   Today my friend Paulette and I spent the day walking around, making our way to the zoo and back. She held my hand countless numbers of times whether it was to pull me out of the way of a car rapide or just because. It's one of those personal bubble barriers I'll have to break down seeing as I don't normalllly hold hands with too many in the states.  Even when locking arms with my girlfriends, we tend not to make it very far arm in arm- for some reason walking with two hands freely has always been more comfortable.
  Sadly, anti-gay sentiment has been on the rise in Africa over the last few years. Multiple governments across the continent have been pushing for harsher punishments against homosexuals and their activity. Gambia's president even taking it as far as to say that he would behead any homosexuals found in his country- I believe that this one sentence speaks to just how much unwesternized Africa truly is (beheading?? really?? how 18th century of them). It's one thing to  read about it in books but living among it is completely different.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-12295718
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/01/09/world/africa/09senegal.html

Clair Voyante

While sitting with Hawa and a couple friends in the downstairs salon (the room with couches and coffeetable), a lady barges and makes her arrival well known. I assumed she was another one of Hawa's friends because in Senegal it seems that you give the same greeting to an old friend as to a stranger most of the time. After greeting all in the room, she comes over to me and asks to see my hands. A palm reading! I've never really had one- I don't count the ones where I look at a guide and try to navigate my life and love lines. She starts speaking in Wolof, so basically jibberish to me, and I can't tell what my reaction should be to what she's saying because she really wasn't giving me anything to go off of, no smiling or no looks of pity. I just kind of sat there and smiled and nodded my head- as I usually do when someone speaks to me in Wolof- for all I know she could have been telling me that I was going to die by the time I hit 32. I did pick up on one thing and had it something to do with finding a husband but weather it was the fact that I'll never find one or I'll leave Senegal with 5, I couldn't tell. It sounded like she was saying that if I wanted a husband right now, I could find one. I was like ummm this isn't news to me, do you know how many marriage proposals I've had in the last 3 weeks??
  Well I had my friend Paulette translate into French what the seer told me and it goes a little something like this (Pretend this is the voyante speaking):  "You are pure and travel down a good road. If you continue like this you will be better that a lot of others. You must go out and give to the beggar children 7 candles, 7 morsels of sugar, and 7 pieces of white paper. After you have done that (she looked down at my palms again, and continued...) you will have a good job and a good husband who will have a lot of money. And after you find your husband you will send me 5,000 Fcfa (equivalent of $10)."  She went on to tell me that I also resembled her son's wife who lives in Italy and that she loves me.
 After Paulette had finished helping understand what the seer had said I asker Paulette if she believe that what the seer said is true and if what she said could actually happen. She told me that as a part of their culture they believe that certain people do have the power to see into the future and that she believes if I accomplish my alms giving to the beggar children my future that has been predicted will actually come to pass. Woot woot rich husband here I come?!

Believe Me, Je Ne Suis Pas Fatigue

On Sunday, Hawa took me to her mother's "house". Hawa had warned me that her mother lived in a very, very poor area outside of our neighborhood and when you are already living in a neighborhood that doesn't strike you as being that well off, it's hard to imagine that it can get worse. Well it can. Hawa's mother lives in what would be considered the ghetto of Dakar. Now, in the US when we here ghetto we think bums on the side of the road who have piss stains on their clothes who probably haven't been sober since they dropped out of high school or streets scattered with gang members with their gats in the back of their pants ready to bust a nut when territory is crossed or hookers and drug dealers alike shacked up in dumpy old motels or probably some combination of all of that. Well Senegal is a peaceful place so their ghettos are not scattered with the likes of such things that cause us to immediately feel unsafe like if we make a wrong turn our could be at stake. The slums of Dakar I actually found to be more calming than the neighborhood I am in which is constantly in motion with loud speakers leading people in prayer and children screaming. The houses-more like single rooms attached to an open patio- are fairly run down and a little more spread out. When we got out of our car rapide (yes! I finally got to ride in one!) we walked about 7 minutes until we arrived at Hawa's mother's.
  When we first got there, we sat outside for bit, Hawa trying to make me sit in one of the two chairs that her mother had but in I have always felt is more custom to let your elders sit in the chairs even if you are a guest. So I took up a spot on the floor mat and they Hawa, Dieynaba, and Hawa's mother all looked at me like I was crazy for sitting on the floor and offering my chair to Hawa's mother instead. Always being offered a seat is another thing that makes me feel uncomfortable here. But what really did it on Sunday when a group of four girls kept hiding behind a corner, peeking around and laughing. This more than anything makes me feel incredibly uncomfortable, like I am a monkey at the zoo or something.  They continued this for the entirety of our stay there. God there was one girl inparticular who could just not get enough- she would walk by and I would say bonjour and she'd just start laughing. It was like c'mon girlfriend is this really still amusing after the 12th time?? Oh the woes of being a Toubab.
  When we had first arrived at Hawa's mother's, there was a boy around my age making a cage like thing to keep their family sheep (everyone here has sheep-they are everywhere!). He had been working on it for over an hour and a half when it was time to eat lunch. We all went inside, ate a platter of Thieboudienne, me having say "mi haarii" multiple times before they excepted I couldn't eat anymore.  After we finished eating lunch inside, we went back outside. I was feeling pretty lame just sitting there not being able to take part in conversation since it was all in Wolof, so I decided to get up and help the kid make the den for the sheep. The women looked at me like I was possessed, "Allison, tu es fatigue, tu es fatigue" ( you are tired)- which I was definitely not, all I had done all day was sit there. So I helped him out for a bit and when we finished we started kicking around and empty 2 liter sprite bottle- playing a little football (soccer). This really took the women by surprise! I'd been playing for just over a minute and Hawa was calling to me "tu es fatigue", I assured her that after a minute of playing "je ne suis pas fatigue" (I am not tired!).  After playing for five minutes, she repeated "tu es fatigue", even though I was not I sat down just to appease her. I was stoked to hear that in a few minutes, this boy (Amidou I think is his nam) was going to take me Dieynaba and le petit Abda to the beach!
  The beach was about a five minute walk, though a little forest and a walk way filled with garbage (I have been waiting to do a post about the garbage situation here- it'll come soon so i'll spare the trash talk for now). Le mer was absolutely gorgeous!! Unfortunately it is too dangerous to swim in, apparently there is a crazy strong under toe. The beaches of Dakar are a hot spot for lutteurs to get in shape. Lutteurs are wrestlers and aside from football (soccer), la lutte (wrestling) is the most popular sport to watch. It's not like WWE and there are no Hulk Hogans walking around with colorful bandanas and tight undie like garments. The wrestling is more traditional, however, a few years ago they made boxing moves legal in a separate la lutte league. The wrestlers who win matches have a good chance at making a lot of money and those are the wrestlers who hold celebrity status here. The other night I even caught a bit of a reality TV show that follows one of the more popular lutteurs around! Who would have thought, firstly that there'd be reality TV show here and secondly that that they would follow wrestlers?! Anyways, it was funny watching them in training all along the beach and since we couldn't swim, we decided to join in, poking fun at their exercises only a bit ;). I decided to take that opportunity to get some of my first exercise in sic arriving. I started jogging up the shore, Amidou (or at least I'm pretty sure that's his name) following. He kept saying lets head back "tu es fatigue?" but I kept going. I'm guessing that the women here don't do much physical activity, judging not only by everyone continuously asking me if I'm tired after barely exerting energy but also by the fact that I've never seen a girl, not once, out playing football in the many, many football field they have here that are always being played on.  I hope that by my being here and continuously telling people "Je ne suis pas fatigue" that the men and women alike who are able to witness my assertion of energy will realize that women can do more than cook and clean but can also play sports and jog- that being born a woman does not mean that I am confined to housework, it's not written in my XX chromosomes.

Spreading Dough: One Thing I Can Definitely Do

  Living with a family other than your own is always difficult. Each family has its own dynamic and way of operating. When you are living with a family who operates using an entirely different language, it takes even more adjusting. I'm not asking the family to speak English, that's not why I went abroad, but using French for the majority of the time would be nice. However, Abou (the father) is the only one who speaks fluent French in the house, Dieynaba (the 11-year-old) is on my same level of French so were are able to communicate but it hasn't helped with trying to improve my language and Hawa (the mama of the house) speaks very little French, so most of our communicating is done through hand gestures and the repetitive "tu cromprends?" ("do you understand") and after awhile our messages are translated and received. It is Hawa, though, who I spend most of my time with. This past weekend, she took me under her wing and the two of us were able to grow closer. On Saturday, she took me to her friends house, who I'm pretty sure is blood related somehow but who really knows. Later that evening, there was some sort of celebration at the house so before hand a group of about four women and their daughters all congregated to do the cooking.
  When we first arrived at the house, we sat down for a shared Thieboudienne lunch- the women eating around one platter, the men around another. After we were all "haarii" ("full"in Pulaar- I can now say I'm full in 4 languages-necessary here otherwise they keep telling you to eat and eat and eat), the women, including myself, went up to the roof to begin cooking. There was a large bowl filled with dough that had been made the night before and a couple of the women started pulling it out and kneading it. At this point, I hadn't joined in. Being a visitor and being a white American on top of that, nobody here really expects you to help out- more out of politeness than anything, like  "you are our guest please sit on this stool and enjoy yourself". But I always feel so uncomfortable when the treat me like this. I like to be in the middle of things, helping out, contributing if I can, I don't like to sit back and watch everybody else around me work or more that while I'm here I don't feel as if I should have this special treatment. So once the kneading was done, some of the girls starting rolling the dough into little balls to then be flattened out to make a cocoon for a meat/spice mixture. Now this is something I knew how to do and knew that if I chimed into help I wouldn't need much instruction. It was just like making Pastitsies (Senegalese style)!! So I picked up a tin cooking sheet and asked Hawa for some dough that I could start spreading. At first, Hawa just looked at me like- you don't have to help, we can handle it, go back to reading your book. But I insisted- I was bored trying to read and I didn't want to feel like such an outsider not helping out.
  When I started with my first pieces of dough, I noticed that one at a time the women would kind of glance over making sure that I was doing it right. They would keep trying to correct me or give me instruction but if there is one thing my Maltese heritage has given me, it's the ability to spread dough! It's funny because I think I've said it before but whenever a Toubab can accomplish something, be it a dance move, a native greeting, or even making food that the Senegalese do, they are always so surprised. At the same time that it's like "what because I'm white you don't think I can do such and such", it's also a way to gain acceptance. When a Toubab can prove them wrong, instead of holding it against you, they really appreciate it.

The Economics of Polygamy

The average household income in Dakar, Senegal is 1,940,286 cfa (the equivalent of about $4,000 US) compared to the average $52,000 per household in the US. In the US, it is more common than not that both man and woman of the house contribute to the family income. In Dakar and the rest of Senegal, the man works and the woman stays home to do the cooking, cleaning, and looking after of children- a woman might work from time to time but it is a bit of a rarity and often means that she does not yet have a husband. In the US, it is illegal and considered a felony to be married to more than one person (husband or wife).  However, in cities like Colorado City, Arizona and Hildale, Utah and many other cities in Utah, polygamy is still practiced as part of the Mormon Church religion.  The reason why these polygamist marriages are able to continue, even though punishable by law, is that they only register for a marriage license for their first marriage.  Being a Muslim man in Senegal, you can have a maximum of four wives, legally. This means that among your wives and the children you have with each (usually 1-3 children per wife has been what I've seen), you must share your income, in comparison to the US where you have family of 3-6 . I was talking with Abda about polygamy and I asked him if he would take more than one wife. His response was purely economical "I'll just take one wife so that my children can have more inheritance when I die". Nice. Not out of respect for a woman or breaking tradition to be a little more westernized, just thinking about the finances of it all... and I don't half blame him. When you have to share an already small income among more than one family, it means that each family gets less than maybe they deserve. With one wife, one family, there is more to go around, leading to better opportunities for the children. One of the reasons why education levels are so low here in Senegal and most other third world countries is that the children have to start working at younger ages to contribute to the family income.  This prevents them from finishing their education and possibly being able to then go on to make more money than their father and so on.   I can't help but think that if each man were limited to one wife, the education levels might be higher and advancement in society as a whole might be easier.

Give You My What?

Being white here is not only uncomfortable because everyone stares at you, that I've actually gotten used to. Being white comes with the association of having money and it is that association that has caused me the most discomfort. My host family in Dakar has a distant family member, Mansous, the brother of someone's mother's someone, and I'd place him at about 25 maybe 27 tops. Today, after dinner my host mom, Hawa, Mansous, and I were sitting around chatting and by chatting I mean Hawa and Mansous speaking in Wolof to each other and Mansous occasionally trying to speak to me in French. That's the thing even though almost everybody here speaks French, everybody prefers speaking in Wolof, leaving me out of most conversations. Anyways, Hawa was trying to have Mansous translate something she wanted me to know. She wanted to tell me about her friend Wilma from Holland who came to visit 10 years ago and after she left she sent a chunk of money to Hawa. Now, the money wasn't for Hawa, it was the people in her mother's neighborhood who are very very poor. Hawa then went on to ask me for my support in helping her help the poor. I tried telling her that I don't have a lot of money but I don't know if she understood.  After this exchange, Mansous asked me if I had and iPod. In hindsight, I should have just said "no" but I responded "yes". He asked me if could give it to him. He asked me to him my iPod. He asked me to give the one thing that I truly treasure. I have many possessions that I would be more than willing to share, give up, or leave in Africa but my iPod? For those who don't know, two months ago my iPod erased allll of my music, I shed actual tears. Thats is how important my collection of music is to me, it's not the actual player, it's what's on it.  When I conveyed its importance he said that that way okay but then asked if I could send him one when I got back to my country. Hawa and Mansous don't seem to understand that I am a 20 year old student who is here working for without pay- I'm actually paying to work here- who just got finished paying off a few tickets to the states of California and Oregon. I am not by any means a well established woman who has extra cash floating around to be able to provide them with what they are asking for.  It's hard telling them that I don't have that kind of money but it's the truth and when they ask me for such things I get put in such a sticky spot between yes I would love to help you and I'm sorry but just because I'm not from Senegal does not mean that have endless piles of loot laying around. I hope to be in a place where one day I can give back but for now, the color of my skin is not green.

As Simple as a Tangerine

  On Saturday, Tom and I went back to the pottery. This time we brought with us the children of the family that we are staying with. The usual crowd was there, a handful of deaf children, ranging ages 4-13 if I had to guess, and my new favorite person, Boubacar. Boubacar is deaf and probably in his early 30s, he's engaged to be married this weekend, and he has taken me under his wing both times that have been to the pottery. If he is working on a project, he lets me help him make it, showing me carefully with patience how to construct jewelry holders or put add a molded frog to the lid of a bowl. On Saturday, I was mainly working on the frog piece but pottery isn't the only activity I took part in while we were there.
  When we were washing up after finishing our Thieboudin for lunch, one of the smaller kids was swinging around on a pole. I decided to join him and make a little game of it, something like tag but while swinging around a pole- I went a little easy on him ; ). To my surprise three of the other kids joined in and in just a few short seconds, five of us were chasing each other around this pole while still holding on with one hand.  After that one of the boys showed us how he could do the splits and to his surprise I got down and did them as well. That's one thing that always seems to amaze people of any age here, when a Tubaab can do the same thing as a Senegalese person. We moved on to sharing some of our favorite dance moves with each other, the coffee grinder being one we had in common.
  My favorite part of our time at the pottery came next. There is a small tangerine tree in the back yard of the pottery, the kids pointed at me and then at the tree motioning for me to pick a few of the tangerines from the tree. One of the boys wanted to show me how he could juggle and the daughter of the family I am staying with, Jaineba, gave it a shot as well. I am going to take a second to talk about Jaineba because she is definitely worthy of that and more. When I first met Jaineba, she didn't say much, all I knew was that she walked with a strut and had some sass in her tone when ever commanding her brother, le petit Abda. For an eleven year old, she has quite an air about her.  For the first time at that pottery on Saturday, we connected.  I think because it was the first time that I had seen her act like an eleven year old, playing with friends, and for her it was the first time she saw me act like an eleven year old as well.  I have always loved being around children but a lot of times they can be intimidated or put a front when someone a bit older, like myself, is around- especially because I'm not quite yet an adult in their but I'm also not a child. Anyways, back to the tangerines. Those small pieces of fruit provided our entertainment for close to an hour. At one point we formed a circle with about five of us and were passing of few of them around, sometimes in order but mostly trying to catch someone off guard. I was having such a blast and it looked like they were enjoying themselves just as much, if not more.
  For these children, amusement is not a video game or playing dress up with Barbie dolls, it's more simple- it has to be more simple.  There is definitely not enough money here for kids to have such toys, even a nice football is hard to come by even though the sport is extremely popular here (and by football I don't mean the type the Ducks are going to kick ass in tonight but the kind that the rest of the world plays, what we like to call soccer for some reason). Amusement comes from making a game out of running around a pole or from picking tangerines from a tree in the backyard to juggle with, play catch, or kick around like a football.

La Calypso

Do you like a 10:1 guy to girl ratio? Do you like drinking soda? Do you like looking at yourself in mirror while you do your sexy dance? Then La Calypso is the club for you! I was not ready for any element of the going out experience in Dakar. First off, not one of my advisors I have had throughout my planning said anything about there being a club scene here, meaning all I packed were casual day clothes. You would think I could pull something together to resemble what one would think a Saturday night outfit would be in Dakar (and I kind of did-turned a skirt into a strapless flowy top and put black pants on underneath) but  in no way did I slightly fit in, at least not at first.  When we arrived at La Calypso, pretty much every other young woman was scantily dressed- short tight dresses or short shorts paired with a low cut top. I was so confused, Senegal in my eyes was supposed to come hand in hand with modesty. These girls were anything but. When we entered the club, we found a booth and ordered some drinks. I was the only one out of a group of six of us to order a beer. Now you might be thinking they ordered mixed drinks or even shots and I was just safeguarding my wallet with a beer but they all ordered sodas! Sprite, Fanta and Coca for all! I was so confused and I felt like such an alky but to each his own and mine was Flag.
  Tom had warned me before we got to La Calypso that most people just danced in front of the mirror checking themselves out the entire time, apparently vanity is not a crime here. While we were sitting in our booth, sapping on our drinks, I was able to witness the mirror dances. I was half surprised Billy Idol's "Dancing With Myself" never got played while we were there. On that note, the music that is played at La Calypso is great- if you like old school 50 Cent, Ludacris circa 2004, Rihanna's first hits, or even Justin Bieber. At least the DJ mixed these pop hits with some bumpin' beats or else I don't know how the rest of the night would have gone.
 As people started filtering in and the energy in the club raised as people drank more soda, the dance floor was starting to fill up- my queue to get out of the booth and show the Senegalese some of my sweet dance moves. I think at first the others were thrown off to see a Toubab dancing and if I may so myself, probably not like they've seen any other Toubab dance before.  Two of the girls even taught me a popular dance here that consists of popping one hip up and down while first holding up your right hand close to your face and flipping your wrist with an open hand then switching to the left. The move even has a fun little chant you sing when you do it, "Yousa, Yousa. Yousa, Yousa." At one point when I pulled out this dance move two beautiful girls with shaved heads came over and joined in. Then the music really picked up and it was like they were challenging me to a dance off. In my head I said "BRING IT" and started doing some wild moves. The highlight of my night was when they started laughing with me and giving me high fives. I knew if there was one place in Dakar I would find myself being able to be completely free in the first week, it was on a dance floor.

Chez Joe

On Friday, Tom and I also went out to lunch since we were not close to the appartment. We went to this little place close to the Baobab Center where I will be taking Pulaar classes. Tom informed me that if I ever miss American food, this was the place to go for a good hamburger. Tom had it in his place that the hamburger joint was called Pinky's and as we walked up we realized it was completely empty, looking as if it had been shut down for awhile. As we kept walking, we found it! Chez Joe! In English, meaning Joe's, a stereotypical name for a diner. They even tried to replicate the decor inside, complete with white and red checkered tiling on the walls. After we ordered and they brought out our burgers, what a surprise to find french fries were INSIDE the burger! So typical Senegal.

Ta-Tas... A Whole New Meaning

In Dakar there are many forms of transportation. So far, I've been limited to taxis and walking. However, on Friday, when Tom, Bira, Bira's friend Mami, and I decided to go to Ile de Ngor, they all wanted to take a taxi but I suggested saving some money and taking a car rapide. These colorful short buses have been calling my name, they just look like such an authentic experience. So we all agreed to wait to wait for a car rapide. The funny thing about the public transportation, at least the car rapides, is that there is not a specific spot or station to be picked up at, you kind of just wait on the side of the road and then flag one down when you see one going the direction you want to go. Car rapides add a lot to the madness of the streets because if one is flagged down it just pulls over immediately and stops even if there are cars and taxis driving where they need to stop. Unfortunately, my first car rapide experience has still yet to happen. A white short bus showed up instead but don't get me wrong it was still quite the experience! As it was pulling up, I asked The bus has two ways to get on and off with one door that is the main entrance where you pay like most buses in the US. However, the main entrance is in the back of the bus through two larger swinging doors that have the fare collector hanging off the ladder connected to one of the doors. You have to rush in because the bus driver will only stop for a minute or so, not really checking to make sure that everyone who wanted to get on has done so. Once inside I realized that I was in for a wild ride. At first, all of the seats on the bus were taken, it even looked like people were sharing the end of a seat so that they could half sit in the aisle. Because there were no seats available, we stood in an area in the back where you have to hold onto the roof for dear life once the bus is in motion. That area was even too full, so Bira joined the money collector and held on to the ladder outside. Oh yeah, one of the back door is always open so people can get on in a rush, so I had to worry not only about falling all over the people surrounding me but also about flying out the back! Then once the bus started clearing a bit, I realized that people I thought were pulling a sharesies to be able to sit were actually sitting on the little chairs in the aisle that folded up and to the side so that people could walk past and fill the front of the bus  but then sit down. That's one thing I've noticed about the people of Dakar, it seems that they use every bit of everything like in the bus- why waste precious aisle space when someone could be sitting there? As I made way up to the front I spotted some very shiny colorful decorations, I told Mami (in French) that in America you'd never see such a thing and she informed me that they were to decorate for Noel (Christmas in French). If there is one thing I never thought would be all over Dakar, it would be Christmas decorations but quite a few places here went all out in decorations. Even last night, on our way into downtown Dakar, the streets were lined with an extremely beautiful light display that traveled about six blocks. Anyways, when we got out of the bus I asked Bira what the name of the bus was since it wasn't called a car rapide and it wasn't as big as the other buses that I had seen bumming around town. His response "Tata" and he couldn't understand why I started to laugh. hahahaha

The Not So Pink Lake

Jet-lag has still got the best of me but this morning I forced myself to get up a little earlier wanting to be able to get the most out of the day.  Tom called me out of my room for breakfast and today with our baguette instead of fluorescent red sausage we had canned chicken, basically SPAM! Vera Forman, Bobby Warren and my dad would be extremely pleased to know that I went ahead and put two sizable slices in between my bread and swallowed down the whole thing.  It's funny because back home it is so easy to pass over a meal or part of a meal that does not seem appealing but here I eat everything that is placed in front of me. I don't know if it's more because I feel rude for not giving their foreign foods a chance or because I would feel ignorant for not eating the food they give me when I know that they don't always have food available to them. Food for many here is a luxury, Abda was telling me that there are plenty of people here in his neighborhood who will go two days without eating. It's unbelievable that at home, in Arizona and in Eugene, there is almost always food yet sometimes I open the cabinets and refrigerator and find "nothing" to eat. Here, the refrigerator holds butter and mine and Tom's water. In fact, the refrigerator barely works; I haven't had something cold to drink in over a day which might not seem like a long time but let me know the next this happens to you, deal? Also, they don't have kitchen cabinets. There is a small counter that has a sink and a tall table where the keep their three serving platters, two coffee cups, six drinking glasses, two knives, four forks, and eight spoons. I cannot even count how much silverware, cups, etc. we have back home. Notice that I did not mention plates or bowls? When meals are eaten at home here, everyone eats from the same platters. If there are not enough forks or spoons for everyone eating the meal, those without use their hand- this happened to me last night, I was last to try and pick up a fork and therefore at my dinner with my fingers! Today my meals were eaten quite a bit differently but I'll get to that later, first I must tell of my adventure!

  The destination was Le Lac Rose, the transportation was a twenty year old four-door, the driver was Moussa, and the adventurers were me, Abda, and Tom. A drive that in America, on smooth highways where you can drive  60-70 mph, would take maybe twenty minutes, took us about an hour. The roads are narrow and packed with car rapides,horse drawn carriages, and everyone walking along the side.  Tthere are no sidewalks, so there is really no difference between the road and the walkway making it easy for people to just walk right in front of cars blocking there way which leads to honking which has all lead to my extreme dislike of driving anywhere in Dakar. When we finally arrived, I realized I was about to have my first real tourist experience since being here.  As soon as we got out of the car, a man rushed up to us wanting to give up a small tour of the lake side area which had been developed specifically to cater to tourist. There was camel tours, live music, a pool with clear water, toilets, and even cabanas set up so tourists could order a nice meal.

 Before embarking on anything too touristy, Tom, Abda, and I took a dip in Le Lac Rose. The lake is anything but pink, it's more of a yellowish brown color. It is also EXTREMELY SALTY which I had the pleasure of personally tasting as soon as I laid down in the water- it was like sticking a handful of salt in my mouth but ten times worse. Did you catch how I said "laid down in the water"? The water is so salty that it makes it pretty much impossible for your whole body to not float straight to the top (apparently something similar happens at the Dead Sea which is supposed to be saltier, but how I do not know!). When you get out of the water, they offer you fresh water to wash all the salt off your body for a  small of fee of about 20 cents. Then, it was time for lunch! I ordered a coffee to drink in hopes of it being higher quality then what I have been drinking but unfortunately I paid what's equal to $1.25 for a cup of Nescafe, not to mention it was a very small glass. Don't the Senegalese people know that I need my coffee in large quantities?! Oh yeah and there is no half&half here so I've been drinking my Nescafe black....BLEH! Looking at the menu, I realized everything dish had the option of being served with "frites" or french fries. Now, when I was at JFK waiting for my plane to Dakar I decide that my last meal was going to be chicken strips and french fries, thinking it would be months til I could get my hands on more. SO WRONG WAS I! 

  When lunch was finished, we decided to take a small boat tour where we sit in this small wooden boat and the man moving the boat is not using and oar but just a long strong stick to push off the bottom. I had learned a bit about Le Lac Rose in one of my french classes sophomore year at Oregon but one main fact that was left out, besides from the lake never being more than a few km deep, I learned from Moussa, our driver who accompanied us at lunch and on the tour. Apparently, the native people come to Le Lac Rose to collect the water and bring back for their families who do not have a chance to bathe in it as we did. The water, they believe, creates a sort of shield around you preventing the evil spirits from being able to enter your skin- kind of like Dove body wash, no?

  Le Lac Rose is also my first real encounter with hagglers. The second we left the resort area they started coming up asking lady you want to see what I have, you need this, you need that- it's verrry overwhelming. The thing is is that I need a bag. I did not bring a purse with me having been warned it was a bad idea but after being here a bag is definitely necessary and not as likely to be stolen as one would think. I informed them I was in the market for a bag, or I should say Tom parlayed that information on to them, and they came rushing up to me with about 3 each of multiple types of bags. I found one I liked, a long cloth "hippie" bag, and they said "25.000 cfa" (this is the equivalent of $50!). YEAH RIGHT! In American I would have maybe paid $15 for it. I was able to schmoogle the price down to 10.000 ($20) but still felt like that was a little too much- at least I'm helping their economy, right?

  When we returned back to our apartment, it was time for my first Pulaar lesson. Ummm as if trying to learn more and improve upon my French wasn't hard enough, learning a native African language too is ridiculous!  The lesson actually went fairly well and now I can greet people at any time of day using their respectful titles. Pulaar has four main ways of greeting people and the greeting you use depends on the time of day. If its before 10am, you use "jam waali", between 10am and 12pm "jam weeli", between 12pm and 6pm "jam nalli" and anytime after 6pm "jam hiiri". Hopefully when I need to start greeting people in Pulaar I am wearing a watch!

  We ended the night by Abda, Tom, and me just hanging out in the living room, on our separate laptops, sharing some of our favorite music with each other- one of my favorite ways to end any evening!

"Bonjour Toubab"

  Another amazing and adventurous day in Dakar! It started slow, jet-lag mixed with sleeping on a small firm triangular pillow did not allow for a great night of sleep. Luckily two cups of Nescafé and some Skype time with my parents brightened the morning :)
  After some down time, Tom, Abda and I ate lunch, "dejeuner" in French. Today was another rice, fish, and steamed vegetable combo but this time the rice was bright yellow and tasted very similar to curry. After every meal, except breakfast, Attaya is served.  It is like nothing I have ever tasted before; it's a very strong tea that has a lotttt of sugar but it surprisingly doesn't taste sweet, more bitter than anything. It is served in these little tiny glasses that are probably equal in size to a double shot.  Usually, there are three rounds of the tea and as you move from the first to the second to the third the taste becomes less potent.
  Tom had a plan for us after lunch. Tom had visited and lived in Dakar for three months two summers ago and while he was here he made some really good friends, Abda included. But along with Abda was an American girl who he was taking French classes with. One day she brought him to Ouakar, a neighbor just north of the centre, or main downtown area, of Dakar. In Ouakar there is a small pottery shop and in the back of the shop is where the pottery is made. Tom loved the place to much that during his first stay here the pottery shop became one of his main hang out which became very apparent to me later. So, after lunch, Tom and I took a taxi to Ouakar. If you think taxi drivers in San Francisco or New York City are crazy, they have nothing on the taxi drivers here who will go on the wrong side of the road to pass a "slow" moving car in front of us. However, on we took the side streets to get to Ouakar because as Tom has told me the main streets are always jam packed accompanied by honking and a strong smell of old cars burning gasoline. The side streets are dirt roads, some of which are very narrow. However, one of the side street we were on took us right along the ocean, "le mer", for about five minutes. What I thought were a bunch of seagulls on the beach were actually eagles! Weird, right?
  Anyways, when we arrived at the pottery shop about fifteen minutes later is when it became apparent to  me how much time Tom had spent there. He was greeted by everyone with large embraces and the widest of smiles. We first met the owner of the shop who was extremely pleased to see Tom again and very welcoming towards me. Tom told me the coolest thing about the owner, he mostly employs deaf and handicapped men and boys. He gives them lessons in ceramics- how to use the wheel, what tools to use to create different effects, basically the basics of ceramics. I was so astonished and amazed that such a person would be here in Ouakar giving the deaf and handicapped such a beautiful experience- truly looking out for everyone, making sure that everyone have an equal chance to be creative and also make an income.
  One of my first impressions of Senegalese people is that they really look out for one another. In America it is a lot about what can I do to better myself, what can I do to advance myself in society. But here it is what can I do to better the life of all Senegalese people, what can I do to help our society grow as a whole. I think that there is a lot to be said for a country that does not have a lot money yet tries to help everyone at the same time. I had a conversation with Abda today that very much relates to this concept. Ngaari Laaw, the organization I will be interning with, holds a Water Festival each year for the purpose of helping those in the Fouta region, in north Senegal, to understand the best way to use the water that is available to them, which is not much. Another part of the festival is bringing the people in the Fouta region buckets and buckets and buckets of fresh water that they can use. The fresh water is costly and even though Ngaari Laaw does not have much money, they provide the water because they understand the necessity of water and feel, as we all should, that everyone should have an equal opportunity to fresh water. To better the community rather than bettering oneself is of Senegalese culture that I find so inspiring.
  Another part of Senegalese culture I came into contact with today was the French influence. For those who don't know, Senegal was colonized by the French in the late 19th century. Senegal gained there independence in 1960, however keeping the French language and baguettes. Dakar has also kept the popular French combo of coffee and cigarettes. After the pottery shop, Tom and I went with a friend of his, who's name unfortunately escapes me, back to his family's house. We hung out in his friend's room listening to the music of popular artist here. As I would back home, I had Tom's friend make me a list of the artists we were listening to. If you are interested, look up Fallou Dieng or Youssou N'Dour for starters. Back to my little french culture experience, on our taxi ride back from Tom's friends, we took the main roads back. The taxi driver was in need of some coffee, so we pulled off on the side of one of the roads where there was a little stand selling Nescafe and, drumroll please.... cigarettes! The ultimate french combo!
  That was pretty much all the excitement for the day except one more thing- when we returned back to our flat we stayed downstairs and spent time with the family that lives there. I had been wearing a sun hat all day so I took it off. Le petit Abda came over and sat next to me so I decided to put my hat on his him. After that, he wouldn't take it off, he kept smiling and nodding his head back and forth making the hat, which was too big for his tiny head, sort of spin around on his head. It's crazy that such a small thing like my sun hat could be such an amusement for him.
  Day two is coming to an end. So far no stomach aches from the food but sad and itchy to report four bug bites despite the massive amounts of bug spray I keep applying.
  And I almost forgot to talk about the title of this post!!!! In Wolof, the language mainly spoken in Dakar beside French, Toubab means white person. When Tom, his friend and I were walking from the pottery to his house in Ouakar, not once but twice a small child said "Bonjour Toubab" so nonchalantly.
  Until tomorrow mes amis, Toubab over and out.

What A First Day

Two days ago I was in San Francisco. Yesterday, I was in New York City. Today, it is completely unreal that I am Dakar, Senegal! It is truly crazy all the places an airplane can take us. If you've never taken an international flight, just wait because those who have can agree that the flight is an experience within itself. I arrived at my gate very early (having had a 9 hour layover @ JFK) and when I got there I got my first taste of Senegalese culture. Surprisingly, however, I was so surprised at the array of people who would join me on my flight. There were African men in suits, American and African families alike, young couples who I later found out work for the United States Embassy here in Dakar, and a crazy African-American lady telling wild stories like how she convinced a man to let her and her family stay in his beautiful mansion for the ripe rent payment of $1.  From what I could tell, I was the youngest solo person traveling.
After a 6 1/2 hour flight, I arrived in Dakar this morning at 7am (Dakar time). When I got through customs, I was bombarded by men trying to get me to take there taxis and buy the SIM cards they were selling. Thankfully, someone from the organization I will be working for was on his way to pick me up. Once we arrived at our flat in a suburb of Dakar called Pikine and I caught up on a few hours of sleep, we had "breakfast". Now, breakfast is probably, I would wager, my favorite meal of the day (lunch and dinner coming in close second), but breakfast here is a bit of stale baguette with butter and very red looking sausage from the market. Oh yeah and not to mention the Nestle Instant Coffee- if I wasn't such a coffee fiend there is nooooo way I would have finished that cup, so gross, I wouldn't wish it upon anyyyone!
After breakfast I had a French lesson (not much to say about that) and played with the young boy who lived down stairs. "Le petit" Abda is my new favorite friend. This 4-year old and I played with a blow up bouncy ball and everything I did seem to make him smile. Abda, however, does not speak French; he speaks Wolof which sadly I cannot speak- language barrier at its finest. It was so funny, Abda has this little plastic toy camera that easily split in half and I was trying to help him put it back together but one piece did not quite fit. I kept putting it together and he kept taking it apart. After I put it together for about the fourth time he turns to the man from that has been showing me around (his name is Abda as well) and says something in Wolof. Abda, the man, then starts laughing saying that "le petit" Abda says I am putting it together all wrong! PS there was no other way to put the toy together.
Then comes lunch! We ate Thiéboudienne, the national dish of Senegal. C'est tres delicieux! When I say "we" I mean a boy a few years older than me from Holland, Tom, and me. Tom is here visiting Abda for 2 weeks and then will be returning to Holland. After lunch, the three of us, me Abda and Tom, ventured to the marché in the suburb a town over to get a few essentials like toilet paper which is not commonly used here. Wait, let me say that again in case you missed it: toilet paper is not commonly used here!!! YIKES! Anyways, the marché was wild. There are these vans painted crazy colors, called car rapides which is a misnomer I've been told, going up and down the sandy dirt roads. Both sides of the road are jam packed with stalls of people selling anywhere from bath towels to sequin scarves to bras to oranges.
Once we arrived back at our flat there is not much to do being as there is no TV, no board games, and not even a deck of cards (which I will be buying next trip to the marché). So, Tom and I sat on the balcony and read our separate books, until it was time for dinner. I have always been a reader but when there is so much else to do, reading takes a very back seat so I am actually very thankful that I'll be able to get in a lot of reading while I'm here.
Dinner was delicious as well but for the first time I realized how truly different the culture is here. We ate dinner with the family below us and when I walked in the mother was putting the food down on a mat (no kitchen table) and the little girls helped her bring in the food. There was baguette, fish meat balls with sauteed onions in this amazing sauce, potato wedges, and a salad. After they were finished bringing out the food, however, they retreated back to the kitchen. I ate dinner with Tom, Abda, the father of the family Abou, and Abou's nephew. The women here do not eat with the men. However, because I am white, I was able to eat with the men because my race puts me at a higher social standing then the woman who live here.
My first day here has felt like a week and is finally coming to an end. Hopefully in the morning I will not be awoken by goats making their loud noised as I was woken up from my nap earlier.

I almost forgot to mention the weather. Very warm and very humid, makes the fact that they only get cold water for showers no biggie. :)