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