Packing List and Tips for Prospective Students in this Beautiful Country.

This post won't be too interesting to any of the blog's followers, but I've been meaning on putting up a packing list for any other student going through the CIEE Dakar program, in case, like me, they did a pre-departure Google search of what they should bring. The following is both what I found useful, what I found unuseful, and what I wish I would have brought:

Things I was particularly glad to have brought:

1.    Moisture wicking underwear. Most items will not be listed in order of importance, THESE being the exception. Through months of hand washing my lingerie in the shower, I can’t say enough about this magical comfy, fast-drying, durable underwear. (Mine were Isis brand.)

2.    REI quick-dry towel. Fast-drying, highly absorbent, and impressively compact.

3.    Flashlight. Infinite electricity outages made my flashlight one of the most vital items in my suitcase.

4.    Books. There was a packing debate pre-departure on whether their weight was worth their place in my suitcase. Granted, I’m a bit of a bookworm, but lots of down time in a slow culture meant lots of great lit was oft taken advantage of, and I just left the copies I had read in the school library.

5.    Travel alarm clock. These run on batteries that don’t need to be charged, unlike phones whose ability to power on and therefore wake you up on time for class necessitates reliable electricity, something not too available in Senegal.

6.    Art supplies. I didn’t get a TON of use out of these, but still appreciated having paints and colored pencils along for the moments I did use them as a form of journaling. Also, it made me very popular with kids to have bright colors and white paper – a bit of a rarity to a lot of them.

7.   Lonely Planet guidebook. Battered, worn, discolored and torn, it came with me on all of my travel excursions; and, even the days I left it behind in order to figure things out “for myself,” it seems like all of the best stops were indeed those listed in my Lonely Planet.

Things I brought but didn’t need:

1.    Steripen. At the advice of a former student, I bought a portable water sterilizer. How many times did I use it? 0. It’s still in the package.

2.    Keens/Chacos/Tevas. Granted, I didn’t bring all three of those. But while that general Peace Corps concept of heavy-duty sandals in third-world terrain may be logical for a member of the Peace Corps, I was not part of the Peace Corps and these shoes didn’t get any usage – I stuck out enough as a white American, and those would have been the clincher. I wore my nice leather sandals and my Old Navy flip-flops everywhere.

3.   Hair dryer. I used it probably twice throughout my entire trip. It’s just too hot there to justify making yourself even hotter in order to have dry hair… which frankly, doesn’t even dry, because by the time it should be you’re too sweaty yourself.

4.   Mosquito Net. I did use the one I brought, but it would have been cheaper/less hassle just to buy one at any of the pharmacies after I had arrived.

Things I didn’t bring, but wish I had:

1.   More nice clothes. Before I left, I was thinking: Senegal = Hot, sweaty, dirty, dusty = Ultimate basics in comfort and zero style. Granted, Senegalese men think American girls are beautiful no matter HOW shabby or sweaty your clothes. But those Senegalese ladies do dress up pretty classily, and I was no competition for them.

2.   A pocketknife. It would have come in handy SO many times and I’d always regret not having one. (Remember to pack it on your CHECKED baggage - don't get blacklisted like my brother who walked through security with my knife... also why I no longer have one.)

3.   Anti-perspirant. I am a fan of Tom’s of Maine Deodorant, partly because I like the lavender scent, partly because I like the all-natural, aluminum-free quality of the product. HOWEVER. I admit that in 95+˚ weather and humidity, I’ll take the non-scientifically proven cancer-inducing status of aluminum in order to maintain a slightly less powerful odor.

4.    Notebooks. I figured this is something I could just pick up when I got here; it was, and I did, but it would have been less hassle to just bring my own.

5.   A protector for my computer. A mere month into my stay, my MacBook’s logic board was corroded by the intense humidity. I was computer-less for the rest of my semester, and $280 in debt to Apple Corp on my return.

6.   A pillow. I got used to sleeping without one, and not all students were in the pillowless situation I was in, but it still would have been welcomed.

Final Efficient Packing List to add to the above-mentioned items:

CLOTHES

Tee-shirts: 3-4

Tank tops: 6-10, or as many as you can roll into your suitcase (they don’t take up much room!)

Long-sleeved tops: 1

Sweaters/cardigans: 1

Sweatshirts: 1

Comfy, every-day pants: 2-4

Sweat pants/leggings (for around the house): 1

Nice jeans: 1

Nice pants: 1

Shorts: 0

Skirts: 2-3 (so long as it's not skankily short, any length will do! If you want to be safe, though - let not thine knees be shown.)

Everyday dresses: 1-2 (recommended at least one maxi skirt or dress, in case you visit any holy sites that require more modest dress)

Going-out dresses: 1-2 (doesn’t need to be knee length here!)

Swimsuit: 1 (bikinis are okay!)

Beach covering: 1 (I found it handy, anyway)

PJs: 3 (1 shorts + 1 light pants + 1 warmer pants)

Large, lightweight scarves: 1

Headscarves/headbands: 1-2 (good for keeping hair out of your sweaty face)

Belts: 2-3

SHOES

“Nice”/comfy sandals: 1

Flip-flops: 1-2

Sneakers: 1

Dress shoes: 1 (heels or flats, although with all the sand I liked flats much better)

COSMETICS

Honestly, I RARELY used make-up here – I was far too sweaty for it to look good or be practical. I only ever used it for going out, although I was glad to have it then.

My flat iron I used probably three times total, my hair dryer not at all.

I would, however, recommend jewelry, as long as it’s not terribly nice. I enjoyed being able to dress up outfits, especially since I was wearing the same things every single day.

Perfume

Deoderant

Razors

Extra contacts

Contact solution/cases

And lots of hair ties and bobby pins!

Everything else – shampoo, soap, toothpaste, hygienics, etc. – can all be easily and cheaply bought in Senegal

MEDICAL

Vitamins

Tylenol/Aspirin/Ibuprofen

PeptoBismal

Anti-diarrhea

Laxatives

Antiseptic cream

Sunscreen (30-50spf: You’re on the equator, afterall!)

Bugspray: Granted, I spent almost every evening outside, but went through almost two cans of OFF

Bandaids

Your malaria meds!

OTHER
Rain gear

Souvenirs for your host family/Senegalese friends (postcards, food items [I brought candy, maple syrup and wild rice, all hits,] coloring materials for kids, photographs, jewelry, candles, tea, mugs… these all proved to be popular)

Cards

Books

Camera (and accessories – charger, USB, extra memory cards)

Backpack

Water bottle

Soap holder

Laundry bag

MP3/headphones/well-stocked iTunes repertoire for music sharing

Flash drive

Purse/wallet

Glasses

Glue stick and scissors (I always find them useful, anyway!)

French dictionary

Journal

Pencils/pens

Envelopes (Not the lick-adhesive… the humidity sealed all that I brought. Get the sticker ones.)

Extra treat: Starbucks VIA (After Nescafé and dry milk and loads of Café Touba, a little instant Starbucks at the end of a long day can't be beat=)

Or, you could of course just skip the packing and get all of your clothes made in matching fabric with everyone else.

Outro

Well, I’ve been meaning to write up a little “conclusion” to my semester in Senegal for some time. But, as with all my other good blogging intentions, days turned into weeks that in turn became months – good months, mind you – and as Amelia Bedelia might say, I “plum forgot."

Until now – when, tucked away in a little corner room at the Corrymeela Reconciliation Center in Northern Ireland, I felt inspired tonight to step outside of the cool, misty green pastureland of the Emerald Isle into the much hotter, drier, dusty streets of Dakar one last time. (In my head, anyway. And my ears – I wonder if I’m the only American in Ireland listening to Mbalax right now? Wouldn’t doubt it… in fact I’d doubt otherwise.)

Farewell, Car Rapide. I miss you dearly.

I miss Senegal. West Africa, to anyone who knows me, seemed a really weird choice of program before I left. Even to me, it came as a bit of a surprise to have chosen to go to Dakar. I like cleanliness and beauty, open spaces, cool weather and lots of nature; gourmet food and a good cappuccino; quirky indie films and calm folksy music; European literature, comfortable living. Dakar poses to all this the ultimate contrast: Dirty, dusty, smelly, plain; crowded and busy; hot hot HOT (and very sweaty) without AC; so little vegetation that the 2x4 foot plot of grass at the Elton gas station was the most green I saw any given day; piles of rice loaded with oil and MSG and fried fish, eaten with hands around a big bowl; a cup of coffee consisting of Nescafé with powdered milk; music I didn’t know and didn’t understand and definitely couldn’t dance to; no news other than a tabloid journal representing each political party; a culture vastly different from my own and living conditions that most middle-class Westerners would find distressing.

Knowing all of this, I could never have anticipated how truly perfect and meaningful the semester before me would be when I disembarked from the airplane on August 21, 2011; but, somehow, each of the things that from a distance or under other circumstances could seem very unattractive to me instead became charming, or adventuresome, or perhaps something I didn’t even think about after awhile. Once it became a part of my daily life, suddenly it just seemed “normal.”

Me and my stunning host mom!

Which is one of the themes emphasized the most during my time there: Relativity, and subjectivity… How an environment or background can affect how an experience is, well, experienced. - How the “norm” isn’t judged by what you think should be expected, but by what the general populous has learned to expect. - How what seems “better” or “best” is typically determined by people who have never experienced the alternative. - How what I am impressed by as an outsider might be completely overlooked by an insider; or, on the other hand, how what’s completely overlooked by me can be of intimate value to the insider. - How the things that make the list of “wants” and “needs” aren’t universal.

There is much more on that subject, too - specific examples and illustrate these thoughts, experiences that influenced them, and many other thoughts altogether - but of course I can’t dwell too long on it. (Concision and compaction, two nouns that never seem to be very popular with me.)

A classic meal of céeb in massive quantities.

But what do I miss? MSG and oil aside, I miss the tasty food: the céebu jën, mafé, yassa, and lots of French fries. Street food, too: Millet-plantain donuts, fresh mangoes, pain au chocolat, grilled corn, Nem’s and pain chinois, peanuts – fresh, roasted, or sugar-coated, bags of water, baobab juice, and bissap.

And each of those for only 5-50¢. The acquisition of a jaayfanda was far too easy.

What else… I miss: My car rapide ride to school – easily one of my favorite parts of each day. Babacar, the friendly boutique man who sold me my morning baguette. The happy seller of phone credit by the Elton gas station. SOUL ice cream from Elton. Asalaam malekum-ing and nanga def-ing and shaking hands with every person I pass. The slow lifestyle and the welcoming atmosphere of teranga. The great friends I made in my host family, my classmates, my neighbors. I miss the beautiful boubous and bright colors, and tailored clothes for less than the store-bought version. The afternoon Biskrem and strawberry milk to accompany my homework. The haunting call to prayer waking me each morning. The mirror-filled clubs and the youza. The goats in backyards and on rooftops. Bargaining with the taxi driver (waxaaling in general; I was a pro.) Walks along the Corniche. Ataaya. Music. Activism. Thinking about things I didn’t normally think about. My wonderful host family. An intrinsic sense of community. Nighttime chats on the terrace.

I could continue with much, much more.

Moussa, King of Ataaya, at our farewell tea party.

There are, of course, the things I don’t miss at all, like the rotting animal carcasses in the ditches; the shameful persistence of the Talibe; the corrupt government, the extreme poverty; the classism; the sexism; the lack of education; being yelled at – “Toubab! Toubab!” – and never getting a break from being reminded that I’m an outsider; electricity cuts and blisteringly hot temperatures; getting stranded on an island while deathly sick; garbage everywhere; being treated differently – usually better, many times worse – for being white, or American, or female, or all three; etc.

Yet, somehow even the things that upset me the most weren’t enough to ruin my time over there, which I was enjoying superbly. Now, the further away I get from my time in Senegal the less and less are the unpleasant moments and thoughts important in my selective memory. Time and distance tend to do away with the imperfections, so I’m left with a fond, pleasantly nostalgic feeling of my semester.

I’ll keep missing it, for at least awhile yet. It’s hard not to when little moments throughout the day still remind me of things back there and keep the feelings very vivid and present. However, I don’t think it’s a bad thing to miss it. Missing Senegal highlights how much I really did appreciate my time there, and even though it was very, very difficult to leave, I was happy to go home, too. I can’t have all good things at once, and lucky for me I’m a happy kid with a great family to come home to and more fun adventures to look forward to.

Perhaps I'll get to go back one day. But until then, ba baneen yoon, Sénégal. Insh allah.

The Talibé outside Ouakam's bakery.

PG-13: Some material may not be suitable for young audiences

DISCLAIMER: I meant to post this over a week ago. Somehow, it only got saved in drafts. Oh, well!

6:50 pm Following a final glance around the house, I decide that no one is home, everything is in its proper place, and all the lights are off. With this, I lock up the house and join Ashlee and Tom to hail a taxi to l'Institut Français for a Saturday night cinema outing.

8:45 pm The movie (Omar M'a Tuer) was tragic (as most French films decidedly are,) and to lighten our spirits we head to l'Institut's restaurant for an exceptionally tasty lemon coconut cake and some riveting post-film discussion.

10:00 pm Our taxi having dropped us off at our respective homes, Tom and I head to my side of the house, expecting to find dinner waiting for us. (We eat late here.) However, a loud BAAAAAing interrupts the dark solitude of my kitchen, and although our dinner is indeed set out for us on the table, a certain unexpected guest has also been waiting for us: a goat, tied up to the leg of the table, eating his own dinner of cardboard, stale bread, and a little bit of water for consistency. He is presently christened Lazarus and we become fast friends, despite the fact that he tries to eat my laundry that has been set out to dry above his head.

12:00 am I bid goodnight to my family, Tom's family, and my little pal Lazarus.

7:00 am A putrid smell fills my bedroom and forces an early arousal from sweet slumber. In my groggy state, I hear a repeated THWACKing and a commotion between my house and Tom's, but the same groggy state does not allow me to form any conclusion as to the origins of these events. Instead, I rise, and as normal gather my washcloth and soap with the intent of heading to the sink to wash my face...

7:05 am All face washing attempts are entirely foiled, for when I exit the security of my bedroom, what do I find but to my horror poor Lazarus (or what once was he,) a carcass hanging in the corner of the L that separates my bedroom from the sink, my host brother and his friend performing the aforementioned THWACKS to strip all that remains on the sorry skeleton. The two men stand in a bloody pond which I desist from traversing - I can manage a sleep-stained face if it allows me to avoid this mess! - and yet as I step backwards into my bedroom, I can't help but notice that my flip flops have left a rather sanguinary set of prints on the tiled floor and the fresh-laundered pajamas hanging not so far from the Event of the Day have obtained a splattering of crimson drops.

2:30 pm We feast upon freshly grilled mutton, and I am so well-satiated that I consider not eating for an entire year to come.* Happy Early Tabaski, everyone!

The unsuspecting sacrifice peeks coyly from behind a curtain of laundry

*Have no fear. By dinnertime that same evening, I ate a second-round of mutton with no regrets!

Peanut farmer: Just another one of the hats worn by one Ms. Esther Hathaway

The lovely Sine Saloume landscape, soon to be destroyed by an airport.

Monday morning I was up at the crack of dawn, hailing a taxi in the still-sleepy morning streets of Ouakam. As the sun slowly lit up - and heated up - the city, I foraged the hustling, bustling gare routiere with five other students. We were escorted to an adequate bus, and despite a sweltering 2-hour wait, we finally hauled out of the station onto the dusty country roads. Four hours of dozing, squishing, adjusting and snacking. Next thing I know, I've been dropped off, (abandoned? My "guide" shoved me out of the back of the bus without a word and off drove the bus,) and I stumble into the shade of a tree, offered a sack of grain as a chair by one of the old men already seated. A short wait proceeded before a little horse-drawn cart slowly enlarged on the horizon, my ride, driven by two of my "brothers" for the week, François and Charles.

Just me and some peanuts.

Twenty minutes later, having passed by and admired the clusters of eucalyptus, palm and baobab trees, vast rice paddies and sprawling deltas, I arrived at my destination: Djilor, birthplace of Senegal's first president and most beloved poet, Léopold Senghor, located in the lush Sine Saloume region. I was greeted by a swarm of giggling toddlers who led me to Mama Mbat and the rest of her clan: 9 children, 3 cousins, 1 son-in-law, 2 grandchildren and a grandpa - all in one house, with countless neighbors and relatives filling up any extra space at any given time.

Too many cute little children! It was nearly overwhelming.

My welcome was warm and friendly, and my integration into the days' activities was swift and natural. Mornings I would wake up before it was light and join the boys, loading myself once again onto the horse cart and trotting off to the fields to harvest peanuts. This was a pleasant task; we'd work until noon, François guiding the horse and plow, the rest of us collecting the peanuts behind him, breaking once for a breakfast of Senegalese couscous and curdled milk. Then lunch, céebu jën around the bowl, before a more leisurely afternoon. I might join the grandmothers under the shade of the big tree out back, shelling peanuts, or survey the cashew cracking rituals as I was snuck one or two every couple minutes by Robert. Then perhaps some Ludo (Senegal's favorite board game - picture SORRY, but with images of lutteurs decorating it,) Dutch Blitz (endless rounds - I hadn't lost my speed!) Buck (shout out to the Smiths,) and reading (shout out to Chico's fantastic paperback library at 2132.) As the sun moved, so we followed the shade, all of us outside, often a good six or seven lumped on a single mat, napping, talking, cooking or working.

Only for dinner did we all disperse a bit. Each night I'd join Mbat, Mbat the younger, and all the children for a Bollywood soap opera and TV-dinner ritual. Following this, I'd head back outside to enjoy some late-night conversation and attaya, one last round of cards, a quick bucket shower and then off to bed.

Charles at the plow; I never succeeded at efficient horse-directing.

I was ever so pleased with my week, ever so grateful for my generous host family, my busy yet relaxing séjours in the beauty of rural Senegal. I was admittedly disappointed to say goodbye so soon - five days not being nearly enough - but look forward to a return visit one day.

Partie trois (La fin.)

Due to the fairly consistent scarcity of posts as of late, I’m going to skip to the last leg of our journey and use it to conclude the series, lest my blog turn into a veritable Rick Steve’s Travels in a Very Little Part of the Casamance and the Gambia…

***

I petted a crocodile. NBD.

We last left our three heroes traversing the Atlantic coast into the pink and violet hues of the Casamancian sunset.

But fast-forward a few days, set your GPS to around 12.775,-15.687 and you’d likely find the trio squished into another 7-place taxi, cruising across the Senegalese border into the Gambia, Senegal’s English-speaking sister. Despite the shared Wolof, Diola, Serer & al. cultures, despite the fact that this teeny country is a mere sliver of a protrusion in Senegal’s center, there was an immediately noticeable difference in architecture, culture, and language. This equated a diminished presence of Islam, the notably greater popularity of Bob Marley, and a rather clumsy shift from Wolof-French to Wolof-English (although you’d think it would be a relief to be speaking English again, it felt unnatural to be in Africa speaking English, a literal step away from a country where almost no one speaks it.)

The funny colonial repartitioning of West Africa

We arrived in the little beachside town of Bakau, and after escaping the clutches of two hustling Gambians – whose persistent “Come on, brudda – it’s nice to be nice!” would repeat itself often throughout our trip – we lodged ourselves in the pitch black (electricity cut) Ramona Hotel and shortly thereafter collapsed into sleep, exhausted from a day of travel.

Amidst picnic breakfasts of pain au chocolat on the beach, fried chicken and French fries (not altogether Gambian, but on unlit Gambian nights in the tourist off-season, the only – and it turns out very worthwhile – choice within a five-mile radius) from a jovial Gambian cook, delicious mafé at our favorite Mai’s Restaurant with the company of a friendly German journalist, and evenings of sweet coffee and Biskrem cookies from the boutique on the corner, we filled our days with a plethora of activities. Guided by a group of young schoolboys during their recess, we made our way to the crocodile reserve where we wondered at the interesting translations in the culture museum and marveled at the prehistoric beasts that slowly waddled out of the swamp that was their home. As the sunset stretched over the horizon that evening, we took in the calm, tourist-less, white sand beach. Bobbing up and down in the shallow waves,

This guy actually ended WWII single-handedly.

Poulet au yassa, rice and fries: $1.50. Coke: 50¢. This is the life.

Warren and Alex recited every African country and its capital as I contemplated our nearly-completed journey and what in the world the funny man with the long shirt was looking for on the beach.

Another day, we joined Philipp the German for a day trip to a nearby nature reserve, and I was delighted by the quantity of monkeys that I saw in a single day. We wandered through the overgrown paths, admiring the countless spiders, gorgeous greenery, and delicate, brightly-colored flowers until we reached the animal orphanage, full of baboons, red monkeys and hyenas. (I have to add here that although their tongues were less floppy and overall they were slightly fatter than portrayed in the movie, the hyenas were very accurately depicted in the Lion King.)

Of course other lively details filled our days that I haven’t time to recount, because unfortunately this post is already growing much longer than I had anticipated. I’ve heard that the most interesting/effective blogs have a short commentary and lots of pictures, but I’ve always had a problem with lengthy essays in school and apparently I haven’t managed to kick that habit yet. If you made it through this one: congratulations! I’ll add some photos to at least get part of that right, and next post will be more succinct, I promise.

Now I’m heading off to spend a week in Sine Saloume, Serer country, to live with a village family for a week with whom I’ll have no language communication skills at my disposal. I’ll return next Sunday, and of course let you know what adventures were had.

Enjoy your week, and I’ll catch you then!

Best Photo of the Trip Award goes to Mr. Alex Villec

This 27-year old Gambian named John tried to convince me and Alex that he was Obama's estranged father, and since we were heading back home in December, would we mind asking the president why he hadn't returned his dad's persistent calls? It's not normal!

This little boy, his rickety cart, and his skinny horse saved us an hour-long walk in the heat of the day, following our realization that we had used up all but the equivalent of 20¢ of our funds.