Home, Sweet Home

The internet here is quite slow, but I finally managed to upload a single photo. My house is the yellowish one on the right, next to the blue car. That terrace is my terrace, that stoop, my stoop!

On Fasting and Feasting

Yesterday was Korite, which essentially means that I ate more food than the normal four giant man-sized meals that have become my normal diet.

I arrived in Senegal midway through Ramadan, which meant that of Senegal’s 95% Muslim population, anyone eating or drinking between sunup and sundown would be an extremely rare sighting. Instead, people satisfied themselves by chewing on sticks, staying out of the boiling heat, and counting the days until they can finally indulge in their ceebu jën when they’re actually hungry. Ramadan equaled a very quiet first impression of Dakar; because of the fasting, most restaurants and stores were closed down, all activities that condoned any less-than-conservative behavior were shunned, and to avoid the short tempers of everyone else, most people tended to keep themselves as long and often as possible.

All that changed with Korite. Once the new moon was finally sighted, the fête had already begun. Out came the varieties of brand-new boubous in all colors, shapes and fabrics, hand-tailored for this day of celebration. Food was of course a central theme of the day, which began with sweet milled-flour porridge, drowned in runny yoghurt, and was followed with countless beignets (basically donut holes) and massive platters of meat, potatoes and rice throughout the day. The women had long prepared for the event, as was evident in their newly coiffured tresses and elaborate manicures, and as soon as everyone was dressed their best, the tours began. In the morning, all the men and boys visited the mosque for prayer and then went around to the homes of all of their neighbors, near and far, requesting pardon for any offence they had unconsciously committed and offering food as a token of peace and community. In the afternoon, after taking their turn at welcoming the men, the women went out and did the same.

My host-family is surprisingly in the teeny-tiny minority of non-Muslims here in Dakar. Therefore, I have had the welcome luxury of being served generous portions (a little TOO generous in fact… these people are bent on fattening me up!) alongside my family for each meal of the day throughout Ramadan, while around the rest of Dakar, each CIEE student is enviously eyed as he scarfs down his meager, individually-prepared egg as quickly as he can and with the least amount of pleasure as possible, lest the hunger pangs become too strong for his Muslim brothers and sisters to bear.

Despite, then, the fact that my family has not been partaking in the fast, we were by no means left out of the events of yesterday’s celebration. What I figured would be a typical day off from school turned out to be a hand-shaking extravaganza; Endless parades of people would enter the front door, offer a dish to share, make a peace-offering, hand-shaking tour of the house, and leave, just in time for the next group to come in. I particularly enjoyed it whenever a toubab came in with their host family, having fairly little clue as to what they were doing, and being rushed in and out of each house without knowing where they were, but typically with a confused smile on their face and always sporting an ill-fitting boubou that made them look more toubab-y than ever.

Of course, now that Ramadan has ended, it will be much easier to find lunch (since the Muslim-owned restaurants [which, if proportionate to the population, is 95%] will finally be re-opened,) and much easier to sleep (now that the Ramadan prayers will no longer be echoing through the loudspeakers of the local mosque at all hours of the night.)

Ouakam, My 'Hood

 At 4:37am, it’s impossible to sleep due to the combination of incessant lecturing and prayer from the loudspeakers of next door’s mosque, an army of hungry mosquitos that found my feet particularly delicious, and one of many frequent power cuts that has left me fanless to fend for myself in the thick, hot air of a rather muggy past hour. Instead of lamenting, however, I’ll try to set aside my sticky, itchy state and instead consider it a golden opportunity to update my blog.

Two days ago, following continued orientation classes on Senegalese culture and language, all of us students re-packed the bags that had been so haphazardly unpacked and lugged them downstairs to be piled into the narrow, nearly impassable hallway. All 55 of us then piled in a similar fashion onto the small sidewalk in front of the hotel, and with much nervous excitement, we waited as one by one each student was called forward to meet their new host families, who had finally arrived to pick us up. For everyone, this was without doubt the most exciting part of our time here so far.

I was picked up by a quite tall, friendly man who I learned was Herbertin, my host father.  We drove for about twenty minutes to my new home, which is located in Ouakam.

***

But here, let me quick interrupt myself and give you a bit of background. Dakar is divided into 19 districts, called arondissements. The arondissement of Ouakam is nestled between two hills called les Deux Mammelles. And for those of you who didn't know, Dakar is located on the Westernmost part of Africa - which means that Ouakam, being on the western side of Dakar, is on one side entirely coastline. It originated as a fishing village but over time melted into Dakar and is currently one of the fastest-growing suburbs within the capital city. Ouakam is much less noisy than Mermoz (where our hotel and school are, about twenty minutes by bus) due to less traffic, but nonetheless is very lively and populated with friendly neighbors. It is also conveniently located only a ten-minute walk from two beaches and a stone’s throw from the airport.

***

Anyhow. Upon our arrival, Herbertin guided me through one house, a gate, a narrow courtyard, and another gate – until at last we reached my new home, consisting of two bedrooms, a living room, a tiny kitchen, and a tiny bathroom, all connected by an open-air hallway and concluded with a porch area for eating. Admittedly, the bathroom has taken some getting used to; a light-less closet requires me to bring a flashlight in order to see anything. The toilet is angled tightly against the wall and doubles as the shower, and the goats next door have been known to surprise me with their unexpected, surprisingly loud bleating. My own bedroom is sparse but perfectly equipped for my four months here, and it was a wonderful feeling to be able to finally unpack. It wasn’t until then that I really felt settled; living out of my suitcase in Mermoz kept me in limbo, but now I am part of a family and in my own home, and I feel like I’m really getting in my Senegalese groove...

During the little walking tour provided by my guide Herbertin I learned that the house we passed through to get to our apartment is that of Herbertin’s in-laws, and the residence of another student in the CIEE program with me. That side of the living quarters is a busy contrast to my quiet abode of three, with a mother and father and five children ages 10-24. (Although there are so many comings-and-goings of aunts and uncles and cousins and neighbors, all the time, that I lose track of who are the permanent ones.) The sixth child (the eldest) is Lyddie, my host mother, Herbertin’s wife.  The two sides of the house (the other side being, of course, much bigger than ours) share a fantastic rooftop terrace that offers a stunning view of Ouakam, including the Monument de la Renaissance Africaine and airport, as well as a very convenient stoop, to my great delight. They are also located quite near a number of other students; there are at least eight of us within a four-block radius.

Tomorrow morning I'll be up at the crack of dawn to catch the bus for my first class in Le Reglement des Crises, so it's high time I split. However, I'll conclude by saying that I have been so far thankful for a generous, fun family to live with and continued fun here in Senegal, and look forward to my continued months here.

PS To any MN State Fair goers: Please make sure to eat double the Sweet Martha's in my honor. And let me know how the sweet corn ice cream is... I am duly intrigued!

The Arrival

On August 20^th I devoured what will probably be my last plate of blueberry pancakes with real maple syrup I’ll eat in four months (this is a meal that ranks somewhere around #3 on my favorite meals list.) Shortly thereafter my family dropped me off at the MSP airport. I said a final farewell, left all the “inexperienced travelers” in my dust as I sped through the “experienced travelers” line (which, for some reason, NO ONE ever takes,) was deemed a person of suspicion and was frisked, scanned, and hand sampled, and finally took off on Delta 2038.

An extra 4.5-hour layover at JFK and 8-hour flight to Dakar later, I arrived in Dakar. After waiting in the typically roasting, sticky weather for everyone to arrive, we were all bussed over to the hotel we are staying at for the first week. A quick breakfast and shower were first on my agenda, followed by a long nap in the luxurious air conditioning.

Glorious sleep left me feeling much more refreshed and capable of taking in my surroundings, so I’ll give you a rundown of first impressions: Dakar is a very interesting city. Simple, pastel-painted buildings and unfinished concrete apartments rise out of the hot, dusty ground. Busy highways and roads are full of dingy taxis and slick SUVs that honk relentlessly at each other and at the pedestrians, who, lacking any stoplights, identify how much time they have to run across the street without getting hit and make a mad dash for the other side of the street - unless one of the drivers takes pity, slowing down long enough that they can reduce their run to a jog.

The Senegalese are as diverse as their cars, displaying a variety of wealth and dress. Colorful boubous walk alongside designer jeans and Armani tees; goats and horses mingle with the construction workers and peddlers.  Trash is everywhere, (I’ve yet to see a single garbage can, and the recycling system consists of handing old bottles to urchin children who in turn hand them in for a few cents,) but establishments are generally well-kept. As a somewhat short, undeniably pasty white “toubab,” it’s impossible to even attempt to be discreet, and everywhere I go I draw attention and jokes. However it’s all good-natured, and so far the Senegalese people have been a very happy and welcoming bunch.

So all that’s what I’ve gleaned from the past couple of days here, between orientation classes, Wolof (Senegal’s street language) survival courses, meeting new people, eating new foods and wondering how the Senegalese manage not to sweat. This weekend I’ll move in with my host family; Monday is the beginning of classes. I am probably more excited about meeting my family than any other part of this program, and will definitely recount how that all goes.

But meanwhile, I’m going to conclude my first post. Ba beneen yoon!

A Beginning

After serious deliberation and extensive internal debate, I have arrived at a resolution: I am going to create a blog.

It’s something I've meant to do for quite awhile now, but somehow, time and energy always failed me and the dream never became a reality. This time however, my resolve is pure and my decision irrevocable. And look! Reading this page means I published an entry, which is a lot further than I’ve ever gotten before. Clearly, this is a good omen.

Anyhow, a relatively brief introduction: Following my first year at St. Kate’s, it dawned on me that our world is a pretty big one and I’ve a lot left to see. (That’s actually not totally true. I came upon that realization a while ago, but it sounded like a nice way to start off the entry and the revelation is no less relevant today.) Therefore, it seemed reasonable that I take a semester off from conventional university to study abroad. My desire to be in a Francophone country narrowed down the options quite a bit, and since I’ve already spent a considerable amount of time in France I opted out of all of the France programs, which narrowed my selection even more. I’ve never been to Africa - and now’s as good a time as any! – and on a bit of a whim I decided to come to Senegal.

And now I intend to keep track of my four months here by means of this blog. Though I can make no promises as to the regularity of my entries, I do promise that I will try my best to keep the world (anyhow, anyone who is interested) informed about my adventures and misadventures. 

Enjoy=)

PS: Shout out to Anna Moore whose own blog, La Vida en Viña, was an inspiration to me and us all.