Le samedi passé was the deuxieme anniversaire pour mon niveau, Babacar. Apologies for the Frenglish: what I mean to say is, my nephew Babacar celebrated his second birthday last Saturday. It was one of my favorite experiences of Senegal so far. I got to the party late because I had gone to Bandia, an animal reserve, with the SIT group earlier that day. My family had told me that they were having a little "fete" for Babacar, but the booming hiphop I heard from down the street was not what I expected.
I walked through the paint-chipped gate that functions as my front door, and entered my courtyard, where about 25 people were dancing like crazy. The music was a combination of American and Senegalese hiphop, mbalax, a more traditional Senegalese music form, and salsa. The guests were mostly neighborhood kids ranging in age from 8 to 20, and some of my adult relatives.
When I took out my camera to take pictures, I was bombarded with little girls who wanted their photo taken. They hung off my various limbs, ran in circles around me, and even after I put the camera away for the night, the girls had a vested interest in me, sitting on my lap and brushing my hair with their fingers. There was a table set up with an un-frosted cake, a couple of bottles of Coca-Cola, and some fruit. Though by American standards it was no excessive spread, people at the party repeatedly asked me to take their picture with the table-- not with their friends, not with Babacar, but with the table.
Babacar wandered around for most of the night, dancing in the minimalist way that he does, holding his fists above his head, and swinging his hips slowly from side to side, with a blinding smile. After everyone had left and I had consumed a lot of gateau, beignettes, and other treats, we had dinner at 11:30 or so, and opened Babacar's cadeaux, which were mostly too-large clothes. A great night.
Tomorrow, I depart for Kedougou, a two days' bus ride from Dakar. I will stay in a remote village near Kedougou with two other SIT-folk. The village is called Boundou Kodi, but other than that I'm unsure what exactly is in store for me! Donc, no internets for a while. (Mom, Dad, and friends-- no news is good news!) Au revoir, ba beneen yoon.
26.2.09
22.2.09
Un Jour Typique.
Chaque jour, I wake up at 7:30 or 7:45, wrestle with my mosquito net to get out of bed, and face the dreaded decision: to take an ice-cold, insect-infested shower, or to forgo cleanliness for another day? Usually I chicken out of the icebath, get dressed, and eat breakfast standing up at the patio table with my sister, Maty. Breakfast is a half baguette loaded with butter, and a drink resembling coffee (a part of my Senegalese experience that I will NOT continue in the U.S.): hot water, a teaspoon of instant coffee, a teaspoon of powdered milk, and a sugarcube. Around 8:15, my friends Erin and Meghan who live around the corner from me stop by my house, and we walk to school together.
Classes at SIT: on Tuesdays and Thursdays, I have French and Wolof classes-- both intensive languages courses jammed in before 12:30. On other days, I have Field Study Seminar, a very thought-provoking anthropology course, or Arts and Culture Seminar, in which we have a guest lecturer speak to us about an aspect of Senegalese art or culture (duh).
Lunch is great because we have from 12:30-3. There are a great number of Senegalese and non-Senegalese restaurants in the neighborhood, so my lunch options are varied. Sometimes I'll get yassa poulet (chicken, rice, yummy onion sauce), thieboudienne (a plate of fish, and the national dish of Senegal), a sandwich, or even, if I'm willing to splurge, a nice salad. Recently, I've been wanting something light, so I'll grab a yaourt, some fruit and nuts, and pretend to be health conscious.
After lunch, we have more classes or other activities, depending on the week. All last week, we had dance and djembe workshops in this time slot. School ends at 5, but I'll often stick around the SIT villa for an hour or so to check my email and hang out with American friends. I usually try to get home by 6, because 6-7 is a very important time for the Senegalese. This is when the most popular feuilletons (soap operas) are on: La Femme du Jardinier, and Ana. They are Brazilian, dubbed in French, succulent and infused with melodrama, and best of all, there's a new episode daily. And yes, I am addicted.
We usually eat dinner around 9 or 9:30: almost always fish and rice or millet, with a spicy, salty sauce. Good, but very rich, and it's impossible to just eat a little. After that, more TV, thé, and playing with Babacar. I often sit in the living room while everyone is watching the télé and write in my journal. By 10:30 or 11, je suis très fatigue, and I usually go to sleep by 11:30. Just another day in Dakar.
Classes at SIT: on Tuesdays and Thursdays, I have French and Wolof classes-- both intensive languages courses jammed in before 12:30. On other days, I have Field Study Seminar, a very thought-provoking anthropology course, or Arts and Culture Seminar, in which we have a guest lecturer speak to us about an aspect of Senegalese art or culture (duh).
Lunch is great because we have from 12:30-3. There are a great number of Senegalese and non-Senegalese restaurants in the neighborhood, so my lunch options are varied. Sometimes I'll get yassa poulet (chicken, rice, yummy onion sauce), thieboudienne (a plate of fish, and the national dish of Senegal), a sandwich, or even, if I'm willing to splurge, a nice salad. Recently, I've been wanting something light, so I'll grab a yaourt, some fruit and nuts, and pretend to be health conscious.
After lunch, we have more classes or other activities, depending on the week. All last week, we had dance and djembe workshops in this time slot. School ends at 5, but I'll often stick around the SIT villa for an hour or so to check my email and hang out with American friends. I usually try to get home by 6, because 6-7 is a very important time for the Senegalese. This is when the most popular feuilletons (soap operas) are on: La Femme du Jardinier, and Ana. They are Brazilian, dubbed in French, succulent and infused with melodrama, and best of all, there's a new episode daily. And yes, I am addicted.
We usually eat dinner around 9 or 9:30: almost always fish and rice or millet, with a spicy, salty sauce. Good, but very rich, and it's impossible to just eat a little. After that, more TV, thé, and playing with Babacar. I often sit in the living room while everyone is watching the télé and write in my journal. By 10:30 or 11, je suis très fatigue, and I usually go to sleep by 11:30. Just another day in Dakar.
20.2.09
Increasing Confusion.
Although I learn new things every day I am here, I also feel that I know less each day. It has to do with looking more deeply into something I thought I had understood, and realizing that even the roots of my assumptions about people and culture were probably wrong.
Par example, for the last two nights my twelve year old brother, Abdou, has been showing me photographs of the family. He showed me a picture of a young girl; she seemed about 8 or 9. Abdou introduced her as "my little sister, Mariam," and moments later, my father referred to "his daughter, Mariam" in passing. Before that moment, I had heard no mention of even Mariam's name. Where is this little girl? Why does she not live with us? Obviously, my brain was flooded with questions, and the assumption that I had begun to understand the dynamics of my homestay family was toppled.
To even further confuse matters, Abdou showed me a photograph of my sister Maty sitting with my aunt and uncle. In his running, rapidly-spoken narration, Abdou said, "Here's Maty avec her parents." Her parents? Maty has always been introduced to me as my sister!
My current status: thoroughly bewildered, and brain-storming the most tactful way to ask these very necessary and very belated questions.
Par example, for the last two nights my twelve year old brother, Abdou, has been showing me photographs of the family. He showed me a picture of a young girl; she seemed about 8 or 9. Abdou introduced her as "my little sister, Mariam," and moments later, my father referred to "his daughter, Mariam" in passing. Before that moment, I had heard no mention of even Mariam's name. Where is this little girl? Why does she not live with us? Obviously, my brain was flooded with questions, and the assumption that I had begun to understand the dynamics of my homestay family was toppled.
To even further confuse matters, Abdou showed me a photograph of my sister Maty sitting with my aunt and uncle. In his running, rapidly-spoken narration, Abdou said, "Here's Maty avec her parents." Her parents? Maty has always been introduced to me as my sister!
My current status: thoroughly bewildered, and brain-storming the most tactful way to ask these very necessary and very belated questions.
17.2.09
Family Matters.
I've been living with the Leye family for about a week and a half now, and I've had a bunch of realizations. Most surprising and significant, I think, is that my Senegalaise family is more similiar to my American family than I could have imagined. Humanity and general human behavior is a factor that unifies families across the walls of culture and location, and the similarities between my families are more comprehensive and defining than the differences. However, some obvious differences between the Leyes and the Steins are worth listing.
Here, physical reprimands are certainly not uncommon. In fact, affection seems to be shared less, and in many cases, guarded as a close and personal secret. For example, everyone looks at my two year old nephew Babacar with such loving gleam in their eyes, but verbal interactions between my family and Babacar largely consists of reprimands or orders.
The way we eat: out of one big, shared bowl and often with our hands. More subtle differences in eating etiquette: if one pauses in eating, or puts the spoon down, everyone around the bowl urges that person (usually me), to continue eating. When finished eating, one stands up-- you never sit and wait for others to finish. We rarely speak at all during dinner, and we eat fast, usually in about 7-10 minutes. Also, my parents keep all of our food in their bedroom. Because our kitchen is just a small hut off the courtyard, I think the food is kept in the bedroom to protect it from animals or thieves.
Family roles are convoluted and inarticulate. For example, Penda, my 14-year old female cousin, lives with us, but I am still very confused about her familial role. Most middle-class Senegalaise families have a bonne (maid), and Penda seems to at least partially fill this role. She wakes up early and cleans, in addition to a bounty of other responsibilities. But Penda also attends school and is definitely a part of the family. Penda's role is definitely something for me to investigate.
In general, I am having a great time. That is not to say that this experience is not without hardship, and I am frequently homesick. My contradictory emotions come in waves.
Here, physical reprimands are certainly not uncommon. In fact, affection seems to be shared less, and in many cases, guarded as a close and personal secret. For example, everyone looks at my two year old nephew Babacar with such loving gleam in their eyes, but verbal interactions between my family and Babacar largely consists of reprimands or orders.
The way we eat: out of one big, shared bowl and often with our hands. More subtle differences in eating etiquette: if one pauses in eating, or puts the spoon down, everyone around the bowl urges that person (usually me), to continue eating. When finished eating, one stands up-- you never sit and wait for others to finish. We rarely speak at all during dinner, and we eat fast, usually in about 7-10 minutes. Also, my parents keep all of our food in their bedroom. Because our kitchen is just a small hut off the courtyard, I think the food is kept in the bedroom to protect it from animals or thieves.
Family roles are convoluted and inarticulate. For example, Penda, my 14-year old female cousin, lives with us, but I am still very confused about her familial role. Most middle-class Senegalaise families have a bonne (maid), and Penda seems to at least partially fill this role. She wakes up early and cleans, in addition to a bounty of other responsibilities. But Penda also attends school and is definitely a part of the family. Penda's role is definitely something for me to investigate.
In general, I am having a great time. That is not to say that this experience is not without hardship, and I am frequently homesick. My contradictory emotions come in waves.
10.2.09
Ups and Downs.
People often describe the abroad experience as a collection of extreme ups and downs; my experience has been synonymous with that characterization.
The Ups
I get along really well with the people in my program. SIT is great, and the villa where my classes are held is beautiful. I like the neighborhood I live in-- Point E-- a suburb about 20 minutes north of downtown Dakar. It's fairly calm, and there are a lot of students because the University Chiekh Anta Diop is in the area, too. I live very close to school; it's only about a five minute walk. My friend Erin lives just a couple houses away, and I spend a lot of time at her house drinking thé and watching the télé with her brother, Samba, and his friends. My little brother, Abdul, who is twelve years old, is very warm and enthusiastic. He's been communicating with me the most and showing me the ropes. I help him with his English homework; he helps me with my Wolof. Babacar, my sister's one and a half year old son, is absolutely adorable. I play with him a lot, and when I come home from school every day, he runs to me, hugs my legs, and demands to be picked up. Dakar is beautiful, smelly, chaotic, and overwhelming.
The Downs
My family speaks French with a very thick accent, and about half the time they speak Wolof. My communication with them is at a minimum, and I often find it difficult to gauge the attitudes of my family members towards me. My sister Maty is still fairly cold towards me, and my mother, too, doesn't speak to me much. I have bedbugs pretty badly, and when I tried to explain this to my host parents, they insisted that it's mosquito bites-- even though I have a mosquito net and there are no mosquitos out because it's winter here. The bites don't itch, but they are all over my legs. Basically, I'm sweaty, smelly, dirty, and covered in red dots. Super attractive.
Being here and diving into this foreign culture is a lot like becoming a child again. I still don't know exactly how to work the toilet at my homestay, and I've re-learned how to eat, shower, interact with people-- there are a host of cultural faux pas that I've been absorbing. It's very bad luck to say a child is cute, and pregnancy is never acknowledged. It's rude to look elders in the eye. I'm sure I am still committing faux pas right and left. Well, tomorrow, we get out of school early, so some friends and I are planning to go to the huge, overwhelming outdoor market downtown, eat lunch at Ali Baba's, this great fast food place, and then go to the beach. A bientot!
The Ups
I get along really well with the people in my program. SIT is great, and the villa where my classes are held is beautiful. I like the neighborhood I live in-- Point E-- a suburb about 20 minutes north of downtown Dakar. It's fairly calm, and there are a lot of students because the University Chiekh Anta Diop is in the area, too. I live very close to school; it's only about a five minute walk. My friend Erin lives just a couple houses away, and I spend a lot of time at her house drinking thé and watching the télé with her brother, Samba, and his friends. My little brother, Abdul, who is twelve years old, is very warm and enthusiastic. He's been communicating with me the most and showing me the ropes. I help him with his English homework; he helps me with my Wolof. Babacar, my sister's one and a half year old son, is absolutely adorable. I play with him a lot, and when I come home from school every day, he runs to me, hugs my legs, and demands to be picked up. Dakar is beautiful, smelly, chaotic, and overwhelming.
The Downs
My family speaks French with a very thick accent, and about half the time they speak Wolof. My communication with them is at a minimum, and I often find it difficult to gauge the attitudes of my family members towards me. My sister Maty is still fairly cold towards me, and my mother, too, doesn't speak to me much. I have bedbugs pretty badly, and when I tried to explain this to my host parents, they insisted that it's mosquito bites-- even though I have a mosquito net and there are no mosquitos out because it's winter here. The bites don't itch, but they are all over my legs. Basically, I'm sweaty, smelly, dirty, and covered in red dots. Super attractive.
Being here and diving into this foreign culture is a lot like becoming a child again. I still don't know exactly how to work the toilet at my homestay, and I've re-learned how to eat, shower, interact with people-- there are a host of cultural faux pas that I've been absorbing. It's very bad luck to say a child is cute, and pregnancy is never acknowledged. It's rude to look elders in the eye. I'm sure I am still committing faux pas right and left. Well, tomorrow, we get out of school early, so some friends and I are planning to go to the huge, overwhelming outdoor market downtown, eat lunch at Ali Baba's, this great fast food place, and then go to the beach. A bientot!
4.2.09
Mange, mange, mange.
The traditional way to eat in Senegal seems opposite to what we have been taught as Americans. Everything our parents told us not to do is moot; in fact, the Senegalese usually eat with their hands, with a group of people surrounding one big bowl. Using your right hand (never the left), you grab a small handful of food, typically rice and sauce and meat, and roll it in your palm with your fingers until it forms a sticky ball. Then, you raise the ball to your mouth and lick it in, tongue-ing your palm afterwards to minimalize the leftovers on your hand. To witness a group of twenty-year old Americans attempting to accomplish this task is perhaps the least graceful thing to be seen in the Western Hemisphere. If you eat slowly or you pause during the meal, it's normal for someone eating with you to urge you to continue by repeating "mange, mange, mange!" After you finish the meal, everyone licks their whole hands, suckling each finger. Pour éviter sticky hands, it is very important to wash; usually someone pours water from a bowl over your hands. The Senegalese have an interesting take on a toothpick/toothbrush -- they use a locally-grown stick, wide, soft and green, called soceu in Wolof and cure-dents in Francais.
Aujourd'hui I met my homestay sister, Mathy, for a brief meet and greet arranged by SIT. She is also twenty years old, but she has a one and a half year old kid. She was very quiet and reserved, but I hope she will open up to me later. Apparently, I also have another sister and a brother, Abdul and Mariam, and my host father is a professor à la université. As you can see, I've begun to adopt Franglais as my chosen langue. The Senegalese here speak what we call Frolof, a melange of French and Wolof. I've already had one Wolof class, so I hope to become Frolof competent soon enough! Baax na, ba beneen yoon.
Aujourd'hui I met my homestay sister, Mathy, for a brief meet and greet arranged by SIT. She is also twenty years old, but she has a one and a half year old kid. She was very quiet and reserved, but I hope she will open up to me later. Apparently, I also have another sister and a brother, Abdul and Mariam, and my host father is a professor à la université. As you can see, I've begun to adopt Franglais as my chosen langue. The Senegalese here speak what we call Frolof, a melange of French and Wolof. I've already had one Wolof class, so I hope to become Frolof competent soon enough! Baax na, ba beneen yoon.
2.2.09
It's "Freezing Weather"
Asalaamaleukum! My trip to Dakar began with turbulence and concludes with sun. After two days of jetlag, bumpy plane rides, and impressive meals from AirFrance, I'm finally here in Senegal. My group and I are at a hotel right outside of Dakar proper. It's sunny, about 65 or 70 degrees, and the breeze smells like ocean. Despite the warmth, this is winter for the Senegalese; everyone here is walking around in leather jackets and calling this the "freezing weather."
My understanding of Dakar is still limited; in fact, my ability to wrap my mind around this place has really only decreased since my arrival. On the walk to lunch, I tried to gauge the neighborhood-- lots of nice looking businesses, sand and trash everywhere. A beat-up taxi will drive by, followed by a beautiful new Mercedez Benz, followed by a horse-pulled wooden cart. In my estimation, about half of the people wear modern, Western clothes, and the other half wear traditional Senegalese garb. Bright patterns and big colors vie for the eye's attention. I saw two young boys carrying a large, brightly-painted wooden crate full of dozens of tiny birds.
The Americans I've met so for are great, really open-hearted, good-humored, and my group is embracing each other. The Senegalese I've met have a similar disposition: warm, friendly, talkative, complimentary. Lunch was thieboudienne, the Senegalese national dish. It's delicious-- spicy, seasoned rice with several different kinds of fish, none of which we could identify, and an array of root vegetables and cabbage.
Earlier today, I discovered that my homestay address is in downtown Dakar, Point E, a short walking distance from the SIT villa, where my classes will be held. Lots of the other kids are in the suburbs and will have to take a taxi or bus to class everyday, so I feel really lucky. Yup, that's exactly how I feel to be here. Really lucky. Will write more later!
My understanding of Dakar is still limited; in fact, my ability to wrap my mind around this place has really only decreased since my arrival. On the walk to lunch, I tried to gauge the neighborhood-- lots of nice looking businesses, sand and trash everywhere. A beat-up taxi will drive by, followed by a beautiful new Mercedez Benz, followed by a horse-pulled wooden cart. In my estimation, about half of the people wear modern, Western clothes, and the other half wear traditional Senegalese garb. Bright patterns and big colors vie for the eye's attention. I saw two young boys carrying a large, brightly-painted wooden crate full of dozens of tiny birds.
The Americans I've met so for are great, really open-hearted, good-humored, and my group is embracing each other. The Senegalese I've met have a similar disposition: warm, friendly, talkative, complimentary. Lunch was thieboudienne, the Senegalese national dish. It's delicious-- spicy, seasoned rice with several different kinds of fish, none of which we could identify, and an array of root vegetables and cabbage.
Earlier today, I discovered that my homestay address is in downtown Dakar, Point E, a short walking distance from the SIT villa, where my classes will be held. Lots of the other kids are in the suburbs and will have to take a taxi or bus to class everyday, so I feel really lucky. Yup, that's exactly how I feel to be here. Really lucky. Will write more later!
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