Sensory Turmoil

Smells I love here: Yassa (a spicy, oily onion sauce) sizzling on the gas burner in our dirt-floored kitchen, the shea butter my family lathers on their skin.
Smells I hate here: The scent of the mouton who lives in the courtyard of my homestay and the toilet, used by more than ten people, that doesn't fully flush.

Sounds I love here: The extended greetings I have with the same people everyday on my way to school. The themesongs of the daily soap operas I have come to know and love. The mbalax playing on the boombox on weekend mornings, with Maty and Penda singing along as they do laundry. The ataaya (tea) pouring from cup to cup. The stools getting set for dinner, the sound of wood dragging across the tile floor that awakens my hunger in anticipation for a big plate of rice and fish.
Sounds I hate here: Hissing is the Senegalese equivalent of "hey you!" Although it's usually not badly intended, the hissing from all directions makes my skin crawl. The yelling of "toubab" (Wolof word for white person) that I hear virtually everytime I step out of my house, and the talibes (street kids who beg for coins to give to the Mouride, their Koranic teacher who sends them out to collect money each day) for "petit caudeaux." The constant beeping of cars. The yelling of my homestay family. The scurrying of little cockroach legs on the floor at night.

Tastes I hate here: Laic, a millet gruel-like soup that's traditional for Sunday evenings.
Tastes I love here: Fresh, ripe fruit-- papaya, coconut, soon to be mango! Ataaya, a super strong tea served in small tasses, and made through a specific, complex process that involves lots of pouring from glass to glass to cultivate the foam. I've been learning. Yassa, and everything rice and fishy. The oily consistency took a while to adapt to, but I can't get enough now and will probably have to enter a health food rehabilation center when I return to the U.S.