9.5.09
Huggies
I have 9 days left here, and the thing that still strikes me everyday is the weird juxtaposition of tradition and modernity. Yesterday I visited my homestay family. We were watching "Les Deux Visages d'Ana," a much-loved Mexican telenovela dubbed in French. During a break, a commercial for Huggies diapers came on. In the commercial, two women have their infants tied on their back with fabric in the traditional style that I witnessed so often in both Dakar and the various villages I visited. The babies, swathed in bright colors and African patterns, seem to meld onto the backs of the mothers. It's a quotidian Dakar sight, but it still strikes me as traditional and distinctly African. In the commercial, the women, speaking Wolof, enter a convenience store. I was surprised to discover that the commercial was advertising the incredibly familiar brand of Huggies diapers. Another bizarre contrast between tradition and modernity, Africa and the West.
5.5.09
Almost Famous
Sometimes living here in Dakar makes me feel like I'm a celebrity. Every time I leave my house, I know I'm stared at by virtually everyone. It's rare that I take a walk and I'm not approached by at least one man, who asks "am nga jekker" (do you have husband), or, if he has more tact, he'll ask my name and phone number first. When I took my little brother to Magic Land on Saturday, two kids asked to take a picture with me.
I would love to tell myself that all this attention is the necessary symptom of my overwhelming beauty, but really, it's because I have white skin. It's strange to live in such a homogeneous society, and it's stranger to be a part of the minority-- an obvious member of the 0.5%. When I go to France/ Italy in two weeks, and afterward, when I go back to NJ/ NY, my relative anonymity will be a welcome repose from all this scrutiny on the street, but I wonder if I'll feel any blow to my ego. I'll walk down the street in Manhattan and wonder, "how come no one's staring at me? Why are no men approaching me, no children following me, yelling 'toubab, toubab'?" No, back in the States, I'll be just another toubab on a street of toubabs.
I would love to tell myself that all this attention is the necessary symptom of my overwhelming beauty, but really, it's because I have white skin. It's strange to live in such a homogeneous society, and it's stranger to be a part of the minority-- an obvious member of the 0.5%. When I go to France/ Italy in two weeks, and afterward, when I go back to NJ/ NY, my relative anonymity will be a welcome repose from all this scrutiny on the street, but I wonder if I'll feel any blow to my ego. I'll walk down the street in Manhattan and wonder, "how come no one's staring at me? Why are no men approaching me, no children following me, yelling 'toubab, toubab'?" No, back in the States, I'll be just another toubab on a street of toubabs.
4.5.09
A Good Day.
Although I rarely use this blog to chronicle my daily activities, I want to talk about past Saturday. A great day overall, and since I'm starting to think of each of my days here as one of my last, I attribute some special significance to such a good Saturday.
Around noon, I went over to my homestay family's house. I had promised to take my 12 year old brother, Abdou, to MagicLand, an amusement park on the corniche overlooking the ocean. By 12:30, Abdou and I had hopped into a taxi and were en route to MagicLand. When we arrived, we were told that it wouldn't open until 2:30. Abdou and I sat on the rocks on the beach for two hours, talking and connecting in a big way. Abdou says he wants to be President of Senegal when he grows up, and he wants to make enough money to travel to the States. Finally, we went into MagicLand-- a Disney Land type place with about 20 rides. Abdou and I got two giant hamburgers for lunch and then we went on a lot of rides. Haunted house, moon jump, bumper cars, this spinny thing that disturbed the hamburger uneasily grumbling in my stomach, you name it-- we went on it. It was expensive, but so worth it to see the joy on Abdou's face.
After dropping Abdou back at his house around 5, I went home and hung out with my roommates. We made a delicious family dinner of jambalaya, and served it on one big platter. We've adopted the Senegalese eating-style, all circled around the same plate. If I could bring one custom back to the U.S., it would be that. Eating is such a communal, intimate experience here because of the shared plates.
After dinner, we went over to the apartment of some American friends we've met. They're leaving to travel around Africa, and this was a little goodbye soirée. They made crepes and we sat around and talked.
Around 1:30 AM, the night was just getting started. This place on the beach called Oceanium hosts a party on the first Saturday of every month; it's a fête that's really infamus among the toubab community of Dakar. After getting dropped off by our taxi on a deserted-looking street, scrambling over some rocks and traversing a steep hill, we followed the booming music into this rundown building that, like a good surprise, opened up onto a beautiful terrace overlooking the ocean. The place was packed with lots of Senegalese and, I'm convinced, all the toubabs I've ever met in Dakar. The DJ played great music and we danced until 5 AM, when my roommates and I taxi-ed home.
My roommate Clint had surprised us with pancake mix-- he has a family friend who's a flight attendant, and she had brought him some treats from the States. So around 5:30, we decided to make pancakes. Avery and I cooked them on our two stovetops, and then we all sat around devouring the pancakes, circled around the same plate for the second time that day, until the sun came up. Literally.
Around noon, I went over to my homestay family's house. I had promised to take my 12 year old brother, Abdou, to MagicLand, an amusement park on the corniche overlooking the ocean. By 12:30, Abdou and I had hopped into a taxi and were en route to MagicLand. When we arrived, we were told that it wouldn't open until 2:30. Abdou and I sat on the rocks on the beach for two hours, talking and connecting in a big way. Abdou says he wants to be President of Senegal when he grows up, and he wants to make enough money to travel to the States. Finally, we went into MagicLand-- a Disney Land type place with about 20 rides. Abdou and I got two giant hamburgers for lunch and then we went on a lot of rides. Haunted house, moon jump, bumper cars, this spinny thing that disturbed the hamburger uneasily grumbling in my stomach, you name it-- we went on it. It was expensive, but so worth it to see the joy on Abdou's face.
After dropping Abdou back at his house around 5, I went home and hung out with my roommates. We made a delicious family dinner of jambalaya, and served it on one big platter. We've adopted the Senegalese eating-style, all circled around the same plate. If I could bring one custom back to the U.S., it would be that. Eating is such a communal, intimate experience here because of the shared plates.
After dinner, we went over to the apartment of some American friends we've met. They're leaving to travel around Africa, and this was a little goodbye soirée. They made crepes and we sat around and talked.
Around 1:30 AM, the night was just getting started. This place on the beach called Oceanium hosts a party on the first Saturday of every month; it's a fête that's really infamus among the toubab community of Dakar. After getting dropped off by our taxi on a deserted-looking street, scrambling over some rocks and traversing a steep hill, we followed the booming music into this rundown building that, like a good surprise, opened up onto a beautiful terrace overlooking the ocean. The place was packed with lots of Senegalese and, I'm convinced, all the toubabs I've ever met in Dakar. The DJ played great music and we danced until 5 AM, when my roommates and I taxi-ed home.
My roommate Clint had surprised us with pancake mix-- he has a family friend who's a flight attendant, and she had brought him some treats from the States. So around 5:30, we decided to make pancakes. Avery and I cooked them on our two stovetops, and then we all sat around devouring the pancakes, circled around the same plate for the second time that day, until the sun came up. Literally.
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