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.