The Travels of the Tilly Hat

Seul les montagnes ne se recontrent jamais

2010-03-10T17:08:00.000Z

--Over two weeks after returning to the US, I realized that I never posted my final Cameroon blog. Because my blog has become not just a window for my friends and family into a different life but also a way for me to archive and document my experiences, I still feel it necessary to post my concluding reflections--

"Seul les montagnes ne se recontrent jamais."

As I prepared for my departure from Cameroun, a friend of mine invoked a wonderful proverb to remind me that this is not the end. “Only mountains will never meet.” Bittersweet as is usually the case when leaving a special place and people, I am especially marked by the family I am leaving.

I think of each member in my family and how together we make up the unit. My memories consist of the typical ups and downs found between siblings and parents. Now that I’m leaving I glorify my little sisters and brother; conveniently forgetting that only yesterday I scolded the twins for not doing their chores and had a serious talk with Daryl about needing to become more responsible with her money. At times I felt I played the role of mother, juggling my personal time with the management of all the young ones, reminding me of why most people in the US don’t have so many children. But when I step back and look at how we siblings all interact, I am brought back to my own years in elementary and junior high school and become nostalgic for the future years I will miss as each sister grows a little more, becomes a little more responsible, and starts to realize what amazing parents we have.

I think about the relationship I have with Maman [Solange]. Her welcoming personality, which even my friends notice, is just the start of her warmth towards me. My realization of my inclusion as her daughter has been through the makeup of the small details that create my home life. Being encouraged to discipline as well as love my younger siblings; being expected to do housework and help with cooking; Maman buying me clothes; helping the girls with their homework; having late night talks with Maman; being scolded by Maman; and receiving advice from Maman on all number of subjects. It is incredible to think that we only spent six months together, but that my feelings towards her are nothing less than that of a daughter.

I think about my interactions with Papa [David]. I am blown away by his compassion for others, especially as his childhood was marked with no parents, complete poverty and hard work. Most evenings post-lunch were spent in deep discussion about the school, our family, and Cameroon, and the challenges facing them. While Papa loves to socialize with anyone and everyone, these moments formed the base of my extremely open dialogue with him. With his encouragement, I learned to get past my natural instinct to internalize problems and instead hash them out in the open. Although I realize that our relationship is completely unique: he was to me both papa, boss, and friend, I find it refreshing to think of how our open communication resolved many of our cultural differences, school-related issues, family misunderstandings, and the challenges I faced on a day-to-day basis.

Life in Cameroon was extraordinary, this I know. My goal is to add this part of my life to my growing repertoire of knowledge about Africa, family, and people I love dearly. Moving forward, I will continue to share my experiences in my personal effort to close the gap of ignorance and misunderstanding between our different cultures.

December just got cashed

2010-01-12T20:22:00.000Z

As I predicted, the past month flew by in a flurry of activities. Now that I’m through it and starting off a new year and decade I am hit by the accelerating speed of my return to the US. With so many events occurring that I want to make sure are archived and remembered, I’m going to copy a former blog during my Senegal year and list the highlights of the month.

December 4^th-8^th: Another trip to Douala; this time for preparation as a Facilitator for our AIESEC (@) National Conference (hosted in Yaoundé). Got to hang out with AIESEC Cameroon’s national staff. Met @ers from around the country. What a cool group.

December 11^th-13^th: JUMP’IN 2009, Yaoundé, Cameroon. AIESEC National Conference. Students from all over Cameroon and Nigeria. As facilitator I gave presentations, mostly on the exchange process and preparation.

December 18^th: Ecole NOULA’s Christmas Party. Watched all the adorable kids present their dances, recite a skit, or lip sync.

December 18^th-20^th: Again to Douala. One of my best friends’ grandma died and so I and another friend went to visit him for the funeral ceremonies. Extremely important to be present as support for a death in someone’s family.

December 21^st-23^rd: Left 16 hours late (this is extreme Cameroonian tardiness) with the caravan to the deep East province to be present at the Christmas party hosted by the first lady’s foundation, Fondation Chantal BIYA. 11 hours after leaving Yaoundé we arrived in Mbang, 400K from the border of the Central Republic of Africa. Watched a mass marriage of over 50 pygmies, checked out the pygmies leaf huts, and watched the traditional pygmy dances. Ate crocodile.

December 24^th: Celebrated Christmas within the family. Opened presents with everyone. Went to a party at my friend Albert’s house. Danced until 4:30AM. Slept one hour.

December 25^th: Celebrated Christmas with Maman Solange’s extended family. At least 50 cousins and more than 25 aunts, uncles, and grandparents. Went to an amusement park with the kids. Crashed and burned by 9PM.

December 27^th-30^th: Left for the West province with Maman Solange at midnight. Arrived the next morning at 5AM. Stayed in Maman’s natal Bamiléké village, located next to Batie. Made the acquaintance of Maman’s father, a man over 100 years old, who lives by himself after having outlived his multiple wives. I tried to learn some Bamiléké, Papa tried to speak some English. This is why I love cultural exchange. Was sent home with a 50 pound sack of food provisions.

December 30^th-January 2^nd: At the transfer point to return to Yaoundé, I met up with another friend, Askan, to continue my travels to Foumban (Maman returned back to the capitol). Went to Mount Bapite, an ancient volcano that now is partially filled with water. Climbed the mountain and then did what no other foreigner successfully accomplished without getting hurt: descended into the volcanic crater to the waters edge. Felt the mystical vibes and returned back to the top. Rang in the New Year at the Sultan’s palace, watching the dances and songs presented for the Sultan. Met one of the princesses and several of the princes in the royal family.

I’m now back in Yaoundé for a couple weeks before hopefully heading off to Limbé and Buea, two well-known cities on the coast (and not far from Douala), and in the English region of Cameroon. These two cities will make up the last of my explorations of Cameroon’s diverse regions. Needless to say, seeing new places and meeting new people within the country is on my top five list of best memories and experiences.

Learn Bamiléké:

Oy-gilah – Good morning, how did you sleep?

Sou-sou – please

Uhh – yes

Ngay-ping – Thank you

Sopeh pom – Welcome

Chong gai kuh – How are you? Apia-nya - Fine

A year of blessings

2009-12-26T14:23:00.000Z

Late for Christmas, early for New Years; I’ll get timeliness down one of these days.

I wish all my loved ones warm and joyful celebrations. With a new year upon us I’d like to reflect on things that have blessed my life this past year and make me look forward to what lies ahead.

A brother-in-law. Peter. Skiing. Snowboarding. A bachelor’s degree. A summer in Madison. Living with Katie and Christian. A job at WREN. Living in a new African country. Adding more parents and siblings to my family. The opportunity to work in international education. Caring friends. AIESEC. Those who donated to my school and foundation. Getting through sickness. Maman Solange’s care and love. Papa David’s understanding and compassion. Mom and Dad’s continual support of my adventures. My American family. My weekly sugary beignets (doughnuts) that would be the cause for most people’s New Years Eve resolution to be to work out more. Fresh fruit and vegetables. A good education. Books at my disposal. Dances. African hospitality. Traveling. Seasons. Speaking French. Sharing the real American culture. Learning through doing. Global competency. Eager children. The leaders I have met that are my inspiration.

Love and Peace.

Be thankful for what life brings you. We have much for which to be grateful.

The Oregon Trail comes to Cameroon

2009-11-28T10:17:00.000Z

Your wagon got stuck in the mud and Sara came down with Typhoid Fever, rest one week.

This literally was what ran through my head two weeks ago when the doctor came in to my hospital room to break the news that, not only did I have a severe case of malaria, but I had tested positive for typhoid fever. "Isn’t that what people got when you played the Oregon Trail computer game?!" It felt rather surreal to be diagnosed with a disease that seems like such a thing of the past; how can people still be suffering from this?

My Symptoms (for malaria and/or typhoid):

Weekend 1 – fever of around 100°F for 2 days.

Monday – felt better, stayed home and rested.

Tuesday – went to work, massive headaches, weakness.

Wednesday – stayed home, felt better.

Weekend 2 –Visit a gorilla and chimp conservancy site. Go to a village with a friend. Drink water (from the well), eat food, go hiking, get eaten alive by teeny bugs (not the same as mosquitoes). Harvest plantains. Eat porcupine.

Monday – go to work, get home and shovel down plate of food. Cramping stomach. Start throwing up.

Tuesday – still throwing up. Weak and dizzy. Dehydrated. Go to the hospital.

Thank God for my family. Papa David made the executive decision to take me to the hospital instead of just the pharmacy for treatment. Taking care of me and making all the appropriate decisions while I was slightly delusional was a Godsend.

The medical system is one based completely on your ability to pay. Before I was given any treatment I had to pay cash, each step of the way. If I was to be given a medication infused into my IV, I had to pay before they added it (at 2AM this is pretty frustrating information). Shuttled from room to room, first talking to the nurse, and then the doctor I hazily remember thinking how lucky we are in the states to be given one room to sit in, and the medical professionals then come to us. Before my test results had come back, the doctor recommended that I get an IV for fluids. Despite my trust and confidence in Papa David and knowing that I really should be getting rehydrated I was nervous about the quality of care (i.e. sterilization measures) I would be getting. I insisted on seeing the needles they were to use before agreeing. When they brought everything out for me I was reassured by the familiar sealed plastic casings.

I got set up with an individual room for the night, $12, with a personal bathroom and balcony. The water didn’t always run and the pressure for the toilet couldn’t handle even toilet paper, but at least I didn’t have to move far. The room was bare apart from a single sheet and two tables. Papa had to buy me toilet paper, soap, any other essentials. Healthcare also only covers medicine; Maman had to come every day with my food. In the hospital system the families are in charge of providing food, yet another aspect I would say we Americans/Westerners take for granted.

In total I was given 8 IV bags, stayed two nights and three days, and was finally discharged Thursday evening. I was cared for by several nurses and had the doctor come in and check on me once a day. I also became the prime candidate for intern tutelage as every doctor visit was accompanied by 10 interns crowding into my room and listening intently as I took this sole opportunity with the doc to ask how and why I had malaria and typhoid when I had been both vaccinated and was taking prophylaxis to prevent this from happening. Unsatisfied by the doctor’s response (as he dismissed Western medicine and doctors as not having any idea how to treat diseases in Africa) I had to anxiously wait until I got home to internet to do my own research.

Final consensus: I’m unlucky. The typhoid fever vaccination is only about 85% effective and malarial preventatives are around 90%. The double hit probably caused my body to be weakened and allow both diseases to enter. However, in comparison to the stories I’ve heard from others, the actual manifestation wasn’t as intense. Hence, I hypothesize that the vaccination and prophylaxis helped at least in diminishing the potential full effects of both diseases.

Now, I’m on the mend. Two weeks of additional medication and attentive watch over the possibility of a relapse. I thank God it wasn’t worse, that I have a caring family to help keep me healthy, and that the silver lining was that I learned how [those who have it good] the healthcare system works in Cameroon.

I'm looking for a beautiful flower

2009-11-23T21:05:00.000Z

Going strong with the extremely late blogs. I have yet to talk about the traditional wedding I went to a few weekends ago in Douala.

Again accompanied by Doris, we left for Douala, the economic capital of Cameroon. Situated on a delta with the river emptying into the ocean, Douala is the port city that brings in the money for the country. Noticeably better off by the organization of roads, state of the buildings, and general ambiance, Douala would have been a fun city to live in if not for the sweltering heat and humidity. Reminiscent of Minnesota summers where just sitting in the shade makes you sweat, I was fortunate to be staying at my friend’s cousin’s house with A/C!

Our friend Carol (fellow AIESECer) had invited the two of us to her sister’s traditional wedding, more commonly called the dowry ceremony. Dependant on means and following today’s modern society, Cameroonians usually hold two weddings, a traditional marriage and a “church” or civil marriage. Last weekend was solely dedicated to the dowry process and took place outside at Nadine’s (the bride) uncle’s house.

Saturday morning we all woke up to help with the food preparations. The house fairly calm for the fact that nothing was set up in advance, the three of us girls joined in with the aunts, cousins, friends, and random relatives outside to prepare. Chatting easily while snapping beans we were filled in on the events for the evening. Having all the family gathered around and helping, I became a little nostalgic for my own family holidays and events where preparations are virtually the same.

The ceremony was to start at 8:00 PM. As the hour approached the kitchen frenzy heightened. The food wasn’t ready in time, so there was about a one-hour delay in getting started. When it finally did, it was quite the spectacle. The heads of the bride’s family sat on an elevated platform to one side and addressed the groom’s family. The uncle guiding the proceedings welcomed the family to his home and for the occasion. Then the theatrics started. The uncle (Papa Antoine) asked the family, “what are you here for?” The communicator for the groom’s father replied, “we are here because we saw a beautiful flower at your house and we want to take her into our home.” The dialogue went back and forth for a while using metaphors to discuss the bride-to-be. Finally Papa Antoine gave in and said, “well we have many beautiful flowers at this house and so you will have to recognize the one you are talking about.” He went on to say that the flowers are very hard to find or are far away, and this was when the money started to fall, with the groom’s family offering compensation for bringing in the “rare flowers.”

Now, the aunts of the bride came into the picture. Finding young women to pretend to be Nadine, they covered them up in African fabrics and paraded them one by one into the courtyard while singing and dancing. Presenting each hidden women to the groom and his family more money and gifts were offered, especially if they guessed wrong. Finally after an hour or so, Nadine herself was covered up. Making even more of a hub-bub, it was clear that this woman was different than the rest. With the aunts pretending that they didn’t want to let her go, the march to the groom was laborious. When the groom responded that this woman was the flower he was looking for, the entire courtyard erupted into hoots and hollers, clapping and cheering. Nadine was unveiled and the aunts of the groom’s family joined into the circle surrounding the couple, dancing and singing a song that everyone seemed to know.

After the general brouhaha, Nadine was taken away again to change into her nice dress. Accompanied by the groom this time as she entered into the courtyard, the aunts surrounded the couple with dance and cheers. The two were led up to the platform with Papa Antoine where they were asked to drink from the palm wine necessary to complete the binding of the contract. In addition, they were asked to share a kola nut, another traditional rite of cementing the marriage. When the whole process was done, the groom got to kiss the bride. A three hour ceremony in total, the buffet started at 12 midnight.

I finally got to bed by 2 AM. Half the party had left, the other half were on their way to the dance clubs to continue the party. I just wanted to sleep. Since everyone was here from all over beds were in short order. The bed that Doris and I had shared the night before turned into an all out girls slumber party of 4 spoons. Somehow I still slept like a babe.

And so ended the first half of a Bamiléké wedding celebration.

I just landed in a postcard

2009-11-03T21:20:00.000Z

Two weekends have passed already, both without proper documentation. I spent them discovering new regions of Cameroon and enjoying them in different ways. Since both deserve their own entry I will post each weekend separately. (Look for pictures in the slideshow I put up on the left side of my blog).

My skin finally gave in. I’m peeling like a lizard despite my best efforts to moisturize.

October 23-25^th, two weekends ago, I took my first day off and left for Kribi Friday morning. Traveling with my fellow AIESECer and ex-patriot, Doris (she’s German), we took a bus mid-morning arriving four hours later on the southern coast of Cameroon. Kribi is lauded for its gorgeous beaches and tropical landscape. Catching my first glimpse of the ocean from my tightly wedged position in the bus and taking a big gulp of that fresh sea air, the stress and exhaustion from working so much started to ease.

This weekend was all about R&R for me. Yes, it was an opportunity to see another region of diverse Cameroon, but more importantly, I needed to take some time for myself, stretch my independent wings, and be selfish for a moment. While the sense of encroachment on my independence is less prominent than when I was in Senegal, it has still been an adjustment to be held accountable every day to a family again.

Bee-lining it to the hotel when we pulled into the bus stop, Doris and I profited from the last few hours of sunshine on the beach of our ocean-side hotel. Getting hungry and wanting to use our legs a little, we wandered down a road following the ocean hoping to fall upon a restaurant. By chance a man stopped to ask us where we were going and promptly gave us a recommendation for “excellent fish and not too expensive.” This is the downfall of Kribi, no longer a “best-kept secret,” the tourist trade has shot prices through the roof of Cameroonian standards (and can even be pricey after converting CFAà$$). 3 miles and a bumpy moto ride later, we entered into Tara Plage Hotel and Restaurant. Tucked into its own private bay with no other buildings in sight, we walked into a postcard. Amid exlamations of joy over how amazing of a location we were in, we each ordered a grilled fish. While on the pricey side of $13 a plate, we were not disappointed. Sizable fish with my favorite grilled plantains, and baked tomatoes on the side. We stuffed ourselves to the tune of FRESH fish and spectacular sunset. Ah, the life. Before heading back to the hotel we took a taxi into the central part of town to check it out and get a few provisions: boxed wine and ice cream! Finishing off the night Doris and I took our goodies down to the beach and parked ourselves in the sea-side hammocks, letting ourselves relax to the ocean surf music.

Saturday morning my internal alarm clock of now 6:30 AM woke me. Although wishing I could just enjoy my one commitment-free weekend morning, I took advantage of the cool morning to read my [very] slowly progressing Barak Obama book. Side note: this book with the photo of Barak on the cover has gotten me some serious attention with unanimous support and pleasure over our new President. Later in the morning after Doris got up we took another walk to find food, this time in the downtown direction. On our way we came across a great beach/ocean scene with a nice house/hotel included. We each got a photo in when a local stopped his moto to inform us that what we were doing was very illegal and if the guards saw us we would probably be thrown in jail unless we supplied a large bribe! Apparently the nice house was none other than the second Presidential palace…Of course we choose the one that could get us in trouble. Thanking God for our luck I reflected on this [rather] unimportant imposition on Cameroonian freedoms in contrast to the US. Just another reminder of the type of government people live under here.

The downtown is much better kept than Yaoundé and the other towns we passed through on the way to get to Kribi. Whether because it is so touristy or because the President decided to invest in it, who knows, but the streets were more clean and some parts even had landscaping. Containing all of the same elements as you would find in Yaoundé suburbs, Doris and I meandered through the market to see if we saw anything interesting. Assorted vegetables, endless fruits, new and used clothing, shoes, random cooking utensils, raw meat, and a few tailor shops, nothing changed (except prices) from what we see in Yaoundé.

After buying food for a picnic lunch, Doris and I moved out of our hotel to a better priced and new favorite location…Tara Plage. Our arrival was welcomed by rain. Bummed but not too upset, we took more time to read and lounge around. As we waited for a break in the clouds we were surprised by the arrival of our friend Arthur, another Cameroonian member of AIESEC we are both friends with. We had invited him to join us for the weekend, but he wasn’t sure if he would make it, so when he showed up we were pretty excited. Riding on our new energy Doris and I decided to make the best of the rain and still balmy temperatures and put on our swimsuits to play in the ocean. I’m pretty sure everyone working at the hotel thought we were crazy for being out in the rain, but we had a ball. We went for a long walk along the beach exploring the coastline, finally giving in and returning home when we were fully drenched and shivering from the rain.

Dinner that night was at a random restaurant, nothing special. Since we are old people we decided not to discover the nightlife and instead did a repeat of Friday night at our new hotel. It was the perfect way to close another day of relaxation.

Sunday morning was another early start. By 9AM all three of us had mobilized and were ready to go to the waterfalls famous in the Kribi area. We had the chance that the falls were within [long] walking distance from our hotel. Sand between our toes and sun shining brightly (as was later attested to by my raging sunburn...oops!), I reveled in my fortune of being in tropical paradise while everyone back in the States was freezing their buns off with the October snow.

Les chutes de lobe (waterfalls) were breathtaking. Not tall and long, but short and wide. The three of us, now nicknamed somehow the “kribi crew,” rented a pirogue (carved out long wooden canoe; the same as the Senegalese fishing boats) to get up close to the falls. We got to climb into the falls where they were less powerful, take pictures and take in the glory of such a work of nature. Following this adventure we went for a quick swim while waiting for our shrimp. Kribi’s specialty is shrimp with a special sauce. Again paying a pretty penny ($13), we dined on 100 fresh shrimp with the necessary fried plantains as the accompaniment. I cannot rave enough over how delicious it was. Crevettes à la Kribienne, slightly greasy and garlicy with a bite at the end. I have to learn how to make it. To top off my vision of a perfect weekend, we passed around a coconut, drinking the milk and scraping out the meat.

To my great sadness I had to leave straight away to get back to Yaoundé before it got too late.

With all of the free time I had over the weekend I spent a lot of time reflecting on my past two months in Cameroon and evaluating how I was doing. I realized that I haven’t been appreciating life as much as I should; the details of this country that remind me of why I will always be passionate about Africa; the people who continue to mark me. I am convinced that I will go back to Kribi at least one more weekend because it was so fantastic. Nothing like taking time to take care of yourself.

Almost to Wednesday

2009-10-21T06:40:00.000Z

(This was written yesterday, but no internet)

Another Tuesday come and gone. Tomorrow, “hump day,” and already the middle of the week. What makes Wednesdays even better is that class is only until 12 noon. What a nice break in the week!

This morning I rolled myself out of bed at 5:45 AM and went through my carefully strategized morning routine, leaving myself just enough time to steep my coffee and prepare the egg sandwiches for Papa David, Daryl, and myself. Leaving the house at 6:30 (really it’s more like 6:40) we avoid the morning traffic and whiz down the road to arrive at school ten minutes later. To get to Noula School we have a direct straightaway from our house [usually] making the commute speedy.

By 7 AM I was settled into the office with laptop, coffee, and egg sandwich in hand. Today I planned to start writing sponsorship letters to organizations asking for donations for our annual holiday party. Ten minutes in and the usual troupe of nursery kids tromped in to say hi and check out what I was doing. While adorable, it was quite distracting having them jostling around for the place closest to me and simultaneously peppering me with questions: “What does that do? Open that. What are you doing now?” With Papa Jean’s help I finally got them shoo-ed out of the office. Ahh, now I could get back to work.

7:30 AM Denis, the school’s go-to man (he teaches the computer classes for me, fixes the electronics, types documents, and basically is learning to be my right arm), came in to try and fix our “new” printer. The most exciting thing to happen to the office, last week we got a printer/scanner that David had thought was broken to work. Two days later it actually did break down. An hour later we were still stuck on what was wrong so Denis took it to the computer room to work on some more. During this time we were interrupted at least three different times by parents and teachers needing some sort of assistance.

Getting back to my project for the day I did some research on the organizations we are targeting and started to “get organized.”

Interrupted again, our Pedagogic Advisor showed up. Trying to relay the things that needed to be done today and Thursday (the other day he works for us), I got frustrated with his inability/unwillingness to comply with my requests. As a true guru of the field, his years working for the Cameroonian educational system combined with his actual weathered age has given him the “I know best” attitude in all situations. Difficult to deal with when my expectations clash with what he wants to do.

Returning to my project I continue working. Receiving a steady flow of problems and needs from teachers and parents is the norm. I estimate that at least every 30 minutes someone stops in. I have a continual list of things that teachers ask me for: chalk, bathroom cleaning supplies, copies of the first sequence schedule, an advance on their paycheck for the younger brothers’ father-in-law’s funeral, etc. Hard to keep it all straight when we don’t have the means to buy things in bulk.

Next came the sick student. Rifling through the student registration sheets for his grade I couldn’t find his information. Thankfully I recognized his name as being the son of the manager of the Yaounde post office, the man who now makes sure that I receive my packages safe and sound. I had his number on hand and was able to call him up and ask him to send someone to pick up his son. With the number of students who are still not registered 2 months into the school year (around 175), we have had to use fairly creative measures to get parents’ phone numbers for sick/bad children.

Continuing with the letter I start the actual writing. Despite the ever-present visitors, I finished the letter near the end of the day. Almost directly after, David returned to the school and reminded me that we needed to finish updating the financial records of each student/family in order to start sending out [way overdue] tuition payment reminders. I had spent my entire Monday on this task so I only had a few more additions to the spreadsheet. Talk about complicated: try reconciling the teachers’ class list with the registration sheets, guessing on the names that are spelled based on what the teacher hears; then cross listing this with the list of students whose parents have paid something towards their tuition/registration; then calculating who has paid the full registration cost, and the first payment. To further confuse things we had to make sure parents who made more than two payments were accurately recorded. As my Grandpa Walker would have said, “minor details, minor details.”

My head about to explode by the last hour of class, David and I realized that the teachers meeting we had scheduled last week for today and canceled yesterday had not been announced to the teachers! Feeling terrible for not giving any notice, I notified the head teacher for the week and he informed the others. With so many other things to think about and remember, I am still juggling how to be efficient and stay organized.

Finally I jetted out of the school by 3:45 PM, early for a typical day, and went home.

Life after work is a whole story in itself, so its telling will have to wait for another day.

Thus went a “typical” day-in-the-life-of Sara.

Saturday Mornings

2009-10-11T09:56:00.000Z

After catching up with my fellow ex-pat friends’ blogs, I realized I have skipped over the documentation of what my days consist of, and went right to analysis of Cameroonian culture. Considering that every day I have something new happen to me, and that these new things can help me describe my day-to-day life, I will try to rectify this void.

Yesterday, Saturday, started like many others. At approximately 6:15 AM the whole house (minus me) was up and vocally active. 6:30 AM, light tapping on my door: “Sara, Sara…Do you have a big headband I can borrow?” Half an hour and four different “wake-ups” later I pulled myself out of bed and headed out into the full-blown action. A creature of habit, I immediately put water on to boil and went about my morning routine. My Maman doesn’t like to eat right away in the morning which thus meant that the rest of the kids had to wait until she was ready ~10AM. Now that I showed up and am usually famished half an hour after waking up, I am the one who prepares the milk and bread for all the kids (since it would be impolite to eat before everyone else). Breakfast has been anything from last night’s leftover dinner, to egg or avocado (my favorite!) sandwiches, to bread mixed with hot sugared milk, to “buit” (bw-ee) a thick corn-based drink with lots of sugar.

After breakfast, the household is put to work. Last nights and this mornings dishes to be washed. Laundry to be done. Floors to be scrubbed. Kitchen/bathrooms/bedrooms to be cleaned. Daily meal to be prepared…There is no break in upkeep for a house of 8 people. While Maman Solange doesn’t usually ask me to participate in any of the work, as eldest daughter of the house and major role model for the kids, I feel obliged to pitch in.

Midday approaches quickly and I have my AIESEC meetings every Saturday afternoon. Yesterday was different as I decided to skip out in lieu of the HUGE football (soccer) match, Cameroon v. Togo taking place at the Yaoundé stadium. After a raucous good time at the previous match versus Gabon, and despite the 30-minute downpour, I was pumped for this game. With the sun shining brightly (must have been around 90^o), dressed in a borrowed Lions jersey, and accompanied by 3 Germans and 4 Cameroonians, I headed to the stadium. Here, when you are a fan, you are a FAN! After being a Badger and loving our pride, the Cameroonian energy put me right back to fall Saturday football games. People were outrageously dressed in red, green, and yellow, riding through the streets in packed cars whistling and waving flags. I even saw a guy gallop past on a horse decked out with a Cameroonian flag as a cape!

The game was entertaining; peppered with cheers, the Cameroonian version of the wave, and the various dance parties that broke out when groups of drummers stopped by to pump up the crowd. 2 hours later and feeling rather crispy we celebrated the 3-0 victory that will put us at the final face-off for the World Cup.

My enjoyment of the day was hampered only by a small incident while waiting for a taxi to go home. Being quite conspicuous with 4 white people in our group, we apparently were followed from the stadium by a group of street thugs. Knowing that the area was not the best neighborhood, we were conscious of our things. However, one of the “dudes” approached one of the Cameroonian guys in our group to tell him that we were going to be harassed if we didn’t buy him a drink. My friend Askand immediately diffused the situation by talking with him and giving him money. In return, the guy ended up helping us find a taxi to get out of there. This situation was just another reminder of how Yaoundé is not a very safe city. I have been lucky to have such Cameroonian friends that keep close tabs on me when we are hanging out and when I leave to go home at night.

The day ended with a few of us grabbing a drink at a bar near Askand’s house. Interesting to think of how easily my day could be transposed into a day in the US, with just a few minor details changed. Oh how the world works the same.

Home Photos

2009-09-30T16:17:00.003Z

The front side of my house. The building to the left is an apartment my family rents out.

Iness, Sabrina, friend, Christiana running up the road near our house.

My Doctorate

2009-09-30T16:13:00.001Z

If I wrote a story about a single different thing that happened to me every day here, I would have a doctorate thesis waiting for me at the end of my stay.

I could write about peoples’ mannerisms; the way people cluck their tongues at something unbelievable, their exclamation of “ah-ka” for the same reason, or how people push out their lips as they talk to point at the object they are discussing.

I could write about music; how no one is ashamed to sing aloud even when they can’t hit a note, the fact that everyone in my family listens to the American music on my ipod while belting out nonexistent words to the tune of the song, or the 7:30 AM start of school with the students singing.

I could write about the dust and dirt; despite the daily rain everything is covered in a red film by the end of the day, the roads that have become obstacle courses, or that no matter who you are it is impossible to stay clean.

I could write about the educational system; how hard it is to come up with effective ways to teach when both the teacher and the student do not have adequate supplies, the method of speaking and having students finish the word as recognition of their comprehension, my consternation at the teachers’ negative reaction when I forbade corporal punishment at any level, or the reality that teaching is considered a “last resort” profession.

I could write about the importance of having a diverse network of friends; the fact that you will be crushed if you can’t find a government official to help you, or the brotherhood that somehow will arise between good people despite the squeezing hand of those in power.

I could write about the Cameroonian image of foreigners; the sad truth that Cameroonians give white people far greater privileges than their Cameroonian compatriots, how Americans are still considered the highest on the ladder of success and respect, or the universal money sign and single status that is printed on our skin.

I could write about the multitudes of ethnicities and sub-ethnicities; in any number of places people can immediately identify others of the same background, how anyone belonging to the same ethnicity is considered brother, sister, mother, father, or that even though there is no reigning majority a hierarchy has arisen between groups allowing for prejudices to fester.

I could write about the food; Cameroonian ability to prepare a few key ingredients like plantains and cassava in such diverse ways that meals rarely feel repetitive, the grilled fish you can buy on the side of the street for $1.00, the fresh fruit found in my backyard that has amazing natural flavor, the natural remedies my maman has for all number of ails and diseases, the avocado sandwiches I eat on weekend mornings, or the 5¢ bananas.

All of these would make great chapters. My reality incorporates these segments into my life every day. What is incredible is how many chapters are still missing, the topics yet to be discovered. I really should be writing down more of my experiences; however if I did, I wouldn’t have time to be living it.

Attitude reflects leadership, Captain

2009-09-21T17:05:00.000Z

One month in and I’m starting to feel settled into a routine. Roads are becoming more familiar, prices are starting to be fixed in my head, and my schedule is slowly having a rhythm. I have made many hard decisions, have relied on many different people, and am still surprised by all of the situations that I am faced with. Despite all that I have ahead of me I can look back at this past month and see many tangible results of my work.

Now that I have been here a while, I feel like I can start to formulate generalizations about Cameroonian culture. Something that has drastically struck me is the corruption. Before going to Cameroon I was warned that the President (Paul Biya) is one of the most corrupt in the world. Unsure of what this statement was based on, and cognizant that this is often the reality in Africa, I didn’t think this would affect me in any great measure. How wrong was I…

As corny as it may seem, to take the line “attitude reflects leadership, Captain,” from the movie Remember the Titans, captures the sentiments of many Cameroonians. As leader of the country for over 30 years, President Biya’s actions have impregnated in the general public that corruption is the norm and is passably acceptable. It is common knowledge that every government run facility functions mainly on bribes and favoritism. I somewhat expected this, but what has surprised me is the extent of general public who also participate in this behavior. I could name at least five situations that I have either witnessed or heard secondhand that involve blatant bribing and/or cheating. In the interest of space I will recount two experiences I have had: one involving a government official and one involving a teacher at my school.

The first week of class was unusual by Noula school standards because we received three Ministry of Education officials of different ranking in the course of two days. On Tuesday I was caught unawares when the regional Ministry of Education inspector came to call (this is the second from the top to the entire ministry). David was out running errands and Papa Jean our bookkeeper was gone, so I was left to receive the inspector on my own. Thankfully our Pedagogic Advisor was there to help me answer some of the questions they asked of me.

In explaining what was happening at our school that week it was clear that the inspector was not pleased at all with our week of revision before placing students with their teacher for the year. Our problem, we explained, was that we couldn’t set kids in their classes yet because we didn’t know how many would be in each grade, thereby determining if we needed to pair any grades together and thus eliminate a teacher. Still unconvinced she moved on to our administration. Becoming incensed at the fact that David, the director had no formal training in the educational field, the inspector repeated that we had better get him to leave the school otherwise she hinted we could get shut down. While trying my best to reason with this woman, our Pedagogic Advisor interrupted me to ask me into the side room. He explained that the only way to calm her down was to pass off 5,000 CFA, with the explanation of “gas money for the travel.” Too overcome by this reality and unsure how to handle this type of bribery, I asked the Advisor to do it. The scene unfolded as he predicted; upon receiving the money the inspector stopped raising her voice, she left all of her complaints aside, became somewhat pleasant, and decided she could leave. I showed her out the door with her saying, “you should look into finding a new director, I’m not sure the present man is appropriate.” Situation immensely diffused? I think so.

A few days after the scene of the bribe the school fell victim to a teacher trying to take advantage of our orphan reduction policy. This woman, the most senior at our school and making significantly more than everyone else, came to David and I with a new family. She was a friend of theirs and the man was recently widowed, meaning one of his kids under our policy was applicable for a 1/3^rd tuition reduction. The teacher told us that even this was too little, “this man is having a really hard time, I don’t think he can pay so much for all of his kids to come to school here.” She then went on to insinuate that if we didn’t give him a bigger reduction he had threatened to go to another school. We explained that he himself would need to come talk to us further if we were to go beyond our typical policy. The teacher kept saying “no, no, he has to work.” Trying all manner of guilting, anger, and demand for compassion, we gave the teacher our final number and said to send this father to talk to us. She responded like an spiteful child saying, “fine, I’ll tell him you won’t be flexible and we’ll see if he even decides to bring his children here.”

After this exchange David went and spoke with the kids of the parent in question (they were already attending school, just without having been registered). He found out that their father had never once suggested that the kids go anywhere else except Noula and that he also was of a means to not need extenuating tuition reductions. As David repeated this back to me, he also reported that he had seen that our teacher had had registration money in her hand while talking to us, further proving that this father had sent her to register the kids regardless.

The next day the teacher returned and said that the number we had given was too high, the father had said he needed 10,000 CFA less (approx ~$25). When I stood firm on my decision, reiterating that things could change if he himself came, she broke down and said, “fine, just register the kids already.” The sum she gave me on this family’s behalf was almost the entire total of the registration and tuition fees for all of the children! The ability to give a large sum of money at one time is pretty rare and again spoke to the fact that the teacher was hoping to take the money saved from the extra reduction and pocket it for her own.

This example of corruption outside of the government greatly disturbed me. Not only was this our own teacher (someone who we are soon to fire anyways), but she had been with our school for 8 years! While this is only one person, other stories of Cameroonian friends’ acquaintances have illustrated similar mentalities. I will never say that most Cameroonians are corrupt, however the frequency of these occurrences and the conclusive statement being that “this is what Cameroonians are like,” has made me acutely aware of what happens when a government breaks down and starts a chain of actions repeated and tolerated by its people.

Noula School photos

2009-09-11T23:13:00.004Z

Some of the adorable nursery school kids. Don't know their names. Don't really need to with their disarming smiles.

School line-up, 7:30 AM bright and early. Kids are lined up by class/grade.

Family Hardships – Part 1

2009-09-10T20:32:00.000Z

Throughout these past few weeks of registering students I have had to work with parents to figure out how they are going to pay the tuition for their children. I have gotten multiple emotions when dealing with the initial registration: shock, anger, cunning, aggression, despair, resignation, and defeat.

Today I met with a woman who came in to settle up her remaining account from last year, and to register her kids for this year. As we looked at what she owed and added it to this coming year’s total, the cloud of unbelief settled upon her. The sum was staggering; her husband has no job and lies to her about where he spends their money (e.g. when he is supposed to pay for the school), and as mother and housekeeper she has no stable income either. As she looked at me she asked if there was anything we could do to help her. I responded by asking her how much she was able to put forth. Bowing her head, she told me half of the total (including what she owed). Going through my mind I was thinking of how much of a cut the school would have to absorb. When I suggested a total that better accounted for the money she still owed, her shoulders sagged and her eyes started to fill with tears. There was no money. With such a case, I knew that the school would take the loss. As she handed over the little she had to start off the year, it was clear that she had scrounged, giving everything in small crumpled bills.

What is unfortunate is that this woman was not an unusual case. Her story especially touched me for some reason, but I am faced with decisions every day on how much of a reduction I should give to families. This is what pulls me to my interest in educational development: the importance of giving everyone a chance at a good education. It is clear that this mother knew how vital it is for a student to learn, and that if left to the public sector, her children would be lost to the masses. Why should her children not be given a chance? In Yaoundé (and probably most other urban areas), public primary schools usually average about 90 kids a classroom. In this setting, I can’t imagine children under the age of 10 being able to develop, flourish, and create a solid foundation for their future support of their growing country.

Not only is this school about providing opportunities for children, but it is also a mechanism for encouraging women and mothers to take a greater interest in education. While I may not be “business savvy” in my recruitment and registration methods, our school is providing an essential service to the community. We are looking towards preparing the future generation of leaders, workers, and citizens. Idealistic as it may be, David is constantly talking about how the good formation of students now will allow Cameroon to develop in the future. As Americans, we don’t usually think of our education as an investment in our country; it is an investment in oneself. While this too plays a role in Cameroonian parental motives, there is also an undertone of acknowledgement of the betterment of their larger world and nation.

These possibilities drive me to keep working. It gives me the hope that someone will recognize this goal in our school and help us to continue providing more opportunities.

First Day of School

2009-09-07T18:43:00.001Z

“La rentree” as it is called in French, I experienced my first “first day of school” not as a student, but from the other side, as an administrator. What a different way of running things here. The first day found me receiving parents who were still registering their children, bargaining for computers, giving an interview for the radio, and managing the food vendors for the school. I couldn’t believe the entire day was packed with the parents who waited until the day of to put their kids in school (and apparently it is like this all week).

School starts at 7:15 AM, but most students didn’t get in until 8-9. Everyone was gathered in the courtyard in front of the classrooms and separated into “levels,” a grouping system Cameroon uses for classes. One of the teachers had the students march in place while singing some common song. Then as he whistled at everyone, they all filed into their respective classrooms. Slightly militant, but the kids seemed to be having fun.

The teachers who remained from last year then took over the level they had taught and held typical “first day” lessons, complete with revision of last year’s material.

Last week was the first day of school for the teachers (like in the US). Whoever showed up on the first of September was given his/her job back. Everyone else was assumed to have moved on to other things. The second or third was the day that everyone who had applied for a job showed up. After waiting about 2 hours (for our Pedagogic Advisor) all the prospective and old teachers took a “test.” Each person was required to write two essays, one commenting on a quote, and one describing how to handle a classroom. These then became a large basis for deciding what level each teacher would be teaching.

According to everyone, this entire week will be the same as today. No real schedule, no real classes. As of yet, no schedule has been set and no teacher knows what class he/she is teaching. After Friday we review the number of students we have for each grade. We then decide how many teachers we need (dragging along the applicants until this weekend), and what class they will take. Imagine my surprise to hear that teachers can’t prepare lesson plans until the weekend after school starts!

As for me, I won’t start teaching my computer classes (part-time) until next week. Good thing, since A) we only have one working computer (my old laptop) and B) the teacher’s books the government says I am supposed to use have not yet been printed…

Thus went my day. Everyday something new.

Photos of my family and School!

2009-09-01T17:28:00.004Z

MY FAMILY!!!!

Me, Sorel, Daryl, Maman Solange, David, Arnold

Candice, baby Aharian, Christiana, Iness, Sabina

The Noula School - Where I work.

One Week! (Or what was supposed to be)

2009-08-31T08:20:00.000Z

What a whirlwind of work. I’ve been thrown right into the thick of things and can’t believe I’ve only been here a week. It feels like months. I have way more responsibility than I think most 22 year old, new graduates are given, but it is making me learn and make decisions at a rapid pace. Already I’ve had to deal with angry parents (so far just people that usually come in and complain), registering students, figuring out an electronic accounting system for the school (while also teaching the administrators how to use a computer), creating two websites (one in English and one in French), a brochure for potential donors, and researching possible donors in Cameroon…Oh yeah, and school starts in a week and a half and I haven’t started my lesson plans yet. Still don’t know what my schedule is going to be once school starts; all I know is I’m in charge of the computer science classes…but possibly English and French too? I’m leaving it for next week with everything else going on. I’ll let you all know when I’ve finished the websites. I’d love opinions, advice, and suggestions cause I’m on my own in terms of what should be on it. And this way you can see what this school is all about (really just a private elementary school).

As for social life here: I again have come upon an extremely kind and generous family. Not as well off as my family in Senegal, but they are just as hospitable if not more. There are 5 girls (starting at 14 yrs) and the youngest is a 3-year-old boy. It goes: Candice (14), Daryl (yes, girl, 12), twins Sabrina & Iness (9), Christiana (7), and Aharian (3). For the moment we also have another older boy (Arnold, 14 yrs) who is the son of a friend, 2 little boys who are some relation, and the ~18ish yr old mason (we call him Frankie) living with us. Maman Solange is still young, only 35 (with 6 kids I find this to be quite the feat)! And while David is considered my boss, we get along very well and he seems very open to my suggestions for the school. He’s really easy-going. We have already had some pretty deep conversations about life here; each of them giving me further insight into Cameroonian culture and mentality.

Mealtimes are different than in the US or in Senegal. Here the only real meal is once you return home from work/school around 4:00 PM. My family doesn’t typically eat breakfast, they have a little something around 10:00 AM. Then in the early afternoon you go grab a snack, like a couple grilled plantains and “prunes” (these are not what we eat in the US, they’re pretty bitter and I’m not sure what they really are). When I get home from work Maman has some big thing cooked up; typically a starch (potatoes, manioc, or rice) and sauce similar to Senegal. Sometimes we have had chicken, fish, and guinea fowl in the sauce. I was a little freaked out when I was driving with David the other day and passed by a man selling bush rats…we stopped to ask the price and were about to buy them for our dinner, but they ended up being too expensive. Hahaha, I almost ate rat for dinner!

We had an AIESEC party last Saturday night (now one week ago) to send off one of the interns from this past summer. I met a bunch of AIESECers and two other interns, the one leaving, from Holland, and one who will be around for another month, from Germany. I was so impressed by how much each of the AIESECers took a turn at coming over and talking to me. I felt very welcomed. I’m excited for our first meeting this weekend. I’ve been asked how Cameroonian young people are in comparison to my friends in Senegal. I feel like this is hard to tell. From my first impression, they seem to have a greater understanding of “Western” expectations and culture. After having had so many students come they’re more aware of how things appear to someone from a developed country. The girls were also a lot more open than in Senegal. Again, this could be because that is part of what it means to be in AIESEC, you do your best to include international students. The openness also extended into the realm of conversation. I’ve had some conversations with my friends Arneaut and Guy about things that are more taboo in Senegal, i.e. HIV/AIDS problems, sex/promiscuity, etc. A lot of people are Christian, so this adds another element: you often see people sitting at a café drinking a HUGE beer (think 40s).

Obviously I could keep making observances but I need to move on to my next blog and update from this past weekend (I started this at the beginning of last week and never got around to finishing it).

Until the next!

La Tristesse #2 – New Title: The Deceased

2009-08-22T20:36:00.001Z

I've already talked about death. Sorry to bring it up again. If you followed my blogs before you'll know my other one was called La Tristesse, hence the title.

When you think of culture and how it manifests itself funerals are usually at the end of the list, if at all. I have been here a week and already two people that David knows have died. While morbid, the opportunity to attend one of the funeral ceremonies was a chance to experience this facet of Cameroonian life. At the time I was not really given a choice in my participation (especially considering that one ceremony lasted 5 hours!), however I appreciate the value of being there. Aside from offering his condolences, David explained to me that the particular funeral we went to was a way to network for our NGO. I am still unclear as to how exactly David is related to this man, but Mr. Ambroise Mvogo Enama was the Minister of Planning and Development. A powerful man to a small NGO, he apparently had helped our school get funding at one point. As a result of being deeply entrenched in the government (after being an ambassador in several countries), there were several influential people present to pay their respects, thereby making the funeral a place “to be seen.”

Yesterday I went to the first part of the event, the typical funeral proceedings. This followed much of what happens in the US at a catholic church, although this was in the courtyard of the hospital. At the end there were a couple of hysterical women and children wildly keening. I also noted that apparently for large events an “African print” is chosen and made available to all family and close friends. You can then bring it to your tailor to have a matching outfit with countless others participating in the event. So there were about 20 men and women wearing matching outfits. It was cute. Following the mass there was a vigil and another 2 hour mass at a different location. Thank God I didn’t need to go to that.

Today was much more dramatic. So after a morning NGO conglomerate seminar on HIV/AIDS David and I departed for the second day of “activities.” This was held on the outskirts of Yaounde in a cleared forested area. Since this was a family of means huge tents half-circled the clearing and hundreds of plastic chairs were set up underneath. In the middle was a tent engulfed in fake flowers and situated for the placement of the open casket. Speakers were set up around the perimeter, all managed by the central music system: an ancient desktop computer hauled in for the occasion.

As people slowly filtered in to the area 8 women [dressed in the matching outfits I was talking about] covered in vines and leaves started dancing and singing/blowing a whistle in the middle. They each carried a branch of leaves which they used similarly to pom poms. Their dance was part of the traditional welcome for the dead body and the family. About halfway through this process 3 men sat down at their hollowed wood drums and proceeded to rock out in coordination with the dancing and singing women. Once the funeral party arrived the intensity of the dancing, singing, and drumming heightened. After about ten minutes of this, people would go to the middle and say a few words in Bamilike (I’m not sure this is the language, either way, the family’s ethnic group’s language). Sometimes it was call and response, other times it seemed a reflection (again, speculation since I have no clue what was being said).

Following this was the mens’ turn to do a dance/chase of the male descendants of the deceased. This occurred around the tents with the accompaniment of the drumming. When they stopped in the center next to the casket, it became time to ask the village chief, “how did this man die?” The chief then had to respond with a short description of his life and then conclusion of the cause of his death [some long-term illness]. Only then did the priests take over and go through an entire mass again, only it was mostly in the ethnic language I didn’t understand. I am somewhat ashamed to say (but not really), I plopped on my sunglasses and took little five-minute naps throughout this part.

In closing, the family and a big cheese Minister gave eulogies. The body was then taken right past the corner of the tents and laid in the ground. By this time the women dancers from the beginning had started their whooping and singing; I guess as a final touch to the whole process.

After not having had the chance to eat all day plus being the new white American diplomat to FAPEFE (my NGO) I got home exhausted. Tomorrow, I’m sure more adventures will come: church and an AIESEC party. Can’t wait to meet the others! I’m also moving to David’s house to stay with his family until the apartment is finished (if ever). More changes. Love to all.

First day in Cameroon!

2009-08-19T20:55:00.002Z

And here starts my tale of living Cameroon:

Already, I’m in deep and feel the excitement and love of African culture that captures my passion and reassures me of why I chose to come here. I arrived safely in Yaounde last night and was welcomed by six Cameroonians, including the principal of the school I will be working for. My first impression was my surprise at how smoothly the airport process went. No Cameroonians grabbing my bag or hassling me for a taxi. No hectic customs. I didn’t even have to wait in line (although this was facilitated by a former AIESEC member who now works at the airport)! Off to a good start.

Last night I stayed at another AIESECer’s apartment right near campus. She is out of town for the week, but once she returns I will most likely be staying with her for another month. I’m interested to see how this goes considering her apartment is really just a room that fits a bed and a teeny bathroom (toilet+shower), no exaggeration. For the moment I am perfectly content with my living situation.

I visited the school where I will be working. Now that I am here I have a much better idea of what is going on. The school is private, and mostly run by the principal, my contact David. As a private school it is organized under the auspice of the NGO, Fondation des Femmes Actives pour la Promotion de l’Education de la Femme et de l’Enfant (FAPEFE). They are delighted to have me join them because of the publicity it will garner and hopefully encourage more students to register at the school. I will be teaching computer classes. How with only 3 computers (of questionable workability)? Of this I am unsure. I may be teaching some English and even French…Oh la la. On top of this David has complete confidence that I will be able to tell them how to run their school better; I have been promoted to “manager of the school” in one day! And then the grand challenge: finding American sponsors/foundations to help support student fees so that those in need can be educated in the school. All in a days work. So the plan tomorrow is to roll up my sleeves and get cracking.

Observations:

Climate – Can you believe that I wore a sweatshirt today?!? Yup, my random fear was confirmed…I barely packed any “cool weather” clothes and it was 70 degrees. Perhaps I shouldn’t get too worked up since it is the rainy season and there is at least one sprinkle a day. Which leads me to the landscape: looking good. The terrain and vegetation is much more how I imagined “wild Africa” to be like (before being completely thrown off in Senegal). Yaounde is set in rolling hills very close to each other: all you mountain bikers would have a field day with these crazy climbs. And green is everywhere. Despite the million plus people living here, Africa fights back with its overgrowth of trees and plants. The rich red clay dirt is a drastic contrast to the lush green and is often completely rutted out on unpaved roads, creating quite the obstacle course in a car. In my opinion, everything is much nicer to look at [than in Senegal].

People – Starting with my initial experience at the airport, I am drawing the conclusion that Cameroonians are much less pushy and in-your-face than Senegalese. This is not to say the downtown boutique sellers don’t love a good round of bartering, but it is rather nice to not feel quite so confronted by everyone passing you by. I do however miss the formalities of small talk before starting any conversation; most people just stick to a quick “bonjour” and head nod while I have the urge to say “asalaah maalekum. Nanga def?” every time I have an interaction with someone. Weird how my French is so intertwined with this exchange.

Food – Last night I got my first taste of Cameroonian cuisine: grilled fish. MMM yum, I can live with this! I dug into my whole fish (yeah, head, eyeballs, spine, tail, the WHOLE thing) with gusto. As my AIESEC people asked how it was I replied with “I’m going to eat this every day!” I got laughs all around as they explained that, “good thing, since that’s all anyone eats!” Their goal for me by the end of my stay: eat the entire fish except the spinal cord. Yup, that means crunching down on the head, not to mention the very present eyeballs…Katie, I’m not sure I’ll be able to do it. Breakfast is still the same: instant coffee with lots of powdered milk and sugar, and a baguette. Today I had more fish only with a delicious sauce (a little less heavy on the oil than in Senegal) and fried plantains (and I forgot to mention the cassava I ate with the fish last night).

Hope that gives you all an idea of what things are like for me. I am safe and sound and ready for what lies ahead. Sending my love across the ocean, I can feel your thoughts and prayers, Thanks.

partir pour mieux revenir

2008-05-24T17:27:00.002Z

"partir pour mieux revenir". I got this proverb from the sweet French Canadian dude I met while I was in Mali, and am desperately trying to keep it as my motto as the countdown is officially on with a little over 3 weeks left until I must return to the States. Seeing as how the internet has not worked on campus for the past week and I am now actually having to write final papers for my classes, this will be one of the last blogs I post before entering into American life again.

A recap of an interesting thing that happened in my life since the last post: I went to Bambey with my friend Babs to visit his village for a long weekend. He is from an area in the interior of Senegal and his village is in conjunction with 2 others making up the Bambey region. This past experience reminded me of why I am so grateful to have such a diverse range of friends here. While many similarities can be made from one village in Senegal to another, I have had the opportunity to see the cultural divergences between ethnic groups. Babs is from Bambey Sereer (pronounced sare-rare); meaning that everyone in the village was from the Sereer ethnic group and participated in their ethnic practices.

I was once again placed in the family setting where most of the women did not speak French, however luckily for me they did speak Wolof (as compared to only Pulaar in Hore Fonde). Everyone's first language was Sereer, and pleasantly enough for me the few phrases/words I learned in Sereer were only greeted with utter pleasure that I cared enough to learn their language. Comme d'habitude the family was all acceptance and hospitality. I had a great time bonding with one of the women in the housing compound learning to make mafe (yummy peanut sauce with rice) and ceeb bu weex. Despite my love for cooking however, I became a little disenchanted after seeing Mageat (my friend) spend every moment of each day centered around cooking process. It was interesting for me to participate in it and realize how much I could never do what she was doing, and yet this is how 97% of the female population in Senegal spends their lives.

My second eye opening experience was seeing the relationships between family members in Babs' polygamous family. Polygamy is a huge part of the culture here and is frequently discussed, but to see it in action is always different. Especially coming from a Western point of view, I was mildly surprised at how cohesively the two wives and kids interacted. Babs told me that there have never really been any problems between the two families and that he has always considered the second wife and kids just as much his family as anyone else. This coming from someone who wants to only have one wife. Having personal experience seeing a polygamous marriage in harmony was a good thing in helping me to keep an open perspective when thinking about the personal lives of a huge percentage of people in the world. So this was just a brief part of my new experience. It has been so rewarding seeing and meeting the lives of my campus friends. It is surprising how much I learn in just a short visit.

All I have to say is that I hope I can come back again to see all those who were so welcoming to me. I'm crossing my fingers and praying to God.

Senegal neex na, walla?

2008-05-04T14:43:00.001Z

I’ve been keeping this list for a few months now, adding a little here and there depending on what has happened in my life and how I have reacted to it. It originated from the “dark days” of my time here, when I needed a place to vent and then have some way to remind myself why I am glad/fortunate to be in this country. It also illustrates dualism of life here. I am hoping that the fact that I have much more “loves” than “bads” reflects the fact that I have still retained being a positive person. It should reflect culture, lifestyle, personal experiences, and just random thoughts of mine while being here. It will always be shifting, adding and subtracting, but since I haven’t written in a while I figured now is as good a time as any to publish it. I will be interested to see how much sense it makes to anyone else besides me. Enjoy.

(*I’ll start with the frustrations/bad so that I can end on the good note with my loves)
Reasons Why Senegal Isn’t Always the Best Place in the World.
Comparisons. Everything you do is compared to someone else who [usually] does it better. “Why don’t you speak Wolof as good as X?”
Sharing. There is no such thing as private property. If someone knows you have it, it is perfectly acceptable to demand it.
Men. Genuine - but not. The concept of love is so hard to believe in here.
Public Transportation. Never reliable. Sometimes it takes one hour, sometimes five…both are reasonable.
Family. Everyone else thinks they know best. If they are older, it is expected to do whatever they want you to do. They always have to know who, what, where, when, independence is a bizarre concept on this front.
Class. Since when is it acceptable to criticize someone else?
Romanticism is ridiculously cheesy.
Goals for yourself are always tied to your family. Individual plans and success don’t last long.
Racism. Good or bad it is there and you will never be able to get past it.
Wolofization. The forced culture of the “necessity” of speaking/learning Wolof. Yet no matter how good you get you can never be fully accepted.
Emotions. I feel like a pregnant woman because I am so all over the place.
People you don’t know think it is ok to interrupt you whenever they want.
The showy-ness of so many aspects of life. I.e. religion, teranga, personal vanities.
People always think you are rich.

Reasons Why I Love Senegal.
Greetings. You are always expected to acknowledge people when you enter a public place/see someone you know, but in return you receive the same respect.
Family. Everyone is Aunt, Uncle, Cousin, Brother, Sister, Yaay, Papa, no matter the relation.
Teranga. You are always welcome into a strangers home for food or lodging or conversation.
Sharing. Selfishness is not acceptable. If you have wealth, share your good fortune.
Men. I have never gotten so many compliments consistently in my life.
Public Transportation. Always available and usually cheap.
Humility. “C’est la vie” attitude. Hardship is dealt with and moved on-self pity is non-existent.
Mediation. If you have a problem/argument with someone your mutual friend comes in and smoothes over both sides. It is rare to have a face to face confrontation.
Emotions. I feel every emotion here so much more intensely than I have ever had.
Ataaya. It fosters a “sit back and relax” atmosphere.
Discussions. Often revolve around religion, family/marriage, or dreams of a better life.
Not taboo to be romantic.
Sense of duty to help the family and support and care for them.
Contact. Boys who are friends hold hands.
Sante Yallah. You thank God for your health every day.
Jamm. You wish peace upon others.
Inch’allah. Don’t take life for granted.
Kids can be kids. Parents leave kids to learn things for themselves.
It takes a village to raise a child. Everyone takes care of other children, even if they don’t know them.
I have realized my closet dream of becoming a fashion designer.
The mix of old beliefs/practices and new.
Languages. Countless=richness.
The DANCE CULTURE.

March Just Got Cashed

2008-04-09T20:36:00.003Z

“March is cashed”. The famous phrase that encapsulated my month before it even started. After being in Touba my travels had only just begun. It all officially started March 12th at 3am. It officially ended April 6th at 5:30pm. Just like with my three weeks with Katie, there is no way I can write down all of my experiences in one blog. However, here are some of the highlights:

TRIP TO NIKOLO KOBA REGION: NATIONAL PARK, KEDOUGOU. March 12-16th.
- -18 hour bus-ride with 18 other American girls from campus to the south eastern corner of Senegal
- One night in the Wildlife Reserve
- 2 Safaris: 1 water, 1 land…consisting of warthogs, 3 species of antelope, crocodiles, hippos, lots of birds, monkeys, and unfortunately NO lions this time
- Two nights on the border with Guinea Conakry
- An icy swim in a watering hole fueled by a huge waterfall nestled in the mountains
- A hike up a mountain to visit the Bassari people, an ethnic group barely touched by modernization (think National Geographic).
- Second visit to Touba mosque, this time during the day to take pictures.

FUTA REGION: LE VILLAGE DE HORÉ FONDÉ. March 17-22nd.
- 8 hour wait for a bus in 43ºC heat
- One night in Richard Toll (because where we were going was so far away, no one else was going there until the next afternoon)
- Stayed with my friend, Demba, and his younger brother at his grandmother’s house
- Practiced my Pulaar skills (g’ma only speaks Pul, and most of the village is from the Pulaar ethnic group). “Aheeli Jamm. Mbata?”
- Met the Chief/King of the village
- Ate 4-5 different Senegalese specialities/plates per meal
- Milked a cow!!!!!!(My dream, finally realized!)
- Drank the milk still warm from the cow. Mmm, whole and creamy.

DAKAR. March 22-27th.
*Stayed a night with Demba’s nuclear family in Pikine, an outer quartier/suburb of Dakar. This is the ghetto of Dakar. They may have better access to running water, but when was the last time you lived in a 4 room apartment with 10 members of your family (5 boys, 1 girl, 1 cousin with 2 kids, and 2 parents)? Also only Pulaar with the women, the men thankfully spoke French and Wolof. Easter spent with this Muslim family. They made me the traditional dish that the Christians all make for Easter, ngalax.

MALI: BAMAKO, MOPTI, BANDIAGARA, DOGON COUNTRY, DJENNÉ. March 27-April 6th.
- 10 total vehicle breakdowns of varying degrees of gravity
- 52 hour sept-place/mini-car/bus voyage from Dakar, Sénégal to Bamako, Mali
- 2 nights spent in abandoned buses
- 1 night spent on a concrete slab at the police station (yes, it was voluntary)
- Got the royal treatment in Bamako at my oldest host sister, Poupy’s pimped out house (her husband works for the IMF).
- Got a manicure and pedicure Malian style for 25¢
- Spent a Bamako afternoon drinking tea, getting a Bambara language lesson, and eating a Malian specialty (like lax only less sweet and with a millet base)
- Best April Fools Day joke played on us; instead of ending up in Djenné as planned, we wake up on the bus at 1am to find ourselves in Mopti, 90km further north.
- 18 km hike through the cliffs of the southern end of Dogon Country (an ancient ethnic group living IN the cliffs)
- 1 night under the stars on a campement roof…romantic until we survived the Harmattan wind sandstorm
- A taste of Crème du Dogon, aka LA FORCE, aka Crazy Cream!
- A taste of millet beer, shared with the old men of Djiguibombo, a Dogon village
- Full body massage from a traditional medicine man
- Saw the largest mud mosque in the world
- Visited one of the oldest towns in Western Africa
- Met a super awesome French Canadian traveler on the last leg of his 3 month trek around Western Africa. He has me pretty much convinced I’m moving to Montreal.
- Met Nordine. Half Hollandaise, half Spaniard-try to understand that mix/accent. Never heard such stories.

*Made it back safe and sound. Alxamdoulilahi. Started my second semester classes, so far so good. Now just trying to recuperate and make my body happy with me again. Looking forward to being home and staying on campus.

Thanks. Merci. Jerrejef. Adjarama. Gana. Initié.

ME IN TOUBA!!!WALLABOK

2008-03-08T16:37:00.003Z

*Making ceebu jen. Oh yeah, I learned all the necessary skills in being a good Senegalese wife.

*In the Mosque at the Mausoleum.

Touba: The Religious Awakening

2008-03-08T16:31:00.002Z

I just spent last week in the most religious city of Senegal, Touba. It is the birthplace of the Mouride brotherhood and the home to one of the most beautiful mosques in Senegal. The purpose of my trip was to be a participant in the largest religious homage in Senegal, the Magal. As is evident by my previous discussions about life here, religion is a crucial aspect of life in this country. My experience staying with my friend Khassoum Ndiaye and his family was to say the least, magical. Religious learning experience aside, I was privy to an acceptance and addition to their family life at a level that I was not expecting. No matter how I try to explain what happened, I will never be able to capture the intense emotional whirlwind that I faced. I will store it in my memory and leave you all to your own devices in extracting what you can from my descriptions and photos. Therefore, seeing as how everyone reading this blog has probably the same level of knowledge about Islamic religion that I had before coming here (so next to nothing), I figure that this blog is as good a time as any to try and relay the small fraction of what I have learned.

Let me just start by saying that Senegal has a unique spin on Islam because of the integral brotherhoods which are the basis religious belief here. Their complicated system is based off of Sufism, which is the more mystical aspect of Islam, and is often associated with African societies because of its connection to original animistic beliefs. There are four brotherhoods of which probably over 90% of the Muslims here are members. The most common and largest membership base is the Mouride brotherhood. The three others are Qadrya, Layeen, and Tijanya. Each brotherhood follows the Islamic principles, but each has a slightly different interpretation of the Koran and therefore have different prayers; I like to make the analogy of the differences between Protestant churches. Each brotherhood is overseen by a Grand Marabout (Wolof: Xalif). In one of my previous blogs I talked about my friend’s dad who was a Marabout. There are multiple Marabouts within each brotherhood; this is like how there are archbishops/the Pope (Grand Marabouts) and then priests (regular Marabouts) guiding and leading the disciples. Marabouts are given way more respect here than a priest would be, but at least the analogy can give you an idea of how the hierarchy works. All of the brotherhoods believe in Muhammad as the last prophet and follow the 5 pillars of Islamic faith; pray to Mecca 5 times a day, there is one God and Muhammad is the last prophet (although they recognize people like Jesus and Moses as other great prophets as well), must fast during the month of Ramadan, give alms to the needy, [means permitting] go to Mecca on a pilgrimage at least once in your lifetime.

**Within the Mouride brotherhood a sub-sect has developed, called baayfalls. These are the guys who are considered the official “rastas” in Senegal. They have a certain style in both westernized stereotype but also in Senegalese clothing. They have some beliefs that are a bit more unusual, and are highly subject to multiple interpretations. As of late they have had a more “badass” rep because of their higher tendency to drink, be associated with smoking weed, and as a result-according to “good Muslims”-have more violent incidents. However, the ones who stay true to the original principles are more equivalent to hippies in the US (very peace-loving and “chill”).**

The town of Touba was founded by the father of the Mouride brotherhood, Cheikh Amadou Bamba Mbacke. During the French colonial period the amount of power that Cheikh Amadou Bamba had threatened the colonial rule, and so he was exiled to France. The Magal is the celebration of the day of his return to Senegal and Touba. Over a million people from all over Senegal (and even the world) flock to Touba for the week to pay homage to this man. Everyone tries to make at least one trip to the Grand Mosque during this time, and fortunately for me, is open to non-Muslims as well.

I went to the Mosque quite a few days before Magal and so avoided the bigger part of the crowds. In staying as inconspicuous as possible and following Muslim etiquette I wore my Tabaski dress with its long sleeves and long skirt and covered my head with the required scarf. Upon entering the Mosque I was left speechless. With marble flooring and columns and intricate colored tiling, I was blown away by its grandeur. What hit me hardest however was my utter sense of peace. Once through the gates I took off my shoes [required upon entering] and went with Khass to the Mausoleums which are sporadically connected or placed within the gates of the Mosque. Each Mausoleum houses a former Grand Marabout and normally each Mouride has a preferred “leader” to whom they pray (this is typically based on the types of works and philosophy he had embodied). As a non-Muslim I was not allowed into the inner parts of the Mosque where prayers where held, however I was able to kneel alongside everyone else at the Mausoleums and say my prayers. I have definitely had some spiritual moments in my lifetime, with Senegal surprisingly exponentially increasing these times. My experience in the Mosque was one of those times where something bigger than myself happened. How does one explain religious tolerance if not through a Christian and a Muslim kneeling side by side praying to the same God, in one of His Houses? As you can all imagine I spent a lot of time reflecting on my religious situation and only wish that everyone could participate in some part of what I experienced. I kept thinking about the distorted image of Islam that we as Americans have, through what the media portrays, as well as our own general ignorance. Muslims are founded on the principle of peace, and I was fully convinced of this after my first barefoot step onto the religious ground.

Heavy material, and to think this took place in the space of an hour and a half. Being in Senegal has forced me to think on a much more philosophical level; this is partially by default as a study abroad student, but also with my program being so much more involved in cultural life it becomes essential as a way to process everything that I come across.

“How wonderful it is, how pleasant, for God’s people to live together in harmony!”
Psalms 133:1
Laah y laha y lallah. Il n’y a que Dieu. There is only [one] God.

Jamm ak Jamm.

Tressed photos

2008-02-19T15:40:00.004Z

Tressed Hair!! I got it to stay in for a little over 3 weeks. It started to come undone where my real hair started so I took it out today. The first picture is the after-effect of my detressing this morning.

The Constant Balance

2008-02-19T15:36:00.000Z

The paradox in being a foreigner is never far away from thought. I just spent yesterday classic Senegalese style, but with my own American-ness coloring my experience.

My afternoon is what describes my frustrations and yet what I have also come to cherish in this country. The plan had been to call up our international studies advisor to try and figure out our credits transferring [with the end of the semester approaching, the new University system here, and a very inflexible and ignorant discussion professor, minor crises have arisen…]. After our talk with her, we were then going to go speak to Baydallaye to continue to negotiate our never-ending schedules and education methods here.

So in the US, this plan would have maybe taken 1 hour. However, instead of everything going according to plan, we ended up resigning ourselves to an entire afternoon of waiting for people to show up at their offices. Normally in the US, this would be a complete waste of time and every effort would be made to fit something else in while waiting around. While I may not have huge obligations here, I still feel the habitual pull to constantly be doing something productive, like studying. However much I was feeling frustrated by the unreliability of the people who are supposed to be in charge, and the fact that time frames of others are so rarely thought of, I was able to relax throughout the process sit and eat some Thiakry with Jill (who was my partner throughout this escapade), and take the “wasted” day in stride. Looking back, I realize that this feeling is one of assimilation. Do as the Romans do. When faced with slow-paced, unreliable life, all one can do is react in the same way. Hence, one finds acceptance in an afternoon where nothing was resolved or accomplished, yet it was relaxed and enjoyed with a friend. I’ve found that the mentality where it is completely accepted to spend a day with not a whole lot accomplished (by “American” standards), can be refreshing after the high-charged atmosphere which is such cultural norm in the US. Life here is simple. Take it as you will; there is both good and bad to it. But in terms of cultural assimilation-in order to cope with the differences in lifestyles-I have taken to giving myself one goal for the day, no matter how small. This somehow allows me to deal with the inability to charge through each day with a full plate, checking off multiple projects and programs, and ending it feeling like there was a reason for being here.

As just one of many reasons, this cultural occurrence lets me understand on a micro-scale why development of a country can be so difficult. How do you keep the good aspects of taking the time of day for someone and flexibility which are so deeply rooted in Senegalese values, and move forward into an environment where schedules are respected, working hard doesn’t include one hour attaaya breaks to every two hours of work, and organization is an expectation, not an added bonus? This question comes down to the most important lesson I am learning about studying abroad. Life is about balance. Studying abroad is about finding that balance within yourself and searching for a way to balance everything around you. Everyone searching for the best method and constantly adjusting in accordance with that; for this is what learning about new cultures is about. I am deciding for myself what is so great about the US, and also what is great about Senegal. Here I am, growing through my experience. But really, I am living my life here on this day to day basis, constantly trying to reconcile my two worlds, sometimes succeeding, sometimes not.

La Tristesse

2008-02-09T18:03:00.000Z

Death is a universal truth. It transcends centuries and borders. It spares no culture, leaves no one untouched.

Last week my friend Marra's father died. He was 58 years old. The news was spread through an announcement at karate practice (he is the president of the club). As is custom, the club tried to obtain a car to bring some members down to the funeral; but as is so common in these parts, lack of funds hindered their ability to do so. With the recent experience of my two grandparents' deaths, I knew that personal physical support is one of the best ways to help someone deal with such a loss. Therefore I decided to make the trip anyways with Marra's best friend, Demba (also another karate member).

Hearing the news made a bigger impact on me than I would have expected. I had never met Marra's dad, so I only knew of him through the few stories Marra had shared with me. Perhaps it was the apparent suddeness of the news, or the stark reality of life here, or my own separation (distance) from my parents, but the thought of losing a parent really made my heart go out to my friend. As is Muslim custom, the body must be buried as soon as possible; within 24 hours if feasible. However, there is a mourning period of a week after the death when people and family are expected to come and express their condolences. While any day during the week is acceptable to come gather, it is the 3rd or 8th day that is picked by the family as (the Christian equivalent to the memorial service) the important time to come and support the family. I went down to the village for the 8th day. The impact of the death of Marra's father will have innumerable effects, not only because he was a father, but also because he was a Marabout (the Christian equivalent to a lay-pastor but is a highly respected religious leader wherever he goes in the country) and chief of the village. Upon arrival in the village my first impression of my friend was of how normally he seemed to be functioning. Demba and I were immediately thrown into the "funeral process", basically just meeting as many family members as possible. What an experience in itself; so many lessons to be learned just from these simple exchanges. Not only was basically everything in Wolof, but the act of expressing condolences could have almost been comic, excluding the solemnity of the occasion. For each person there was an introduction and then approximately 5 minutes of straight "ça va? ça va. ça va. ça va. jamm rekk. jamm rekk....alxamdoulilahi" (it's going. peace only. thanks be to God) repeated back and forth in a ceaseless stream with perhaps a slight interjection of "sante rekk" (health only) and then the conclusion of "merci. merci. merci..." On the surface this might seem shallow and unconsoling, but in the moment explains everything. In any death situation there are no words to make things better. Therefore, repeatedly acknowmedging that you are at peace, or thank God for your health, at least belies a gratitude and acceptance of life's course.

There were at least 200 people in the village compound the 8th day and I observed not a single person crying. The funeral process perfectly illustrates a Senegalese mentality and cultural expectation: life moves on and nothing is a given in this world. One is expected to accept the hardships of life and never take for granted what you have, hence the ever repeated mantra, "inchallah" (if God wills it). Self-pity is non-existant in this world where Senegalese are raised to gard any emotions which betray hardship. Crying is rarely seen, for it is perceived to be a weakness. This stoicism at times feels cold, but I have learned that they are survival methods in this country of few other options. Marra's dad had several wives and thus quite a few children. Not only did his biological children feel the loss, but as a Marabout he had numerous Talibé (the young boys who are sent away from home to Koranic school) in his charge. The age range was vast, some as young as 3 to older than 30. When I finally got up the courage to ask how his father died, Marra recounted the events surrounding his death. The week before his father had been coming home from the big town nearby with all of the supplies for the village. He had been riding in the car with his two sons, one of whom was driving. Just before the village entrance the car caught some sand and flipped over, killing only his dad and leaving the two brothers unharmed. While his father died instantly, had he been seriously injured there would of been little anyone could have done. The village is 10 km into the bush from the nearest paved road, and from there at least a half an hour drive to a medical center. What an ending.

Our mortality is so often dismissed in "the land of milk and honey" but here where survival forces you to take what life has given you, gratitude for one's presence in the world is constantly vocalized, "alxamdoulilahi". The story that Marra told me about his last memory of his father moved me to tears and lends such force to their acceptance of God's Will. A week before his dad's death, Marra spoke to him on the phone. His father had just returned from his pilgrimage to Mecca and Marra apologized to him for not being able to come back to the village for his homecoming celebration. All of the students were still waiting on their bourse and so it was too expensive to come (side note: round trip cost is about $15). His father said he understood and not to worry; when Marra next got the chance to come back he would give him the little souvenir he had brought back for him. They talked for a little longer, Marra telling him about how he missed the village and seeing his dad-since the last time he had been back was several months before. They ended the conversation by saying, "see you soon, inchallah". As Marra recounted the conversation he ended by saying, "there's a reason why we say, 'God willing.'"

Ever since coming here and learning the habit of saying "inchallah" and "alxamdoulilahi" I have loved adding such a simple reminder of my gratitude for the life I have been given. This event served as my reality to the neccessity of these sayings.

Thus I part with alxamdoulilahi.

Until the next post, inchallah.

Rastafarian Love

2008-01-26T12:43:00.000Z

Salut mes amis! So after a week of getting back into the swing of things on campus I am feeling back in the groove of Sénégal life. With that comes the realization that in the face of writing a blog about my experiences with Katie here, I get a little overwhelmed. Thus, I made the executive decision to "skip" over that period of time and try to get back on track. I do promise however, that when I return to the States I will have a show-and-tell session solely on those three weeks of my life. I took a ton of pictures and had so much happen, that it would be more worth it to describe in person.

Yesterday I finally did it. After talking about getting "tressed" ever since my friend Annie did it, I went to the coiffure. 5 hours later I stepped out of the tiny little hairdressers room with a headful of long blond braids and a totally new look. (I'll put up a picture soon) Going to the coiffure is definitely a Senegalese cultural experience. Because black people in general usually don't have a lot of hair, the women get fake hair put in in all sorts of styles. You can get braids, wigs, hair that is braided into your hair but then looks like real hair. Curly hair, fancy updos, you name it, I've probably seen it. Thus the process of going to a coiffure is part of normal "things to do" from anywhere between once a month to once every 2 months. So, in the morning I went into town to get the hair. I got two packets of this blond/caramel colored hair. Gotta have more cause of my huge mane. It was one of two colors that the hair place had for white people. Awesomely enough it was pretty much the exact color of my real hair. The hair itself looks kind of like doll hair, but is actually pretty close to the texture of real hair; completely fake though. For each packet it was about $3. Sweet. So at 4:00 yesterday I showed up at the "salon" and two ladies went to town. I sat on a rug on the floor and divided off small sections of the hair and handed it to the "head coiffure" as she braided the fake stuff into my real hair. I did a little reading for part of the time and also watched the football game on TV (it's the African Cup!). During the 5 hours I probably got up 3 times, so you can imagine how sore I felt when I finally finished. I think my butt is finally forgiving me just now.

The final look is crazy. I must say I look pretty Senegalese now, but definitely in a more Rastafarian mode than I would have predicted. I am quite pleased by how they turned out and am excited to see how long I can keep them in for. Best part? I don't have to do anything to them, no washing, no hairstyling. No upkeep. That rules! I'm already feelin the love. Bet you can't wait to see them...Don't worry you will all soon see.

Until then, keep it real. Jamm.

I'm ALIVE!

2008-01-20T14:42:00.000Z

After my mother informed me that people have been asking about whether anything is wrong with me over here because I haven't written a blog for over a month, I figured I had better reassure everyone back home that I not only am alive, but had an excellent vacation.

To be technical about it, my winter break was supposed to last from December 15th to January 4th. However, with the long anticipated visit of my sister, Katie, I took quite an extension and didn't officially get back to my classes until the 15th of January. Because so much has happened since my last blog I'll try to block it out. Perhaps I'll do some installations...

Dec 15-Dec 20th: My first week of break was spent completely relaxing with my family in Dakar. It felt so similar to being in the States; you look forward to getting back "home" where you eat well and have less obligations. I ended up spending most of my days playing with Abdoul Aziz and baby Salimata, and helping my yaay do the cooking. It was great being able to learn a little about Senegalese cooking, but by the end of the week I was feeling kind of exhausted by the expectation that I prepare dinner practically every night because my mom was too tired. The eve of Tabaski came with the arrival of my friend Phil Paiement and his girlfriend from Holland. I picked them up from the airport and brought them to their hotel, and invited them to my family's Tabaski celebration when they woke up the next morning. The one thing I unfortunately forgot to tell them in advance was that because of the holidays the city basically shuts down. Everyone was celebrating, which meant that most shops were closed, markets were empty of vendors, and taxis became a rare commodity.

Dec 21st: TABASKI. So first off this holiday is similar to Korité in that the actual day is dependent upon the moon and some thing in the Koran (I say this in all seriousness because even most Muslims don't really get how the day is chosen, they only find out the day because their imam or marabou will tell them). It is interesting how the day is celebrated because there are debates each year as to why the mosque doesn't just choose one day and stick to it. For example, this year Mecca celebrated Tabaski on the 19th, then religious leaders in Senegal debated over whether Senegal could then celebrate it two days later, or if they had to do it the 20th...Needless to say, everyone gets confused and just picks the day that works for them. However, my Tabaski went rather smoothly. I got up around 9am and immediately was thrown into the process of preparing the meal. At about 10am, Douds along with Dass and 2 other helpers got the sheep ready for the slaughter. As is tradition for Tabaski, the head of the house does the actual killing of the sheep. Because my papa was on the Mecca pilgrimage this year, Douds cut the two sheeps' necks. I had thought I would be totally fine with watching everything, but I must say I was a little more than wide-eyed during the entire process. After what seemed to be enough time to get over whatever I was feeling, my yaay plunked me down in a chair on the patio and got me started chopping up all the meat. Pretty sure I could get a job in a butchers shop no prob after this experience! So covered in blood and guts I got a real firsthand look into the Tabaski festivities. The big meal and culmination of the day was late afternoon. I dug into that fresh meat like nobodys business, dressed up in my Tabaski boubou finery, and celebrated like a true Senegalese woman. [Looking at what I just wrote, this day sounds way more gross/ridiculous/melodramatic than it really was. In actuality my description is dead on, but during the moment it all seems completely natural; I guess that's part of the assimilation and adaptation to the culture that we are going through.]

Dec 22-25th: The holiday days...I will say that these were probably the hardest days I have had so far in Senegal. I had been feeling a little nostalgic for the Christmas season throughout the month, but it wasn't until right after Tabaski that I actually felt truly homesick. So in order to feel a little bit like I was back home I invited over the other girls from the program who were in Dakar, and we made "Christmas cookies", or snickerdoodles (this was one of the few things I could make with the ingredients here) Christmas Eve. That night I was able to go to the midnight Christmas service with the family of one of the girls and afterwards went to the soirée they hosted at their house. The service was probably the best reminder of how Christmas is spent in my family; the choir was in full glorious force, and oh yeah, they had a Christmas pageant! The party following the service is definitely one to remember; highlights include, eating an awesome (normal) meal at 2:30 am, staying up dancing until 6am, and singing Christmas carols to drums made of pots and pans while dancing in front of the entire Senegalese invites. Needless to say, after these crazy events I spent half of Christmas sleeping, and the other half making laax cause it sounded like the most Christmasy thing someone could make here.

Dec 26-28th: I decided to get in a quick visit to the petite cote before my sister came, so for the three days after Christmas I stayed in M'Bour with one of my friends. It was refreshing to get out of Dakar and see Senegal a little bit. M'Bour is a cute little town right on the ocean. My friend lived about a 5 minutes walk from the beach, so each day we took a walk along the coast. It was an interesting introduction to the role tourism plays in this country because along the beach there is a clear division of where the residential area stops and the fancy hotels begin. Living with the family was also another learning experience. The "house" was really more of a bunch of random buildings/rooms that enclosed a dirt courtyard and was shared by several aunts/uncles/cousins. Barely anyone spoke French so I was thrown right into using my Wolof...hmm, definitely need to work on my skills. They were all most definitely at a standard of living that was much more what I had expected of a third world country. Yet despite this semblance of poverty, everyone tried to cater to all of my needs. It was hard knowing the sacrifices people were making for me and knowing that I would only be impolite if I refused any part of their hospitality. My visit was short, yet it left many indelible marks in my memory. As I left to return to Dakar I will always remember how the entire family escorted me down the road, and my friend's mother took a bracelet off her wrist, put it on mine, thanked me for coming, and told me she hoped to see me again. Then the rest of the family did something that I have now come across several times; they held out their left hand to shake. In doing so I became a part of a powerful Senegalese custom, the expectation that you will see the other person again [in their lifetime].

Dec 29-Jan 17th: Katie's Visit. This deserves its own blog, so I'll save my travels with her for my next blog.

To sum up how I'm doing right now...I'm back on campus in Saint-Louis and have just turned a corner in my academic progress. I am taking one political science class now (African Regionalism), Wolof, and am starting to focus more seriously on my research. The director of my program in Madison just came for his yearly visit and I now have a more solid topic for my project. I will be spending the next 6 months comparing the efficiencies and inefficiencies of literacy programs formed by the government and NGOs. I'm pretty excited to discover Senegal in this light.

Hope everyone had a good holiday.

Jamm.

Reality Check

2007-12-14T14:12:00.000Z

I came to Senegal for many reasons: one of them was to learn how to live more simply, and with that, learn how most of the underdeveloped world lives. After being here for only two months I have seen poverty and been around living standards very different from our own, but have compared it relative to Senegal, and not as much the US. In first living in Dakar us girls made comparisons of the differences in housing, thinking some of us lived in pretty poor families. By the end of our stay however, we had become aware of the fact that all of us lived in middle to upper-middle class families. Here in Saint-Louis we knew that living on campus would give us yet another perspective of life in Senegal, however as in any campus around the world, you are going to get another division from the rest of the country. The University of Gaston-Berger is the best school in the country, as well as the West African region. The students here are all very fortunate to have families that were able to sacrifice enough for them to of continued their studies all the way through high school, all in the hopes that after getting through college they will be able to get a job and in return help their family.

In Senegal the government pays for every student to attend the University, if accepted. This includes housing and a small living stipend that gets disbursed once a month. Upon first hearing this, my fiscally conservative mind couldn’t believe that the government was paying all of this for everyone. After discussion with many students here it started to make more sense to me. For starters, by providing higher education to a population of its citizens, Senegal is trying to create some opportunity to lift itself out of its underdeveloped state. Leaving individual families to pay for their children is almost out of the question, and leaving students to pay for themselves through a “summer job” or working during the year is completely out of the question. Already there is an employment problem here, and second of all, students take being a student very seriously. My second realization was that the US does do things similarly through scholarships, financial aid, and financed loans. That aside, I still felt that students here almost had it better than those in the US…until I talked with my roommate about the reality of their situation. Mbéré gave me the example of her family, one that I know is applicable to many others here. The living stipend that the students receive is approximately $60 for the entire month (and that’s for the older students, the first years only get $36)! Even for here, that is relatively nothing. For her, this is all the money she has in the world. She has never known her father, who died when she was really little, and her mother doesn’t work. There are four kids in her family, she is the second oldest with her 27 year old sister being the oldest. According to her, her family has been supported by her mother’s younger brother for most of her life. As she said, “if we had an older brother, he probably would be working to support my family, but unfortunately there is only my sister who is working to support her husband through his studies. My mother can’t get a job because she is not educated, the only thing she maybe could do would be to be a merchant, but alas you need money to start something like that.” Thus goes the wicked circle of many family situations. The differences between who have it good are the people who have family members who can afford to send a little extra money to their student at the University so they don’t have to solely subsist on the stipend, and those who don’t, like Mbéré.

This conversation really put me in my place as I realized that whenever I told people, “really I don’t have that much money, I have to pay for this entire year by myself”, in relation to the type of budget they are on, I am ridiculously wealthy. I was extremely humbled by my roommate as she took the discussion with the utmost acceptance, finishing it with, “life can be difficult, but that is life. Who knows why people have to face difficulties like this, but perhaps it is just God’s will. It is life.” To top it all off, she not only survives on the stipend, but economizes on months like December so that she can buy fabric for her younger sister, so that she can have a pretty dress for Tabaski. This talk has completely given me a different perspective and understanding of how people view money here, something that I could discuss from many different angles. There are so many lessons to be learned from this that I hope to never lose. I thought that everyone back in the US might benefit from hearing about how people make just a little go a long way, and how much people sacrifice for their families.

Pictures with more on the way

2007-12-03T21:02:00.000Z

-Only picture of me right now on campus: hanging out with Elimane (left) and Babs (right) in their dorm room. Pretty classic life picture right there. Good times.

-"Tressing" at Tamsir's house, Annie's hair took over 4 hours to do!

-Little Binda (Tamsir's neice) chewing on a chicken leg. Yum Yum.

Holiday Cheer

2007-12-03T20:51:00.000Z

In the spirit of the commencement of the [December] holiday season I would like to recap a special moment that I experienced this past weekend.

On Saturday morning I awoke bright and early at 8 am to make breakfast—American style. One of the other girls on the trip, Cath, and I made French toast and coffee for our roommates (who are best friends). It was a total hit and not too difficult to make with a few pots and our hot plates (think camp-stove cooking and that is the extent of the type of food I can make myself over here). As it was the first of December, Cath and I felt in the mood to start a little Christmas spirit; we decided to make paper snowflake decorations! After gathering the necessary supplies, I started cutting up the paper and showed my roommate, Mbéré how to do it. She thought it was absolutely great and so to add on, I turned on some Christmas tunes. We spent the rest of the morning cutting out snowflakes and taping them up on the walls, and singing along to the music. As I was leaving for lunch, a few of Mbéré’s friends stopped by to say hi. I explained to them that in the US most Christian houses decorate for Christmas, hence the stocking I have hung up on a wall and a little sparkly Christmas tree on my desk (thanks to a holiday package from Aunt Laura!). The snowflakes were something that usually just little kids make, but when in need of decorations, is an easy enough thing to do. I told my roommate to show them how to make the decorations as well, since they seemed to like the idea of Christmas spirit despite the fact that they are Muslim. Five hours later I finally returned home. As I walked in the door I saw all of the same girls in our room only low-and-behold our entire room was strung with paper garlands, snowflakes covered a wall, and the little mini present ornaments that my Aunt had sent me were hanging from each of the garland strands lending a completely Christmas feel to our room! So cliché I know, but my breath was taken away at that moment as I burst into a huge smile and all the girls started a ruckus in response to my pleasure. They had come up with the idea of decorating for me because of how enthusiastic I had been when I was talking about how Christmas becomes a celebration throughout the month, and not just on the 25th. I was so touched by this gesture of making me feel more at home here, where it is still 85-90 degrees and most people gear up for Tabaski, instead of Christmas. Reflecting on their kindness I relate it to the tolerance and sharing the two religions share here. It is warming to see inter-religious exchange; both sides take part in each other’s holidays and people are usually pretty open to the practices of each religion.

Amazing Senegal Weekend

2007-11-21T23:38:00.000Z

What an amazing weekend. I feel as though it perfectly captured a typical Senegalese weekend, if that is possible.

To start with I invited the group of guys I’ve been hanging out with to the French Cultural Center for a concert on Friday night. The FCC is kind of pretentious with all of the Europeans who frequent it, but they sure know good music. The group playing was three brothers, supposedly playing a mix of hip-hop and traditional African music, which really just meant that it was mbalax. At first I was a little apprehensive bringing them to the concert because I wasn’t sure if they would be into the group (the last time I went to a concert there it was mostly the middle aged crowd), but as soon as we sat down my friend Babs told me that he had the group’s music on his computer. Apparently the group is super popular in Senegal and last year they visited the campus. I loved the music. I feel so privileged to have all these music opportunities at my fingertips. There is definitely a difference in music here; everyone-the musicians, the audience-puts their whole being into the music, it’s almost tangible. It’s a crazy feeling being so involved; I know that I have already developed a much greater appreciation for their music. So everyone had a good time and afterwards we returned back to campus to hang out and, surprise, surprise…make ataaya.

Saturday morning dawned and Annie, Maren, and I just spent it lazing around. It is awesome how close the three of us have gotten. While I am excited about having Senegalese friends, I appreciate having some other American [girls] around to relate to. We all have been having similar experiences and so it is so essential to talk to someone else about the problems, situations, and adventures we have been facing. After lunch we then headed over to the beach for some quality time in the sun. The beach is such a great time, but there are some downfalls to it. For one, as a white person you are automatically targeted by all of the walking vendors. It gets pretty annoying to have to get rid of these guys trying to sell you stuff all the time. Thankfully if we start using Wolof and then explain that we are students for the year they will back off, but every once and a while you get really persistent ones. Also, you get a lot of guys who ask you to join them in their little tiki huts on the beach for tea. So far we’ve been able to deflect their requests. There have been some creepy situations though that reminds us of why we won’t go to the beach at night without a few male Senegalese companions. Other than those few annoyances, the beach is amazing. It is enormous as it is the huge peninsula that connects with Mauritania to the north.

We then went back to campus for a delicious dinner at “the resto”. It was a hard boiled egg, french fries, onion sauce, sardines, and a piece of bread…SANDWICH NIGHT!!!! Sounds so gross, but seriously, this is my favorite meal at the resto. I’ve decided that I’ll probably be making them frequently when I return to the US. After that it was back to town where we (Annie, Maren, and I) went to Amadou’s house and sat around and made tea. Amadou lives in a typical (or not typical, depending on how you look at it) Senegalese family set up. He lives with his five young girl cousins, younger brother, aunt, and grandmother. It was a super calm, relaxed night, which I was all about. I played with his youngest cousin, Xady (the equivalent of Katie in Wolof) who can’t be more than 4 years old. She was actually the cutest little girl ever; I am starting to compile a list of small children that I am going to take back to the US with me and she is right up there.

Sunday was spent in town again, although this time at Tamsir’s house (Amadou and Tamsir are best friends). We went to the market beforehand to check out fabric (bassin) for our Tabaski outfits but only Maren found what she wanted. Tuesday I bought some for myself and brought it to the tailor. I went all out and am having it made totally Senegalese style with all the embroidery and such. I’m super excited to see how it turns out. Afterwards we went to Tamsir’s so that Annie could get her hair braided, “tressed”. Before they started, Annie and I went with Xadia to a boutique to get the fake hair that Xadia was going to add in to the braids, Senegalese style. While Annie was getting her hair braided the rest of us just hung out with the rest of the family, friends, and neighbors that were constantly coming in and out of the house. Mariam, Tamsir’s sister prepared the dinner all day, so when I showed interest in learning how she made everything, she showed me all of the steps that she went through. The grandma loved the fact that I was interested in cooking and so would look in with approval on how things were going. It was such an amazing feeling how comfortable everyone was with everyone else. I keep talking about Terenga, but the four of us Americans all remarked on how accepted we were and unreal our experience was at the time. No one treated us as anything other than a normal visitor; it was like a huge party the whole day. We talked about how different things would be in the US if there were four black girls over for a regular Sunday afternoon and evening. Everyone was talking in a mix of Wolof, French, and English. And everyone was helping each other with the other language they didn’t know. This is why I love Senegal. The family also went all out on the dinner for us, their special guests. There is no end to their graciousness. We got home by midnight; not surprising seeing as how we didn’t eat until 10 pm.

I’m still kind of riding on the high of the weekend. It serves as testament to all of the good things Senegal represents. And tomorrow all of us girls are going over to an American professor’s house to celebrate Thanksgiving. I can’t wait to make the family dish for everyone, it is potluck style. Happy Thanksgiving all!

Ocean View

2007-11-15T00:33:00.000Z

Us gals at Hydroplage, the enorm beach off the island of Saint-Louis. We brought a jembay and danced around on the sand.

Me in the ocean, I was all about the body surfing, the waves get huge!

Animal Farm

2007-11-15T00:31:00.000Z

Already it is the middle of November, how time flies. I have started to settle into a routine here, minus the class schedule. Things are feeling very comfortable now that I have started to make some Senegalese friends and have explored the city a bit. The campus itself feels small at times; it is the size of most small liberal arts schools in the US. It is also probably why I go into town so often, a habit from living in lively Madison.

The city of Saint Louis has about the same number of people as Madison, yet it has much more of a town feel to it. I was remarking to my friends the other day how interesting it is that we have only been here for two and a half weeks and already I can’t go into town without running into someone I know. The island and market place (on sol-or mainland) is where all of the action is at, although this is also where all of the tourists are. There are already some favorite haunts: best places to get a sandwich late at night, where the fair/friendly vendors are, and of course my aunt Fatou’s house. Fatou has completely taken me under her wing here; I sometimes feel like I am taking place of the daughter she never had. She certainly treats me like the aunts back home…always ready to send me home with food (shout-out to Aunt Deb, Sue, and Laura). I have also become the favorite “foreign cousin” of Muhammed who is 12. The other day I taught him and Fatou the head and shoulders, knees and toes song, it was hilarious. They loved it.

There are some interesting differences about campus which have come to my attention in the past couple weeks. The first thing I noticed was that people here are actually a lot more conservative than I would have thought of a university campus. People here dress so nicely; I noted the other day that 95% of the guys wear collared shirts and nice slacks everyday to class. Females usually wear a nice pair of pants or long skirt, and shirts that we girls would wear out to a club or bar at night. Sparkles and glitter is a common theme, and not only just for girls. The night life is also not what all us Madison girls expected. Things are really calm after 10:30-11 pm during the week, and even on the weekend most people are not out and about after midnight. This was surprising after hearing from so many people that the Senegalese go out super late at night and stay out until the morning.
Another cultural thing that I immediately noticed here is that guys hold each others hands. Hand holding is super common between friends or boyfriend/gfs. Walking to class, the resto, or just on a walk, guys hold the hands of their friends. I have observed that Senegalese are very physical; personal bubbles are pretty nonexistent. Although it took some adjusting at first, I am really enjoying how comfortable everyone is with each other, regardless of how well you know someone. A little anecdote on this subject: last week the power was cut for about two hours around 10 PM. I had ended up having a quasi-party completely by chance that night, so when the power was cut we all decided to go on a walk. There were three of us American girls and the rest were Senegalese. As I was walking along with the group I was talking to one of the guys, someone I had just met that night, and he took my hand to hold it like it was no big thing. I kind of freaked out until I realized hilariously enough that everyone else was holding hands if they were walking next to someone (female-female or male-female or male-male). Reading what I just wrote makes it seem so bizarre, and it is, but at the same time it fits perfectly with how people are here.
I would also like to mention the animal situation here. While it is rare to see someone with a domesticated pet, there are tons of cats around campus. Goats are also rampant. They are usually pretty skittish around people, but there are some really cute little baby ones that us American girls always try and pet. It gets better. For some reason there is also a herd of donkeys that hang out by the dorms and classrooms. Just picture walking to your class and almost running into a huge donkey crossing your path on its way to eat the leaves off some sparse tree! The last notable animals sharing campus are the longhorn cows. Some days they’ll shack up right next to the path to the resto (the cafeteria). I told one of my Senegalese friends that I wanted to try riding one and he just laughed and said I was crazy. Hey, I can always try, there are enough people around to help me if I get speared by a raging bull. So basically I am living on a desert farm.
Class is as of yet nonexistent aside from Wolof and now French. I am hoping to start my political science classes tomorrow…we’ll see how many actually end up meeting. I’m not really sure how we are going to be getting credit for anything other than our project and Wolof, but we’ll see. I consider hanging out with my Senegalese friends class enough. I am usually exhausted at the end of every day from trying to think in French and Wolof. I also am learning a lot about the culture from conversations I have with my friends. American pop culture is totally followed here. I swear the Senegalese have to teach me what’s what in US pop culture, it’s hilarious. My favorite is the words that they pick up and try to use in a different context. I have had some very humorous moments trying to explain some of the more vulgar words, things they definitely heard from American music. People here are way more aware of current international affairs than in the US. I am constantly astounded by how much Senegalese [students] know about the public policies of other countries. It makes for very interesting discussions.

Things as you can see are slowing down in terms of exciting adventures, so if I don’t write for a while it is only because I am becoming more integrated into Senegalese life and am probably making ataaya instead (the Senegalese tea which I LOVE). Much love to the States.

More pictures of the Rose

2007-11-01T23:02:00.000Z

Look how much I'm floating! I'm not even doing anything, crazy cool.

Hey Hey, I'm Senegalese now! This is the mud/clay you find on the bottom of the lake. It's just like mudbaths on the St. Croix!

Pictures of Lac Rose

2007-11-01T22:57:00.000Z

the lake is actually rose colored!!!

brosky came with us to the lake.

Real entry for today: first full day in Saint-Louis

2007-10-29T16:01:00.000Z

Asalaa Maalekum. I arrived in Saint-Louis yesterday around 1 pm safe and sound, and surprisingly with no problems, alxamdulilai! All 11 of us girls (Megan "Alaska" is now an honorary member of our program, she was at the baobab center with us in Dakar and is attending school at UGB too) packed into the sept-place with our gear for the year and took 4 hours to get to Universite Gaston Berger [UGB] (having what will probably be the most comfortable trip to Saint-Louis we will have all year). We arrived on campus dirty, disheveled, and exhausted (most of us had been up late making the most of our last night in Dakar with our families). We got a quick mini-tour of where classes are and then met with Baydallaye (the program director at UGB). As we were completely glazed over as Baydallaye was telling us the program for the next day (today), he caught on immediately, kept things short, and sent us on our way to eat. We had an awesome lunch that had been pre arranged by Baydallaye at a restaurant on campus, chicken with cooked carrots, onions, a salad and french fries...Glorious! Afterwards we got our rooms and had time to unpack/rest. All I wanted was to clean and shower so I did. Mom, you would of been proud, I cleaned my room for 2 1/2 hours before unpacking!

The dorms are in what I think is a pretty sweet set-up. They are arranged into what are called "villages", labeled A-F. Within the villages there are "blocs" or the dorms, 7 total. My building has I think 14 or so rooms, and only two floors (some have 3 or 4). The rooms are all open to the outdoors. Inside, we each have a bed, desk, and closet. The closet to me is HUGE, much roomier than at Wisconsin, or maybe it is just that I have a lot less stuff, either way I feel like I have a ton of space. Each room also has a sink and shower connected to the room. Sounds super ritzy, but there is one downfall, they only turn on the water upstairs from 11pm to 7am... We are given buckets that we can use to fill up with water at the downstairs faucet and then bring back to our rooms. I took my first "sponge" bath yesterday, somehow I mastered it enough to feel totally refreshed and clean. The bathroom/toilet situation was another fun adventure... one has to bring what we Americans call the "bring your own flush", or a little bucket that you fill with water from the little spigot inside the stall and use to flush down the turkish toilet (it is also supposed to be used to wash yourself with, but I think I'm still going to stick with BYOTP). It seemed rather sketchy my first time, but already I feel like I am used to using one now. This whole time my roommate hadn't arrived yet so I had the place to myself, something I'm still a little grateful for. Surprisingly, I definitely was having some homesick twinges; with having to say goodbye to my host family and just having to deal with another new environment I was feeling kind of overwhelmed.

Since arriving, us girls have started to create analogies for everything here. For instance, campus reminds us of camp. Lot of sand, everything really mellow and somewhat planned, but also a lot of free time. Walking into the "resto" you are completely reminded of camp mess halls, food included. Kind of funny analogy that Jill made yesterday was that "we are the weird kids, whose only friends are the other weird kids". Being the conspicuous white kids who just arrived we all feel a little estranged but I know it will just take a little time. Other than the camp comparison, things feel strangely similar to freshman year; new roommate, need to find new friends, don't know where anything is on campus, general ignorance of what is going on. Today things have already started to come together, I recognize places and where to get here or there, etc.

Today all we did was meet with Baydallaye at noon where we also met our Islam lecturer and Wolof prof. We figured out when/where we were going to start lessons and then with Baydallaye discussed our group tour of downtown St.Louis tomorrow. In between breakfast and meeting with Baydallaye I was hanging out in my room when I heard some girls talking outside by my door. I wasn't really doing anything so I decided to bite the bullet and go out and introduce myself. It went over really well. Two of the girls were my neighbors and the third was a friend of theirs who lived in one of the other blocs. All of them were really nice and friendly to me, which was very encouraging since some of the girls who had met their roommates already said they hadn't been that welcoming. They told me that my roommate is from Mauritania and in the math department. They didn't know when she would be arriving so I'm roommateless for the moment. Kind of exciting to have a roommate from someplace other than Senegal!

It's Natalie's birthday today so we are going to try and do something fun tonight, like have a mini party for her. Kind of hard to plan things when we don't know the area, but hopefully we'll be able to make it a decent celebration.

Later!

Friday 10/26/07

2007-10-29T15:56:00.000Z

ATTENTION! THIS WAS MEANT TO BE POSTED ON FRIDAY BUT BECAUSE OF THE POWER OUTAGE IT WASN'T UNTIL TODAY THAT I COULD GET IT ONLINE:

Today will be my last entry for my home-stay in Dakar. I am rather sad to be leaving my family and the big city. Although it has felt like a long vacation for the most part, I have learned so much from all aspects of living here. I have grown really close to my family; something not all of the girls have experienced. They are expecting me back for Tabaski as well as other weekends just for a visit. They are excited and honored to have Katie (my sister) come and stay with us at the end of December too! To top it all off, because both of my parents are from Saint-Louis, my yaay called her cousin, gave her my phone number (and me, hers), and Fatou Seck is now expecting a call from me once I arrive in Saint-Louis. As Maman told me, “you should call her if you have any questions, problems, or just want to eat at a home, they will expect you to stop by and visit”. I feel so fortunate to have such a substitute family here, I think it makes dealing with life here so much easier (to my family back home: you have not been replaced, I now just have a very large addition to my family tree). It is awesome to know that I have been privy to the Senegalese teranga (hospitality). I will miss them.

My week has been busy busy busy. I made dinner for everyone (Yaay, Papa, Douds, Sals, David, Asstou, Sally[cousin], and Dass) on Tuesday night. Basic pasta with a pre-made pesto sauce I got at the casino (supermarket) tossed with cheese, tomatoes, and roasted chicken. Don’t know how “American” it is, but it is something that I would eat at home, which was the point. It definitely was a hit, both with the family and me (I was able to cook, something I miss doing). Classic American/Minnesotan finish: Congo bars (chocolate chip bars for anyone not in my family)! Also went over fantastically, although brown sugar was quite tricky to find, and extremely expensive. The funny thing was was that they seemed rather surprised that I could cook; Maman has been telling everyone about it.

Yesterday after our Wolof “test” and Baobab evaluation 8 of us went with one of our former Baobab guides, Adema, to her studio to learn how to batik (ba-teek). Batiking is a type of design on fabrics. Typically one uses wax to make the patterns, but some batik is also hand drawings with paint. We learned what chemicals are used to make the dyes (all organic at this place): hydro sulfate and compound mixed with the dye and water. Each of us got plain white fabric and went to town using stamps dipped in melted wax and then pressed on the fabric, or a dotting technique, or free-lance painting on of the wax. After putting the designs on the fabric with the wax we wet down the cloth, then dipped it in the cold dye of our choice, and after some minutes (depending on how dark you wanted it) took it out, rinsed it in hot water to get the wax off, and then hung it up to dry. It was a totally unique experience and we all had a blast. I took a look at my patterns today and I feel so proud of myself for making my own of something very traditionally African.

Things just got better from last night. Today I went to Lac Rose with Annie, Natalie, and Douds. My cousin, Lune (means moon in French) is a taxi driver, so he gave us a good price to be rented out for the day and drive us up to the lake (which is usually about 2 hours away). We headed out about 9 (really equivalent to 10, since it’s on Senegalese time) and got there in less than the estimated 2 hours…I think we just got lucky with the traffic out of town. It was so nice to get out of the city. You don’t realize how much of a bubble you are in, and it had been so easy to forget that there is so much more out in Senegal. The lake itself is dubbed Rose Lake because of its color: it literally is pink! The reason for it is its salinity; it is ridiculously salty. Everyone in my family thought it was crazy that I wanted to swim in it, but we girls really wanted to see what it felt like to have super floating skills. It was every bit as cool as we thought it would be. The bottom was kind of gross because there was major clay lining the bottom and your feet would be all squishy, but it was completely worth it to be so buoyant. It was crazy, you could sit up like you were in a reclining chair and the water would hold you! And lame as it is, I tried a little synchro ballet leg and holy moly, I don’t think I have ever gotten such height, and with so little effort! Other than the floating part, it was interesting to experience the transfer of heat in the water. Seeing as how I am no science person I have no idea why this is, but for one the lake trapped heat like no other; I felt like I was taking a bath. The other was that it was exponentially warmer/hotter on the bottom with the clay, and grew cooler by the top. Overall, it was an excellent adventure and quite the gem. I now am basking in my pulsating sunburn and ready to take a nap.

Á Saint-Louis!

Goree pictures

2007-10-24T18:34:00.000Z

Picture link of Goree:

http://wisc.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2299351&l=e1935&id=8629540

House of Slaves

2007-10-22T22:10:00.001Z

There I am sporting the Tilly Hat on the second floor. If you look closely on the first floor the little glimpse of light is the door of no return. The second floor where I am standing is where the buyers and sellers of the slaves would stand and haggle over the price of the slave that was standing chained in that middle circle area between the two staircases.

Goree Island

2007-10-22T22:07:00.001Z

The beach and houses along Goree. The white retaining wall on the left was right in front of the restaurant that we ate at. Also, note the piroug in the water.

Goree Island and Learning to Cook

2007-10-22T21:43:00.000Z

The past few days have been chock full of activity as we are approaching our last week in Dakar. Saturday was the group trip to Goree Island. We took two hours in the morning to give us some background knowledge on the history and significance of the island. By noon we were at the docks where we all took a ferry (really just a boat, think tour boat size) from the mouth of Dakar to the island. It took about twenty minutes and the views of the city were great. The departure point was in the middle of the industrial sect of Dakar; lots of pirougs and big ships were around, it almost felt like Duluth (minus the pirougs). Everyone in my family had told me in advance how beautiful Goree is, and how similar it is to Saint-Louis with the architecture; they were right about the former, we’ll see about the latter. My first impression of the island from the ferry was how much it looked like some tropical beach island. All of the buildings are brightly colored and in the classic colonial style. Palm trees are all over the place, as are patches of tropical flowers. Straight off the boat we headed to the History Museum located right on the water and housed in an old slave house. To be honest the museum itself wasn’t that interesting. It was focused on the early prehistoric beginnings of Senegal, was all in French, and only had pottery and some arrowhead artifacts. However, the views of the ocean left nothing to be desired, and we also had a fairly good visual of the island and beach. Afterwards we grabbed a bite to eat at a restaurant on the beach and headed over to the Museum of Women. This was also in an old slave house and had a lot of traditional Senegalese objects. A tour guide brought us through and explained the role of women in Senegalese life, something that was very inspiring for all 10 of us girls. Right across the street from the museum was the famous House of Slaves. This was the most moving and powerful place on the island for me. It was so surreal for me to actually be there, especially after having done a huge project in my French class at the UW on a painting of this house. The house itself was not very large, but the number of people who have gone through it on their way to be sold as slaves in the Americas is astounding. It was horrifying to hear about how they were treated and to see where they were kept. The “door of no return” or “porte de sans retour” while very touristy, still struck a note in me. Looking out at the waves crashing against the rocks (back in the 1700-1800’s there was a long dock out to sea that the ships would dock at, now they have been broken down) one can only imagine how desolate a slave would feel looking out at the vast ocean. This took up most of our afternoon, so by the time we finished we had only a little free time on the island. I went for a swim, but I’m hoping to go back another time to explore more of the island as there is a large portion that we never got to see.

As though my long day did not tire me out enough, I decided to make use of the music scene in Dakar and went out Saturday night. A couple of the other girls wanted to do the same as me so we met up with Moussa and Mactar, the brothers of two of the girls, and their friends and went to a reggae concert. It ended up being just down the street from my house which was super convenient so I was able to leave whenever I wanted and not have to worry about being accompanied home! (It’s these little pockets of independence that become so precious when you are a girl at night). I had a blast with the girls and our Senegalese friends. The concert was outside in a basketball court so it was nice and cool and there was a lot of space. We danced like crazy so that by the time I crashed in bed I was completely beat.

Sunday was a lazy day with one exception. I woke up mid morning and made pancakes for everyone! I brought our Michigan maple syrup for the family and then made the pancakes from a mix I got right before I left. It was definitely a hit. I’m not really sure what to tell them to do with all of the syrup however, so if anyone has any great ideas, please pass them forward! My cousin Sally then came over to bring me to the market to buy more fabric, this time a more traditional African pattern. I’m pretty pumped for it, it may even become my Tabaski outfit…we’ll see how well my design turns out. The rest of the day was spent at my sister Sals’ house. I lounged around with the family and played with Abdoul Aziz and the baby. Doesn’t get a whole lot better for a Sunday.

Today the Baobab Center organized a hands-on day. We spent 4 hours preparing ceeb jen (pronounced chey-bu jenn and translating to rice and fish, the national dish of Senegal). I had no idea there was so much work behind it! Now I understand why servants are so common, food preparation alone is half the day. After eating, we then started to learn the process of making ataaya, the tea that is so popular here. So much harder than it looks, pouring the cups (or what look like shot glasses) back and forth to create the perfect amount of foam is quite the feat. I hope to learn how to do it like a pro by the end of the year, I’m totally hooked on it. After that experience the group went downtown to an art gallery to view a new collection by a Senegalese artist. His paintings were amazing. Very African themed, he used lots of bright colors and utilized great texturing techniques to create these oil paintings that I loved. We then ate dinner at the French Cultural Center. This place is super sweet, a weird little fusion of Western and African ideas. They have a large outside stage for cool concerts that they put on, and have a great restaurant (Katie, I am bringing you there when you come to visit, it is a little haven of “normal” food), all surrounded by well kept tropical gardens. Only now have I had time to relax and get ready for my totally scheduled rest of the week.

I can’t believe I am starting actual school in less than a week, inshallah!

SIDE NOTES:

At the request of my mother, and apparently others reading my blog, I have been asked to comment on the dress code here. With the pictures I have posted you have seen the range of what people wear over here. Surprisingly enough, from the waist up, anything is really fair game for women. I would even venture to say that young women wear more scanty tops than in the US. The knee rule definitely does apply here though. I have not seen a single woman wear something above the knee unless they are going out at night (and even then it is not common). I went running for the first time yesterday and wore a pair of long soccer shorts that hit right above the knees. I think half the looks I got from people was because they were a little "risque" (the other reason being that NO girls do sports of any kind). Traditional outfits and western style clothing are equally worn. Older women seem to tend to wear traditional clothing more often (my yaay only wears African style clothing) and for the majority of time wear a headscarf that matches. I believe that the headscarf is really more an accessory and fashion statement than a religious deference. In the picture of my family the women are wearing a longer shawl type thing (I don't remember the name of it). This is what they all must wear to cover their heads when they pray and I took the picture right after their Ramadan prayers. It is pretty rare to see women wearing the full shawl all the time, but the headscarf is common. As white Christians, we girls stand out if only because we don't dress as nicely as everyone else on a regular basis! As for men, dress is similar. There are equal numbers of people who wear western as traditional clothing, with older men tending to wear traditional style more often. I was so excited however last week when I ran into my papa as he was returning from a game of petank (the African equivalent to bocce ball); he was wearing the bright red University of Wisconsin t-shirt that I gave him, with matching red windpants, and a red hat!...He would of fit right in at any Badger football game he was so decked out in red! I will say that it is required for both men and women to cover their heads when they go to the mosque. Men wear a mini hat while women wear this shawl thing and both sexes are pretty well covered in the traditional outfits. I feel as though things are rather relaxed and don't feel very restricted by any means as to what I can wear. An interesting aspect of life that I have observed but hadn't realized other people would be interested in knowing more about. Please let this be an example of how I am always willing to share insight on random parts of Senegalese life, just give me a topic and I will definitely address it!

Photo Links

2007-10-17T22:10:00.000Z

Since it takes up so much space and time, here are the links to two of my photo albums with pictures of life here. Enjoy!

http://wisc.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2292852&l=3774b&id=8629540

http://wisc.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2294628&l=2c4d9&id=8629540

Ecopole

2007-10-17T22:02:00.000Z

Today was a hot one. I have no idea what the temperature was outside in the sun, but all I know is that sweat was running in rivulets down my face as I walked to class at 9 am (think sweatiness of working out). The heat is something I have definitely gotten used to though. When I first arrived I felt so gross being sweaty all the time, but now I have gotten past it and have figured out that everyone else perspires as much as I do. However, the girls and I do talk about how we could really go for a crisp midwestern autumn day about this time. October hasn’t quite felt like itself, and it’s hard to believe that we are fast approaching the end of the month.

This morning held many activities for us girls. We had typical Wolof class for two hours, but afterwards had another cultural session. Instead of staying at the Baobab Center, we went into the downtown Dakar area to visit a place called Ecopole. It is a small sub-region of the downtown, more to the east side. Ecopole is the name of an organization which collects everyday materials (some would call it garbage) and creatively recycles them by making different types of art. For instance, they collect bottle caps and wire them together to make anything from a table top to a small trinket box. They fashion functional rolling play cars out of tin cans and plastic bottle tops. The man who showed us around explained that the organization is not just about recycling; it is about providing jobs for people who have nothing, and affords the many kids who don’t go to school a chance to learn some technical skills. Every year Ecopole hosts an expo where they sell all of the products that they have made. This was the site that we visited.

We were also led around the surrounding area where the people who are involved in the recycling process live and work. The conditions were ridiculous. All of us were made acutely aware of the financial differences between our host families and these families working for Ecopole. There was no way there was a plumbing system, meaning no toilets and worse, no running water. Houses were just shacks lined up next to each other, made helter skelter with whatever leftover materials could be had. Kids were all over the place, most wearing ratty clothing. The living quarters were wedged in right next to the working shanties, whose enterprise varied from a forgery to a woodshop. It is so surreal to see people utilizing technology that to most people in the US is completely obsolete. Dad, I thought of you as I saw two boys about high school aged, working together to saw a piece of wood to make a relatively ornate headboard… They were using a rusty handsaw. I felt so out of place as a “rich white foreign girl” being led around and observing what lot in life these people had been given. Yet despite the stark difference between our socioeconomic levels, the Senegalese were very friendly and chatty with us.

This afternoon we were given a surprise and met briefly for another cultural session only to be given a little piece of homework to be done with our families before meeting again. A group of us wanted to go back into downtown Dakar to check out some traditional African fabrics, so we turned right around and went back into “the city”. It was exhilarating walking around one of the markets by ourselves. As we were walking trying to find the fabric area we were spotted by one of the many “hasslers” Senegalese markets are known for. These guys latch on to people and try to figure out what they are looking for. After extracting that knowledge, they then proceed to try and lure you to a store with that product and act as an intermediary between the vendor and yourself, getting a commission from the process. The last time I had gone into the downtown for a pair of shoes, a man latched on to me and actually was quite helpful in finding me a pair of shoes I liked. All I had to do was describe what I was looking for and he searched out possibilities and I said yes or no. He even made sure it was the right size. Today was not so fortunate. This guy was kind of a sleaze and so he was much harder to shake. Thankfully for us girls, we ducked into a small fabric shop where a really nice seller figured out what we were looking for and brought us over to his brother’s shop where there was more of a selection. We girls have decided that intuition is very astute and we should rely on it in deciding who is worthy of our trust. The nice seller may have had his family in mind when he brought us to his brother’s, but at least the men at the boutique were good humored and were somewhat honest about their fabric. The hassler however, continued to bother us even in the shop, but finally after ignoring him enough, left when we made it clear we were going home.

So goes the adventures of downtown visits. Much is to be seen and experienced. There are always surprises, but little by little I feel as though I am getting the hang of things and these surprises are easily dealt with.

Ba beenen.

2007-10-15T22:44:00.000Z

These are the dudes I hang out with...they fancy themselves to be "thugs", or at least my brother does.
Left to right; (not sure of his name, just met him on Saturday), Lamine, Douds, Dass. This was taken while we were making ataaya.

N'Gor

2007-10-15T22:37:00.000Z

Megan and I in the piroug on our way out to N'Gor island.

Korité

2007-10-15T22:30:00.000Z

Left to right; Abdoul Aziz, David, Sals (Sally), Me rockin it in my traditional outfit, Ma yaay, new baby Salimata Edwije. This was taken on Korité.

2007-10-15T22:13:00.000Z

How time has flown by. I just checked my computer to see when the last time I wrote an entry and realized I have not been very good with keeping up on my day to day activities. I can’t believe I have already been here for 2 weeks. Other than my French still being adequate at best, I feel pretty integrated in Dakar life. My Wolof classes have been everyday this week for 4 hours a day (2 hours in the morning and 2 at night). My class rules! Our professor’s name is Ismaila, who is a small, middle-aged, unmarried Senegalese man. He is hilarious and puts up with ridiculous amounts of teasing from us young, American girls. He has been a great teacher, although I should probably try and be a better student as I have good short term memory skills, but after one day of not really studying the material, I forget how to speak anything. We do get homework most every night, but it is one piece of paper with translation sentences. My family has gotten really into helping me every night after dinner. They regard my pronunciation and struggles with bemusement, however I can tell they enjoy helping me with my homework.

I finally got the opportunity to see the new baby on Thursday night. I went with Douds and my brother-in-law (Sally’s husband), David, to see Sally at the clinic. What a baby. She is the smallest thing I have ever seen, with quite the thatch of hair for a newborn. Sally had still not decided on a name for her which is typical in Muslim families. The process is to wait one week until the baptism before officially naming the baby.

Friday we only had Wolof class in the morning since no one knew when the actual day of Korite would be, so we all had most of the day off to explore Dakar. Right after class Cath, Natalie, and I walked to Marche HLM to check out jewelry and shoes. This was the same place that I went to last week with my cousin to get fabric. It was just as crowded although less hot as we maneuvered our way through the crowds to check out the wares. I got a few pairs of earrings for ridiculously cheap- one was $.20 and the other $1. They obviously were not of great quality, but you could find the same types in most stores in the US and they would be at least $4-5. Got to bargain for the first time; wasn’t super intense like I thought it would be, but I’m still excited about the experience.

After our adventure we met up with a few of the other girls and took a taxi up to N’Gor island. We got to take a real Piroug across the bay which was fun. These boats are the traditional fishing boats of Senegal and are somewhat infamous for their colors and designs. The beach on the island was decent. We could tell that it was definitely a tourist spot as the majority of the people on the beach were classic Toubabs (foreigners, usually just a coined term for white people). We stayed for an hour or two and then decided to explore the rest of the area. Our theories on the tourist bit were confirmed as we walked around. It felt like we were in some weird little wonderland secret garden. Huge houses (big for Senegal, for the US the square feet would probably be equivalent to typical suburban homes) with magnificent gardens took over the island and were packed next to each other with big walls separating each lot. The big rounded stone walls lined the road that we walked on, giving us the feeling that we were walking in a garden maze. There were some magnificent views of the ocean at certain points in our walk, which gave us an excuse to stop and take everything in. We got back just at sunset in time for the final breaking of the Ramadan fast. My night was like pretty much every other one this week, I hung out with Douds on the terrace/patio upstairs listening to music and chatting until late in the night.
Korite, the huge celebration that has been building over the course of the fasting month of Ramadan. I woke at about 9 am to the sounds of the house preparing for all the visitors. I had told my yaay that I would help, although when it came down to it, I felt kind of in the way or totally not needed. Therefore, I took up the one job I had had lots of practice with, watching Abdoul Aziz (my 17 month old nephew). By mid morning most of the house was ready. I was given ngalax, a millet sort of equivalent to hot oatmeal with a sweet peanut sauce, for breakfast. This is a traditional dish served specially for Korite. My yaay made a ridiculous amount of ngalax so that she could give some away to friends, which I assume is equivalent to Christmas cookie give-away for Christians. I found it to be tasty, although the sauce gets to be kind of intense about halfway through. I finally got my dress back from the tailleur (tailor). It turned out really well, especially seeing as how I motioned with my hands and used only a few words in French to tell the guy what I wanted. I did have some issues with the bust area, so Maman stripped me out of the dress and did some quick seamstress work. She completely fixed it, but in the process ended up taking in about an inch around my waist…that tightness combined with my peigne, which is the underneath skirt you wear like a wraparound, was rather uncomfortable throughout the day, but at least everything stayed in place. Dressing me up in the traditional style clothing was really fun for my yaay and aunt. I found how personal modesty is pretty nonexistent as I stood in my underwear and bra for about a half an hour while Yaay prodded me, sewed my dress, and Asstou cinched me into the peigne (oh Mom, only you would of appreciated the height placement of the skirt, think natural waist plus 2 inches higher).

Lunch came at around 4 pm. I accompanied Douds to his friend Bill’s house to eat. Apparently he and his friends have the tradition of eating at Bill’s every year for Korite. I wasn’t complaining, the food was excellent. We had couscous (oh man yes, something other than rice!), with the onion sauce, and chicken and mutton. What an experience eating crammed around the bowl with about 10 other Senegalese guys and one girl. They were packing it in! I don’t think I have ever seen that much food eaten. The bowl kept being refilled and refilled. I was finished after the first round! Those of you who know my eating habits would be floored to see this group take it in. It is a battle every night to refuse more food, and yesterday was even more so as everyone kept telling me to eat more. Once everyone finished we went to the outside deck of the house and sat around talking and making ataaya (Senegalese tea which I have taken a strong liking to). Everyone was speaking mostly in Wolof, but every once in a while someone would talk to me in French. I actually really enjoyed hanging out despite not knowing what people were talking about. Later I went back to the house to be with the new baby and Sally. I ate again at about 8:30 with my yaay and papa. Everyone left the house relatively early resulting in the parents going to bed earlier than normal. I took a nap for an hour before heading over to Cath’s house for a little gathering with all of the girls. We hung out on her roof with all of us, plus two girls who are with the Kalamazoo program and are doing a shorter program in reverse of ours (they are in Saint-Louis right now and are coming back to Dakar, but lived with two of the girls in our program’s families), and Moussa and a couple of his friends. A few of us later in the night decided to hitch a ride with Natalie’s brother and friend on their way to a dance club, so we didn’t have to pay for a cab. We arrived on perfect Senegalese time, sometime after 1 am. It was a really fun time; the club wasn’t super crowded so we actually had space to dance. I saw two guys rocking it with the mbalax style dancing so I went over and started trying to copy their moves. They thought it was pretty funny, this white girl in full Senegalese garb trying to move like them. In retrospect I don’t think I was half bad; we’ll see how it goes next time. I came back home way past my usual weekend bedtime (early for Senegalese), but proud of myself for making it that late.

Today I got to experience a Muslim baptism. It was the biggest family gathering ever. My observation was that it was more about the entire family than either the mother or the new baby. I took tons of pictures because the actual ceremony was pretty cool. The Muslim religious man (I think he is called an Isman) gives a sermon and at the end blesses the baby with its new name by whispering the name in each ear. The rest of the day was spent split between the house of Sals and my house, where everyone ate. I am dog tired now, all the stimulation of meeting a ton of people, eating like its my job, and trying to think in French has been quite the killer.
A toute a l’heure.

2007-10-09T14:35:00.000Z

L'ile de Madeleine. We didn't swim at this exact spot but the other side was much calmer.

New Baby in My Family!!!!

2007-10-09T14:29:00.000Z

What a weekend! Saturday dawned early with Wolof class (only at 9, but still, a Saturday class). We have class for two hours at a time usually, but one thing I am learning is that it usually only ends up being 1.5 hours. At the Baobab center we always take a “short” break for coffee or tea in the middle of the two hours. All of us sit around for a while chatting and don’t end up getting back into the classroom for at least 20 minutes. We also end up getting off topic; today we talked with our teacher about why he doesn’t cook for himself…he sounded like the typical bachelor. After class on Saturday I went back home where I met my cousin, also Sally, who brought me and Sandra (another girl in the program) to the market to buy fabric for our new Korite clothing. Reflecting on my first venture into a Senegalese market, it followed all descriptions of craziness. There were thousands of people in quite a small area. What at first glance seemed to be totally haphazard stalls, really was a general conglomeration of similar products organized into different sections. So nerdy to say this, but my best description would be to compare it to my version of Diagon Alley. When we first got into the market we pushed our way in to a stall that sold fabric, looked around for a while and then all of a sudden Sally pulled me through a random little opening between two stalls and it was like appearing in the middle of a completely different place! I was surrounded by a multitude of stalls all advertising their wares with brilliantly colored cloth. It was a lot of fun to look at all of the cloth, although a little overwhelming because there were so many different kinds to choose from. I decided on what I wanted pretty quickly, although ironically it proved to be kind of hard to find. I ended up choosing medium blend cotton, teal blue, with gold threading in it. It came with a matching head wrap which I am rather pumped to wear, true Senegalese style!

Saturday night I “went out” with Douds. Because it is Ramadan things are much slower paced; most clubs and bars are closed, and everyone just “chills” as Douds likes to put it. We went to his neighborhood hangout where I met a bunch of his friends. He has known all of them since he was born; kind of cool that the “neighborhood gang” has been together for all of these years. After an hour or two Douds and I walked over to another hangout, an American fast food place called Ceasars. We just sat and talked for a couple hours while I got an ice cream, what a treat! Douds is an awesome host brother, while we hung out with his friends he would periodically stop to explain to me what was going on. The relationships they have with each other are fun to observe. They speak in a mixture of Wolof, French, and “cool/gangsta” English words. When it was just Douds and I at Ceasars, we had some really fun conversations; he taught me some “street slang” (aka somewhat bad words, hehehe) and we just joked around for a while. I surprised myself by being able to understand as well as crack jokes in French, something I’m rarely able to do in English, let alone another language. All in all, a good night.

Sunday was also an early morning, seeing as how I didn’t get to bed until 3am (and Douds even brought me home early, he went back out again after walking me home)! On Friday the entire group of girls had decided to go to l’ile de Madeleine, an island off the coast of Dakar. With Cath’s host brother leading, bright and early we set off on foot, to the departure point for the island. When we finally got there we had to take two boats as one was already partially filled with another group. It is a 40 minute round trip so I along with 5 others waited for the return boat. As I approached the island on the boat my breath was caught by the majesty of the dark rocks, jutting straight up from the ocean floor. To get onto the island the boat has to dart in between the cliffs and dock at a small rock pier. With the waves crashing against the sides of the island it looked a bit perilous, but as soon as we entered the little islet the waves calmed and I saw little pockets where the waves had carved out little pools for swimming in. There was one tree on the whole island so shade was hard to come by, but the sun felt great since I was in a swimsuit and had the ocean at my feet. Of course after about an hour, I could feel the UV rays rocking my unseasoned skin so a little late I frantically applied the SPF. The burn hasn’t been that bad because I thankfully brought aloe here, my only complaint could be the wicked suntan lines I have now acquired. I stayed later with part of the group which ended up being an excellent choice because it cooled down significantly later in the afternoon and we were able to experience the island at a more pleasant temperature. Last night I stayed up despite my sun exhaustion to watch Douds at the coiffure. Senegalese are very fastidious with their appearance, taking care to always look good. He goes to the “hairdresser” twice a week to get his head and facial hair shaved. Chalk that one up to a sweet Senegalese experience.

Today I had normal Wolof classes as well as a cultural session on the Senegalese education system. The exciting news of the day was that Sals (my older sister) just had her baby!! A little girl. She has yet to name her, but the christening will probably be next Monday. I’m so excited to be able to be a part of it all. The whole family is very happy as both the baby and Sals are healthy. Tomorrow I will get to go visit her at the clinic, I can’t wait.

2007-10-05T19:33:00.000Z

This is the "highway" that I pass on my way to and from class. They are in the process of rebuilding it so that there will be a sidewalk. The Islamic summit is supposed to take place here in a few months so there is major reconstruction being done all over the city right now.

2007-10-05T19:30:00.000Z

The view from our apartment the first day. Notice the taxi as well as the horse drawn cart. Interesting contrast between the two.

2007-10-05T19:25:00.000Z

This is me in Madrid while we had our 8 hour layover, a few of us ventured into downtown to check out Spain. Notice the tilly hat, can you tell Im a foreigner?

Meeting the host family

2007-10-05T19:20:00.000Z

So much has happened in the past few days it is hard to believe it is only Friday. I have been so busy getting moved in to my host family and starting classes at the Baobab center that it has been hard to find time to get to an internet café. There is one right down the block from my house, but my older brother informed me that we should be getting internet at their house sometime next week. I’ll start with my family, the most exciting part of these past few days.

I am living in the area of Mermoz, pretty much smack dab in the middle of Dakar. My host family is pretty well-off; apparent from the super nice living room/dining room that they have, and the fact that everyone has/had a job. I have my own room which is small (compared to mine back home), but is perfect for the amount of stuff I have. I share a bathroom with my older brother, Douds (pronounced, “Dudes”). My family really consists of Maman and Papa and Douds. My parents are both grandparents, their two oldest daughters have small kids. Their oldest lives in Washington DC with her husband, who works for a big bank. Salimata (Sally) is in her 30’s and is very pregnant with her second child. Her first, Abdoul Aziz is 17 months old, and the cutest little boy I have ever seen. The two of them don’t live at the house, but they are there for most of the day, every day. Sally is the one who helps me with my French the most, correcting me when I say things wrong, something I really appreciate. Douds is 30, and works for a computer company making websites for other companies. He has been the most helpful and is always trying to make me feel at home. The first night was not as awkward as I thought it would be. My French is terrible, and my family was rather surprised when I told them I took French for 5 years, but I think they understood a little better when I said I took a break for 2 years. The kids and Papa are all fluent in English, so in a pinch I am able to ask what the translation is in English. We looked at my photos and then ate dinner together around the bowl on the ground. They have a nice deck/patio on the second floor where everyone eats and hangs out. It is really nice at night because you can catch a breeze which cools things down quite a bit. Everyone is very patient with my questions, all formed in the worst way, but I am learning a lot about the relationships within a family.

Yesterday I got up for class and walked to the Baobab center by myself. It is about a 10-15 minute walk. I really enjoy walking to school by myself as it gives me a sense of independence in this big city. We started Wolof on Wednesday so I now know the basic salutations. Being able to greet people is really important in Senegal and people are still surprised and pleased when I can say hello and ask how they are. We had our first cultural session yesterday where we started to learn about different Wolof words which convey a Senegalese value. They all are charged with such meaning that it is interesting that there is no straight translation for any single word. For example my favorite word yesterday was Jom, which is loosely translated as hardworking, perseverance, and the courage to be strong. We all had lunch together at the center around the bowl, only with our hands. We learned the correct practices and manners for when you eat around the bowl. It feels like you are going back to when you touched everything as a little baby. Our teacher explained it in a better way though, that eating with your hands is more natural, and actually the oils in your hand break down food easier. Interesting to say the least. Unfortunately by lunchtime I had started to feel a little under the weather; my stomach region was starting to react to the new environment. When we commenced the afternoon session I was having a hard time of things and so left to lie down for a while. I ended up getting sick a few times, the first one of the group! Thankfully we had a late lecture with a doctor, so while I was delirious and going in and out of sleep, he was able to prescribe me with Peridys, a medicine that helped with my nausea. When I got home (after two of the girls brought me back in a taxi) Douds went and got the medicine for me and so I just rode out the sickness for the night. My family was really nice throughout, trying to make sure I had everything I wanted. Even though I know it was their job, I was so grateful for their hospitality.

Today I slept in, hoping to give my body some more time to adjust. I missed my Wolof lesson, but I know it was better to get the rest. I made it to the Baobab center in time to go to the Downtown sortie. We took the bus to get to the heart of Dakar. What a trip! First off, I realized on the ridiculously crowded bus that I perhaps was not fully recovered. I was able to get a seat for most of the trip which helped matters ten-fold, but wow, think of how you would feel pressed up against either heavily perfumed, or total B.O.ed sweaty people in 90 degree weather in a confined space, not good combinations. It seemed only appropriate that our first public transportation experience ended in our bus breaking down in the middle of the road and so we had to wait for about 15 minutes until we could get on to the next one. Downtown reminded me of any other big city, lots of people, tons of sellers trying to hawk their wares on the side of the street, and cars everywhere. The taxi situation here is somewhat comical. Horns are used for everything, whether to just say, “I am behind you” or the equivalent of a catcall, the air is always filled with the noise. While we were downtown we stopped by the huge market that Dakar is famous for. A little intimidating, but I’m excited to go back when I feel a little bit better.

Tonight I am going to go out with the other girls in the program for Megan’s birthday. We are going to find a restaurant and then afterwards there is a free play we heard about through the Babobab center that we are going to try and go see. First night “out on the town”…hope all goes well.

Alxamdulilah.

First Real Day in Dakar

2007-10-02T21:15:00.000Z

Hi everyone! I survived the flight in to Dakar with few hitches (surprisingly the trouble I had was in the US and not in Madrid or Dakar). I am writing my first words to everyone back home via the telecentre next door to the apartment that all 10 of us girls are staying in until we get our host families-which will be tomorrow night. You will all have to bear with me as I write as I am on an hour limit and writing with a french keyboard (think of what it was like when you were in 3rd grade learning how to type and you missed the keys all the time...I never realized how much I dont look at the keys anymore as well as the symbols-I still cant figure out where some of them are). Once I get into a routine and settled with my host family the baobab center has internet access so I should be able to get internet more regularly. I'll try to put up the many pictures I have already taken.

I cant really believe I am here, things still seem like a dream. Getting by with my french is not as bad as I thought, although we'll see what happens when I am on my own with the family.

Today we got a mini tour by some of the ladies (about our age maybe a little older) who work at the baobab center around Dakar. Things remind me a little of Mexico if I could compare it to anything-the heat/temperature (we are still in their summer so it is hot and humid even for them...aka like 90-95°), people all over the streets, the level of poverty, etc. The architecture in the area we are in is very similar to the styles of the middle east, think lots of arches and stone/plaster. I saw my first baobab tree! They are all over the city and not as big as the ones you see out on the plains, but still impressive.

So far though, I don't feel as out of place as I thought I would be as a white female. People have been super friendly; firsthand evidence of their hospitality. We start Wolof classes tomorrow which will be good because way more people speak it than outsiders believe. People are also way more impressed with you when you break out the Wolof. They laugh at us "toubabs" or foreigners but you can tell that it pleases them a lot to hear someone try to speak their native tongue. The gals who were our tour guides in the morning came over to our apartment while we ate (it is still Ramadan for them so most of them were fasting and didn't eat, although if you are a woman with your period you don"t have to follow it for the week) and hung out with us until we had to go back to the center. They were an awesome source of random Wolof vocab as well as just fun to ask girly cultural questions. If these ladies are anything like other Senegalese females, they are super open about everything.

The food has been well prepared for us every meal, I feel rather spoiled. Same type of food as what I experienced at my orientation in Madison; cooked root vegetables in some type of spice with rice and lots of baguette! They also do this casserole type thing with peas and beef and a sort of gravy/sauce...just like home. The only thing is that most things are made hot or cooked, which means you sweat even more than usual; hot food on a hot day, definitely very different from what we are used to. Breakfast is like how the French do things; baguette with their version of nutella, or jam, or this awesome swiss spreadable cheese. They gave us bananas for dessert at lunch, oh man I was so pumped. Fruit never tasted so good.

The girls on my program are all really fun. We've bonded like crazy in just these few days. I'm excited to have them around as we all seem pretty ready to be independent and meet Senegalese people, but also come back together to rehash the funny mishaps and discuss the new culture. I forsee more good times to come.

This little synopsis of my day has taken me quite a while to chicken peck out so I will need to cut this short, but I hope you are all doing well back home. To those of you who are going to skype, I'll be working on that as soon as possible; bear with me, time moves much slower and relaxed in these parts of the world.

As the Senegalese say: Jamm ak Jamm!