"African Beach Party"

Because the beach is so close, much of the population of St. Louis relocates to Hydrobase during the day on the weekends. While I enjoy a day at the beach as much as the next person, it begins to lose some of its initial thrill after a while. It doesn’t help that the beaches are filled with litter and people with nothing better to do that harass you. Given this context, I was a little hesitant when Lamine, my friend who I met through work, invited me to an “African beach party.” I should never have doubted him; I think it was the most fun I’ve had here. Some friends and I met Lamine and his friends at the beach in the evening, so the temperature was perfect, especially with the breeze off the ocean. He showed us “how the Senegalese sit,” meaning we dug a huge hole in the sand to put our stuff and our feet in. He then let us mess around with his djiembes (drums) before he and his friends showed us how it’s really done. We watched the sun set to the diembe’s rhythm and the crash of waves.

Sitting around our hole

Lamine and his friends serenading us

The best part of the evening was the ride home. The public transportation system consists primarily of cars rapides: elaborately decorated and highly unsafe buses that are the cause of the majority of vehicular mortalities in Senegal. This was our mode of transport back home. Though the quarters were not as close riding the buses at Duke during peak hours, we were squeezed pretty tight. Nonetheless, Lamine and his friends continued to play. We all sang along to the song he had taught us, and as we passed little kids would start dancing. Though I am continually reminded that I don't belong here, I felt like I was participating in the community and I loved it.

In the car rapide

The beach at sunset. Note the litter, it's such a shame. Before I came I was told the people here treat "the world as their trashcan." It's the sad truth: I've had to yell at my students to throw their waste in trashcans not out the window.

Halfway!

Tuesday marked the half way point of my stay here in Saint Louis. It has come to my attention that it’s been a month and I haven’t written anything about what I’m actually doing here.

My vast majority of my time in Senegal has been devoted to teaching English to students attending the Amadou Bamba summer school. My youngest classes (the 6ième level) are beginners aged 9-11. My 5ième classes are more experienced and entering their more angsty adolescent years. And last but not least, I teach an evening adult class for advanced English speakers. I’ve found it interesting to see the different dynamics of each level, and even of each class, and have come to appreciate my teachers past and present so much more now that I am one.

My morning 6ieme class

Amadou Bamba from the inside

Singing Michael Jackson with my afternoon 5ieme class

Most edifying are my experiences with my advanced class. The group, mostly male, includes university students, religious leaders, teachers, and one UN soldier who was stationed in Darfur. Because these students are nearly fluent, class is mostly organized discussion, so I’ve gotten to hear a Senegalese perspective on a plethora of issues. This discussion has been particularly fruitful because my class represents the full spectrum on many issues, including attitude toward the West and development. I have, however, been struck by their unbending belief in retribution that surfaced during a discussion of the death penalty. It opened my eyes to the fact that a large portion of the world’s population still lives by “an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.” I prefer Gandhi’s “an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.” Similarly they refused to any semblance of open-mindedness with regard to gay marriage. Though I feel like I can relate to these students, I cannot forget the ever-present cultural barrier.

In this regard my students have been patient teachers. Students in the 5ieme level have taught me some Wolof (the regional language) and some traditional dance. This week I was invited to an advanced student’s home for a beautiful dinner, where I got to experience Senegal’s fabled hospitality. I’ve also learned a bit about traditional lore, which I would like to share here.

As the story goes, the river is inhabited by a spirit named Mame Coumba Bang. Part woman and part fish, Mame Coumba Bang surfaces to visit the town market. Groceries bought, she heads back to the watery deep to prepare her meal. And sometimes she’ll leave some of the traditional lunch dish by the side of the river, and it’s the best tieboudienne you’ll ever have.

Desert de Lompoul

This weekend I had the pleasure of traveling to a near-by desert with a group of volunteers. About a three hour drive from St. Louis, we made the voyage in open air trucks. By that I mean pickup trucks with benches installed in the beds.

Though perhaps lacking in the safety department, our seats provided us a great view as the landscape changed from city to farmland and accompanying villages, and then finally to wild scrub. The farms we saw were primarily onion, a staple in many Senegalese dishes, and as we passed we could actually smell that very distinct odor.

To get to the desert we took a scenic drive along the beach, which may be the most direct way to get to our destination. This was more like a waterpark ride than anything else, as our driver recklessly swerved to avoid incoming water and uneven shores. Luckily we safely arrived at the desert having suffered only minor bumps and bruises.

As for the desert, it was unreal. I'm surrounded by sand here in St. Louis, so before going it was hard to say what would be so special about a desert. How misguided I was. The sand is so fine that it moves in the gentlest breeze. And when it moves it looks more like a liquid than a solid. I also got to ride a camel! They're really not attractive animals, and I'm convinced that George Lucas employed their noises in his Star Wars films. All in all it was a great trip, and a nice way to keep Africa feeling exotic.

First Impressions

Now that I’ve been here for over two weeks I feel properly settled in. Even in Africa things become routine. The adjustment wasn’t as severe as I was led to believe; I continue to be surprised at how similar my life here is to my life in the states. Granted, I eat my meals with my family out of the same dish, sometimes on the floor and sometimes with my hands, but the food is delicious, and often consumed in front of the TV. I’m learning to live with frequent power cuts, occasional issues regarding running water, and bugs in the house. But life continues much as it did before.

Of course, differences make better blog material. The first is best demonstrated by the fact that there is no word for “please” in the Wolof language. It’s perfectly acceptable to ask for people’s belongings, and begging abounds. I stick out like a sore thumb, and am often approached by street venders bent on ripping me off. This contrasts starkly with the generosity I’ve encountered. My students showered me with beaded gifts they had made for me the other day, and my host mom spent a whopping ten hours braiding my hair this weekend.

Similarly, people here are openly friendly. When greeted you will often be asked “Ça va?” several times before the conversation begins in earnest. I still haven’t figured out the correct response because I feel pretty silly repeating myself over and over. Unfortunately strangers are likewise as affable. I’m refining my selective deafness as everyone feels the need to inquire after my well being, and then yell “Toubab!” (white person) or hiss (people hiss instead of whistling here) when I don’t respond. Again, not so different from home.

The bridge from the mainland to the island built by Eiffel himself

My street

Fantastically decorated fishing boats

The Birth of a Nation

Happy (belated) Fourth to all my American friends! I hope you all had the opportunity to celebrate wherever in the world you happen to be.

My fourth was not quite like any I have ever experienced in the States, but I managed to bring a little festive spirit to my host family. Inspired by Liz's attempt to explain smores to her Kenyan host family, I brought with me a bag of red, white, and blue star-shaped marshmellows (who knew such amazing things existed??). So the evening of the fourth Caroline and I showed our host family how to properly skewer and burn a marshmellow. It was a hit! We sat around the fire learning/ teaching Wolof, chatting about our studies, and laughing as Zahra attempted to direct the proceedings even though she decided she didn't particularly care for marshmellows. Our Senegalese Fourth of July celebration embodied the community spirit that I think characterizes Independence Day, and now I really feel like a part of my host family.

Me with my host sisters Zahra (middle) and Mama (right)

My host mom

From right, my host brother Prince, Mama, and Prince's friend Sherna

Safe and Sound

I have successfully arrived chez les Diops, my gracious host family in Saint Louis. Now I’m sitting under my bed net waiting for my project coordinator to pick me up to show me around, so I have a little time to describe my journey up until now.

After landing in Dakar I met a group of five other volunteers of several nationalities. It turned out that French was the most convenient language in which to communicate, which I think is awesome even though in my post-plane haze I was in no state to partake in any involved conversations regardless of language. The eight of us (six volunteers, Banda, our wonderful contact, and our driver) plus luggage piled into a station wagon which I guess can technically seat eight, but the three in the back couldn’t sit up straight without hitting their heads on the ceiling. This is how we made the seven hour journey from Dakar to Saint Louis. Despite the cramped quarters and unreal humidity, I’m glad I’ve already gotten to see so much of Senegal.

I’ve also now met my roommate, Caroline, who’s a sophomore at U. Chicago. She’s been great and has done what she can to show me the ropes. My family has been wonderfully accommodating, and doesn’t seem to mind that I’ve spent most of my time so far asleep. All in all I’d say a great start!

Italy

The first of my three trips across the Atlantic, Italy seems a good excuse to play with my blog before I leave for Senegal this weekend!

In front of the Trevi Fountain

St. Peter's from inside the Vatican. The extravagance meant to demonstrate the glory of God was enough to make anyone a cynic. What really got me were the walls painted like curtains. Surely the Pope could have traded in one of his diamond encrusted ninja stars to buy some real drapes instead of making some poor artist spend a lifetime creating a masterpiece that will forever be overlooked.

The Colosseum. Apparently the Roman Empire funded the gladiatorial games as a kind of social program to keep people off the streets. And people complain about how our tax dollars are spent.

Sorrento. What do you do when life gives you lemons the size of your face? Make limoncello!