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!