Camel-riding, bird-watching, and plenty of time in a Korean tour bus

I rode a camel this weekend.

I should really just end my blog post there...what else is there to say? But I know that would not be an acceptable explanation for my mom, so I'll back up a few steps.

This weekend marked the last formal excursion for our program, the last time all fifty-some of us would be traveling together in Senegal. Interestingly, the odd Korean tour bus which had originally arrived to pick me up from the airport was again used for the trip. As I pushed back the gold tasseled brocade curtains, I couldn't help but remember the last time I had been traveling on this bus, eagerly – if a little apprehensively - taking in my first glimpses of Dakar's suburbs. How three months change things...

We arrived at our first destination, the village of Lampoul, around four hours north of Dakar. From this village, we climbed in the pickup trucks that would take us to our logement. We sped offroad through what looked to be the quintessential African savannah – sans animals – to what was to be our campsite. The campsite was comprised of a gaggle of large tents for sleeping and a larger canopied area with tables and cushions for eating. After claiming our tents and mattresses, I got my first glimpse of the desert.

It was incredible. Out of the various ecosystems I studied in middle school, I would have never expected to rate the desert as a favorite. But being out on the dunes as the sun was beginning to set, studying the wind's patterns in the sand and feeling the rapidly cooling night air as we explored barefoot the little peaks and valleys was utterly amazing. When the sun set, a few of us escaped the drumming of the fire circle and went out to the dunes and laid on the sand, completely overwhelmed by the multitude and apparent closeness of the stars. And the next morning, a few early risers and I went out to watch the sun rise over the desert, reveling in the cold crispness of the air.

Ah, and the camel riding....My valiant camel-riding (and Cape Verde) partner and I experienced the most interesting, and potentially most worrisome, ten minutes of our life as we were led out on the desert with our dear camel friend who was actually quite tall and quite terrifying. Once I was able to suppress the feeling that I was going to fall off – or lose my shoes – it was an enjoyable experience.

On Saturday morning, we reluctantly departed our campsite to continue on our way to Saint Louis. Originally, we were supposed to go bird-watching that morning at Djoudj, but due to a late departure (Senegal-style), and a motorcade accident which blocked the street - and gave us a glimpse of Karim Wade, the president's non-Wolof speaking son – we changed plans and headed to Saint Louis instead. Except, it's Senegal, and there's always a jafe-jafe, a problem. In this case, President Wade was inaugurating the bridge that connects the island of Saint Louis from the mainland, and that bridge was consequently closed. So, we did the next best thing, which was stop at a hotel just outside of the city, drink some Coca and Fanta, and swim in their pool for three hours.

After a long wait in traffic, we finally made it to Saint Louis, the former colonial capital and World Heritage Site, and ate some much needed yassa. The rest of the afternoon was spent exploring the city and boutiques, which is completely beautiful and so different from Dakar. It honestly seems like you have been transported to a European city which has somehow been permitted to crumble and detriorate a little. In the evening, my friends and I went to a bar which overlooked the river and its sparklingly modern, newly inaugurated bridge, and later went to the evening's free outdoor concert which was, like all things Senegal, three parts interesting/fun and one part uncomfortable/underwhelming.

The next morning, after having received very little sleep, the majority of us headed to the Parc National des Oiseaux du Djourdj, a beautiful park near the Mauritanian border. On our way, we saw what may be my favorite part of Senegal with its Fulani villages, roaming cattle, and wheat fields. At the park we took a boat tour of the park, which is situated on the Senegal River. It was so beautiful there, and so different than the country that is at the outskirts of Dakar. We saw many species of birds, some wild boar, and what looked to be a giant, swimming komoto dragon, but my favorite by far were the pelicans. It was their time of year to lay their eggs, thus we saw literally hundreds of these giant birds.

When we finished our tour, we ate lunch, and then boarded the buses to begin our trek back to Dakar, which, although long was fairly comfortable – which may be due to my Senegalese bus conditioning. In any case, I arrived back around 11, exhausted and with a pile of homework that still awaits my attention.

Tabaski

Last Monday I celebrated my first Tabaski. Known as Eid-al-Adha in the majority of the Muslim world, the holiday, in a nutshell, commemorates the to commemorate the willingness of Ibrahima to sacrifice his son as an act of obedience to God, before God intervened to provide him with a sheep— to sacrifice instead. While this religious meaning is still absolutely vital to the holiday, it also can be argued that the same commercialization that people grumble about during an American Christmas is experienced in a Senegalese Tabaski. The whole city basically shuts down the week of Tabaski and people spend an absolutely huge sum of money on clothing, jewelery, shoes, hair, and of course, the sacrificial mouton(s). There are lots of sweepstakes advertised the months leading up to Tabaski, and usually the grand prize is, surprise, a number of large sheep.

For me, however, Tabaski was the normal Senegalese holiday....as my friend says, "you go in expecting fireworks, and you end up with a lot of sitting." Except this time, there were fireworks, in the form of mouton killing.

On Sunday, my family went to the home of my host aunt and uncle in a neighboring quartier of Dakar. That night, the two maids of the aunts house, my host sister and the cousin and I went on an expedition to Marche HLM which is the huge fabric/clothing/jewelry/shoe/everything market in Dakar. It was absolutely insane at around 7 at night before Tabaski - I cannot even describe how crowded and chaotic it was. I could barely breathe I was so densely surrounded by shoppers and sheep and fabric and people advertising their deals with speaker systems. (Note: being called a toubab is much more embarrassing when it's projected via microphone to the amusement of my host family) I kept having visions of those stories about being trampled in crowds, but luckily - or not so luckily for our doomed sheep - we all survived. We picked out shoes and jewelry for the maids - there were a LOT of colored rhinestones involved - then I went home utterly exhausted and went to bed.

Post Sacrifice Sheep Carnage

On Monday, the actual day of Tabaski in Dakar (Senegal's extremely influential and powerful marabouts changed the day of the holiday from the rest of the Muslim world), the women and children ate breakfast while the men were at the mosque, and then the sheep slaughtering began. Originally there were sixteen sheep, although mysteriously by Monday morning eight of them had disappeared, presumably given away to sheep-less families. My host uncle did the ceremonial first slaughtering of the sheep which was held in a little tiled pen type area with a drain for ultimate blood draining. Then three men who the family had hired killed the other five and did the butchering. We brought out chairs and watched this entire process, from living sheep to pieces of meat in freezer bags. I am proud to say that I was present for the whole event, despite everyone in the family repeatedly asking - a little hopefully, I think -  if I was scared. Not sure that scared was the right word - curious, a little disgusted, perhaps - but not scared. RIP, my mouton friends.

On mange!

Anyway, the women in the family then spend the entire afternoon packaging and cooking while the men relax and visit. Typical. We had lunch later in the afternoon, and I did love that along with the sheep  - which is rather greasy and tough - we ate a lot of salad which was very different from the usual Senegalese sides of rice, fries and bread. Then we had a delicious cake with a white chocolate sheep on the top, which struck me as a little morbid.

Charlotte, my host sister, and I on Tabaski

Charlotte thought a tiara was a nice addition to my Tabaski outfit

After lunch everyone took naps, a favorite Senegalese pastime, until around six when we changed into our fancy Tabaski outfits (yes, I did have my own made by the tailor) my host uncle held social/political meetings with important and intimidating looking men, and the teenagers went out with their friends. I floated awkwardly from playing with the kids to sitting watching Tabaski specials with highly made up Senegalese singers on TV with the maid until we all headed to bed a few hours later, exhausted from the day's work....I mean....holiday. As with most events in Senegal, it seems a lot more fun to be a man than a woman on Tabaski.

Things have just finally settled down in Dakar post Tabaski. The neighborhood seems oddly quiet, devoid of the majority of its sheep inhabitants. I can't help but congratulate the little herd wandering along the highway when I walk to school. They are some lucky sheep...until next Tabaski, at least.

Programme bi ci Simal

Simal children at school

A day in the village:

typical Simal classroom

8:00 - I would wake up and sit outside with the mother of the family for a while, then she would send me off to take a bucket shower. I would apply yet another layer of bug spray, and then someone would bring me bread and an atrociously sweet powdered "cafe au lait." I should mention here that they rarely let me do anything for myself.

11:00 - The little girls in my house would have a break from school and they would come home for a snack and to take me back to school with them. I would then sit in the shade in the school courtyard with the teachers for a while and discuss the differences between Senegalese and American schools and American movies (one young teacher was especially interesting in the prevalence of gangs in the US). Then they would invite me in various classrooms to observe their classes, but that is the subject of a whole other blog post.


2:00 - I would return home and be served what seemed to me, a non-fish eater, a whole plate of fish under the shade tree. After I had begged off eating the entire portion, they would dump a cup full of peanuts in my lap.

3:00 - Attaya time! Attaya is the traditional very sweet, very strong tea that is served in three shot glass servings. In the village, making attaya can, and does take, hours. I had never actually seen the whole process before, and was utterly disgusted and impressed by the tea-sugar ratio. During this time I would help shell peanuts, pound couscous, or write or draw in my journal. My family was very impressed with my limited watercolor skills...

Making couscous!

Watching the soaps

6:00 - Shower number two!

8:00 - Dinner time: I would be served another absurdly large portion of some seafood dish, and after, watch the news with my host father (in French, hooray!)

9:00 - I would end the evenings by watching soap operas sitting on the floor with my host sisters (I'm pretty sure that Senegal is where the world's soap operas go to die) and playing unintelligible handclapping games with the smallest girls. Then I would apply another coat of bug spray and go to bed under my net, protected from the mosquitoes and crickets and giant beetles and lizards and whatever other creatures were waiting to attack me in my room.

Dem naa willas

I've been MIA the past couple of weeks because I've been busy (and the have experienced occasional 23-hour Dakar power outage). I should note that I have been Senegal-busy...which does not at all equate to UR-busy. When I say Senegal-busy, I mean that I have had a week of class where I traveled to do a lot of sitting in the shade and eating peanuts and then returned to a full inbox of emails and eager host siblings.

In any case, last week was my highly anticipated "rural visit." For many in my program, these visits were actually semi-urban or even completely urban visits outside of Dakar. I was lucky - or unlucky, depending on your perspective - to snag one of the actually rural placements. The majority of students were placed with a Peace Corps member and another student, something I anticipated for myself as well. However, I didn't receive any of my preferences, and soon found out that I was placed with a host family in the village of Simal in the Sine Saloum delta, located about four hours south of Dakar. Although a group of students and I would travel together, we would ultimately be alone in the village that we were assigned.

This journey into the unknown, I realized, would have completely freaked out pre-Senegal Abbey. But Abybatou was surprisingly unconcerned...perhaps a little disturbingly unconcerned. It had all the appropriate elements of concern: taking a five hour 'bus' ride wedged between a breastfeeding mother and our unreliable guide (appropriately named Ass)? Check. Being dropped in an unknown town in the middle of nowhere? Check. Being taken by an unknown man via horse cart to an unknown village to an unknown family? Check. Not knowing the last name of the unknown family? Check. Not knowing Serer to tell the driver I didn't know the last name of the unknown family? Check. (luckily, I'm pretty sure he knew I was clueless. People have a way of picking up that the blonde girl wandering aimlessly with her backpack in the middle of a tiny rural Senegalese town probably has no idea what she's doing.) But oddly, I was not really that uncomfortable...I had a strong - maybe naive - sense that I'd make it there eventually, and I did, with a little help from some village children.

The trip to Simal by horsecart has to probably be one of the coolest things I've done since I've been in Senegal. The village is inaccessible by car, so the only way people get from the main road in Fimela is by horsecart, foot, or moped. The reason for this is the amazingly long stretch of sand flats and shallow ocean that separates the villages, and I traveled on the back of this cart through this odd environment - it was kind of otherworldly. This twenty minute journey was also characterized by a lot of children running along the wagon shouting "toubab!" which was kind of cute and kind of scary at the same time.

This was the first of many "is this really my life?" moments I had during the week. Being the only foreigner living in a rural West African fishing village was absolutely surreal. I was treated with such kindness and generosity during my time in Simal that convinced me that teranga was really still an applicable Senegalese word. My entire family, and the village itself, were so welcoming and open and happy to have me there for a short period of time where I felt like I was gained so much but was able to give very little.

I lived with a large family; there were at least 12 people who lived in the house, perhaps more, but as always in Senegal, it's unclear who is actually part of the home. Notice that I say house - I did not live in a hut. The place where I lived was more of a compound of sorts, comprised of a walled-in sand yard where the main house and its various outbuildings (kitchen, "bathroom", sheds, etc) were located, and a garden where the well and animals were kept. The father in the family was the director of the primary school in the village and was an important leader of the village, so he had a rather large compound with electricity and even television, but no running water. This was one of the many ironies of village life: having satellite television and designer cell phones but also fetching water from the well everyday.