Ba beneen yoon, Senegal

And...it's my last post in Senegal. I leave in less than seven hours to return the United States, and I'm pretty sure that this is the most anxious I've been since I arrived in Senegal. The room and house that I have called my home the last four months has been stripped of all my possessions - which are all wrangled in two large suitcases - and I am at a loss for what to do. I've been restless the past three days and I'm ready to simply apparate home and bypass saying goodbye to my family and friends here. Although in fact, I might as well be apparating - you step on board a plane and nine hours later, you have left everything behind and you are in a utterly different world. I have gotten to the point where I have realized how completely exhausting the last semester has been - I'm constantly on guard and on edge - every moment I am awake I am on display, I am being watched, I am being tested on my understanding both of the language(s) and cultural understanding.

I can't wait to go home, but I'm realizing that for every positive there is a potential caveat. Being able to understand the conversations around me will be a nice novelty, but will it simply overwhelm me? I can't wait to eat American food, but the thought of not eating yassa poulet around the bowl again is difficult. I look forward to the day when I won't be stared at and harassed for the color of my skin, but I am also sad that I will not longer receive the usual "nanga def?" from my favorite guard on the way to school.

I'm still processing my experience here. There are things that I love about Senegal. There are things I absolutely detest about Senegal. I think that I have possibly learned more about America than about Senegal itself during the time I have passed here. I never used to think of myself of having a great love of country, and still instinctively recoil from expressing it, but everyday I have been here, I have thought about how lucky I am to be American. I can leave the country whenever I want, I can go basically anywhere in the world. I don't have to defer to men - I can look them in the eyes and shake their hands. I don't have to get married if I don't want to. I can throw my garbage in a trashcan when I walk down the street. I can go to class in the morning without having to get up hours before to gain room in the classroom with thousands of other students. I can breathe clean air.

But it's more than that. I don't like the attitude that many who look at the African continent adopt, the idea that countries in Africa are somehow a boost for our own self esteem, a benchmark by which we can judge our own prosperity. It certainly gives one a different perspective to come to a developing city like Dakar, but I have always been aware that I was the one who chose to come to Senegal, that I am the student here. I am so thankful to have the means to be able to come and learn and live for a short while in a place that few Americans are able to go. I am thankful to have been welcomed into a community and a family who has taken care of me and taught me so much. I am thankful to have made friends who have been the greatest source of support and laughter.

And thus with two and a half hours left before I leave for the airport, before I start my journey back to the United States and the inevitable culture shock that comes with it, I say goodbye to Senegal. I will shake the hands of the host family with my left hand, not the customary right, so I will have to return to correct my mistake. In Wolof, there isn't a word for goodbye. The closest is "ba beneen yoon"- until the next time. So, ba beneen yoon, Senegal. A la prochaine fois, ba ci kanam, leegi leegi...I'll be back someday, inch'allah.

Sunday in Touba (through pictures)

Entering Senegal's holy city, Touba and the focal point of the Mouride Sufi brotherhood. This is the place where the Mourids' leader, Cheikh Amadou Bamba lived.

As women, we had to cover our heads and shoulders while we were in the city, especially around the mosque. This was unfortunate as it was a very hot, windy day as one can clearly see from my makeshift hijab blowing in my face.

As non-Muslims, we couldn't go inside the actual mosque, but we could tour the outside areas (shoe-less, of course). It was the most beautiful building in Senegal, and one of the most beautiful places I've ever been. I can't imagine what it's like when it is filled with people praying.

The windows and tile work is so ornate

Lamp Fall, the tallest tower. It was also the first to be built in the 1930s. Apparently there is a red light at the top that is a beacon for all Senegal's Muslim population.

The mosque with a person for scale (thanks, Warren). The construction is ongoing and funded by donations - often from the little talibes bowls. The brotherhood has a huge network of connections, especially control over peanut plantations.

Touba is so clean compared with most places in Senegal. It's jarring to see the beggars just outside when everything else seems so sterile.

108 days and 110 Malarone later...

For the past four months, the little orange bottle of anti-malarial medication sitting on my shelf has been a gauge. Before I left, the bottle was completely full - the pills and possibilities seemed both endless and terrifying. The first month, despite taking a pill a day, the bottle seemed to refill itself. I stared at the contents as if by will I could make time pass faster, could deplete the bottle more quickly. But somehow, it has become emptier and emptier without me realizing. And now, at day 108, I shake the bottle and the little group of pills rattles ominously. I'm almost done; the possibilities are disappearing out of reach.

I leave Senegal in ten days, and I have come to the realization that the only thing more difficult than coming here is leaving here. I'm realizing that the "later" that I've been referring to in my thoughts - the later when I'll buy this, I'll go to the beach, I'll try this flavor of ice cream, I'll make paper snowflakes with my siblings - has come to be now. There are only so many tomorrows left, and I've come to the rather frightening realization that there will simply be things that I will not be able to do or accomplish.

And the thing I didn't expect about all of this is how difficult it is to stay engaged the last weeks. Instead of wanting to absorb and do everything, I've been fighting the instinct to mentally check out from my life here. I have been gradually listening to more and more of my American music, reading more English novels, watching American movies, in unconscious preparation for going home. I've been trying to accustom myself to the fact that I will be leaving, so I don't take things for granted. I absorb the smells of the streets, the feeling of the breeze on the car rapide, the sound of the five am call to prayer and the low murmur of my host mothers' prayers.

I am torn between wanting to return to my family and friends and the U.S., a place of which my estimation has grown considerably in the last few months, and feeling a complete sense of loss at leaving a country and a home that I cannot say with certainty I will ever revisit. My host sister doesn't understand. She asks when I will come back, and when I say I don't know, she asks, "Christmas vacation? No, well, January then? So you are coming 'home' in February then?" It's difficult to tell her no. So I have began to respond in Wolof, "waaw, dinaa nibbi, inch'allah." Yes, I will return "home," if God wills it. Inch'allah.

American cravings, week 15 update

It's been a long time since I last posted. But  after Thanksgiving, Tamkharit, a research trip to the village,  two Marche Sandaga and one HLM trip, a cold, and countless Yogo Glaces, I'm still alive and attempting to stay mentally IN Senegal for the last 13 days I am here. However, this does not stop me from creating the following list of food that I will require upon arrival to the U.S. This post is aimed at you, Mom!

• orange juice
• fresh milk - not the French kind that doesn't need to be refrigerated and tasted vaguely of plastic
• sharp cheddar cheese - I've been living the past four months with "La vache qui rit" synthetic cheese spread. Enough said.
• pumpkin pie, pumpkin bread, really anything pumpkin - I need to consume the fall that I missed
• apple cider
• candy canes - the Listerine mints here just don't cut it
• peppermint ice cream - the one flavor of ice cream that is seemingly impossible to find in Dakar
• ham - I'd rather never eat Senegalese "ham" again
• Cheerios - I'm not usually a cereal person, but approximitely 105 straight breakfasts of Nescafe and pain (au chocolat, au fromage, au confiture), I need to switch it up
• bagels
• chocolate chip cookies - especially if they are warm and melty
• chips and salsa/guacamole - one of the few types of food that is pretty impossible to find in Dakar. If someone opened a Mexican restaurant aimed at ex-pats in Dakar, they'd do a killing   

I've also started hallucinating a little about the first chai latte I will have upon arriving in the U.S. In my head, it sounds great, but in real life, at 6 am after a nine hour flight, I will most likely simply stumble off the plane in a daze clutching my bags suspiciously and wondering why no one has asked me to buy phone credit yet.

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.