Hey Mom,
Its good to hear from you, and its nice to Know your concerned. The family situation is still quirky, but I have no qualms with it. My Malian cousins are great guys and my 5 yr old niece keeps everyone entertained. Its important to note, however, that this is really not strange for Senegalese family structure, especially for a family like mine whose children have all grown up and moved out. At the rate we host guests and exchange students, the Cardone compound might start looking like this place in a few years. I am saddened that there aren't more children as they always help with learning language, but I'm really getting a very important perspective on Dakar. Extended family and neighborly relations are VERY important here. The entire country is an extensive system of tighltly knit social networks, the broadest of which is simply the people you encounter on the street. Everyone is constantly looking out for eachother. Its really quite impossible for anything cruel to happen in public, at least in daylight. I feel safer here than I do in any other city, even when I'm walking alone.
A note on my blog entries, I'm writing these for family and for two academic institutions at the same time. I'm supposed to highlight cultural difference, ignorance, foiled expectations, and the like. I'm also 4 weeks behind in my blogging, so as it progresses you'll see comfort levels rise to the level that they're at now.
The gifts worked out fine. I still have the matchbox cars to give out. You need not send anything. I took a majority of my gifts to my village stay, which you'll be hearing about soon. As I distributed the little trinkets and toys which I thought would be such a hit, I realized that the village is really the essence of a collective society, and that many western toys are geared toward individual entertainment, Unfortunately, if something can't be shared in the village it really has no place there. The toys were received with great interest, but eventually only caused frustration. Before I left I bought a soccer ball for my village and donated my bandaged and antibiotic creme (supplemented with more from the market) for one of the children who had a significant wound on his hand. Medicare is very expensive in Senegal, an even emergency care requires payment before treatment. These gifts, though incredibly simple, turned out to be much more appreciated. A big lesson learned for john.
(all of the other gifts have been a great success, especially the bowl and kitchen towels).
Can't wait to talk to you more. I love and miss you all.
John
ps - Even with a steady schedule, Dakar has frequent power outages. We have less that 12 hours of electricity per day on average. So you really can't count on anything around here. I'll skype when I can.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
First Saturday
02_07_11
First Saturday
I awoke bright and early Saturday morning for my tour of the city with SIT. I took a cold shower and ate my first home-made Senegalese breakfast. Baguette with chocolate spread. Big surprise there.
After breakfast I made the “30 minute walk” to school in 15 minutes. Apparently the Senegalese walk very slowly.
At school we piled into a bus for a tour of the city, which rests on a curiously shaped peninsula, somewhat like the shape of an elephants head. The city center sits not in the geographical center of the peninsula but on its tip. This part of the city is called the plateau because in fact the entire peninsula sits about 100ft out of the water. Where one expects to find beaches there are typically cliffs or very steep banks. The nearest swimable beach is on the NW edge of the peninsula, which is where we went next. In the quartier Ouakam, this beech is home to one of the city's largest mosques, the Mosque of the Divinity. The structure literally rises out of the water and its twin towers reach just above the cliffs behind them so that if one stands on the cliffs he's about eye level with anyone in the tower.
Next we visited the Monument of African Renaissance. Its bigger than the statue of liberty and it sticks up like a sore thumb in the middle of one of more humble residential districts of dakar. It was also contracted by the North Korean so it bears a strange resemblance to a communist Mao Zedong statue.
We continued our tour of the city and saw many things that we couldn't really appreciate from the bus, such as the presidential palace and the Senate Building. We also passed “Magic Land,” Senegal's only theme park. Then we went home.
Back at the house I found the Malians preparing for their weekly game of soccer to which I was invited. I didn't have cleats or soccer socks so I wore running shoes with my knee-high green Polo Ralph Lauren socks. This resulted in many strange looks. Regardless, we piled into Jay's citroen and ignoring the sandy field across the street we sped of across the city and arrived finally at none other than “Magic Land.” Needless to say I was quite confused, but it turns out that there are some turf fields with netting around them in the back of the Magic Land complex. We played two games and lost the second, mostly because our goalie was totally nulle but also because I was kinda nulle. I know because they told me so immediately after the game: “You know you're very bad at passing. You're quite good at running but you have no fine touch.” I'd been warned about Senegalese bluntness but having experienced it I found it rather refreshing.
After soccer I got a call from Valerie, another SIT student. Her host brother Abdul had invited us to go out with he and his friends to a bar. I was intrigued, especially since most people in Senegal were Muslim and thus forbidden from drinking. I also didn't want to leave Valerie alone with a bunch of dudes she could barely communicate with. I arrived at their house at 11:30pm, a good half hour late which I thought was appropriate for Senegal. We immediately walked to Abdul's friend Cheikh's house where we met his girlfriend, his little sister, and his best friend Mohamed, all of whom were dressed very well in the latest American fashions.
In our brief introductions I revealed that I was one of ten children. This announcement was accompanied by audible gasps and surprised faces. I intended to say “I know, its quite rare for an american family,” but in my limited french I accidentally said, “Yes, its very strange...” Immediately I was cut off by Abdul who pounded his fist on his knee. “It's not strange!” he said, “It's natural. It's normal!” Not wanting to upset him further, I changed the subject. I told them I played guitar and asked if any of them played musical instruments. They all said no. I persisted and asked if any of them sang or danced. I had hear that Senegal was a very expressive culture. Abdul turned to me and said, “We don't do that. You see, for a noble like me, its not really appropriate.” And that was my first exposure to the Senegalese caste system. Apparently only the highest caste still cares about that stuff.
The girls disappeared into their rooms and Valerie and the guys and I went into the Salon to begin a series of interesting conversations ranging from American pop culture, to Senegalese music, films, the languages of Dakar, and religions of the world. After what seemed like an hour and a half of waiting around for nothing (I thought perhaps we weren't going out after all) we got onto the subject of women's makeup, a droll subject to be sure. Cheikh and I seemed to be in accord that in general makeup was a waste of time. Abdul and Mohamed made an argument in support of it. I took this opportunity to elaborate on why I thought makeup was stupid. And just then, when I thought we couldn't possibly still go out, and just after we had listed all of makeup's shortcomings, the girls emerged at last covered, not so discretely, in makeup. And they were no longer wearing their chic american fashions. They were now dressed to the nines in stunning evening wear. Valerie and I looked down at our jeans and checkered shirts. We both gulped.
Ready or not, the whole motley crew piled into two taxis, girls in one, guys in the other. In twenty minutes we arrived at the large strip of clubs and bars in Sacre-Coeur. Our bar was called “5” and it was attached to the club “DIAMOND.” Abdul whispered something to the bouncer and he let us in. I took a seat on a bench with my back to the bar. Abdul sat down next to me and Valerie sat in the chair to my left with Cheikh to here left. Mohamed sat facing me in a chair to himself and Cheikh and his girlfriend sat together on a love seat.
I looked around and noticed a few things: A) everyone in the bar was dressed like runway models; Valerie and I looked like lumberjacks in comparison; B) The music in the bar was exclusively American, as were the music videos, however, the videos and the music did not match up; C) No one seemed to be having a good time! Mostly everyone just sat around sipping their over-priced, non-alcoholic cocktails as they scrutinized the outfits of everyone who walked in.
The whole scene made no sense to me. I've hear of Senegalese kids going out to drink even though its not allowed, and I've also heard of Senegalese kids going to dance clubs and having tons of fun without drinking at all. But these guys weren't doing either of these things. They were pretending to have fun while pretending to drink their pretend cocktails. One would think that with no booze and no dancing one would resort to conversation which I'm sure we would have done if it hadn't been for the music. It was hard enough to hear myself think let alone talk to anyone. The end result was a bunch of absurdly well dressed Senegalese and two American kids staring at each other in sober silence.
Out of boredom and turned to Abdul and started a conversation about senegalese fashion. I explained to him that in American universities, people who put too much effort into the way they dress might be considered vain or self interested. I asked him what the Senegalese attitude was towards looking nice.
He said that when you get dressed in the morning you're not dressing for yourself, you're dressing for everyone who has to look at you all day. “Its everyone's business to look nice all the time.”
As the night wained on I made several more attempts at conversation but each time I was overpowered by the music. At a particularly stagnant point, Abdul turned to Valerie and me and said, “I'm afraid you're bored ... Americans can't have fun unless they're drinking alcohol.”
I was mildly offended by this remark, as was Valerie. We assured him that we were not bored and that we did not need alcohol to have fun but he seemed not to believe us on either count. Its possible that the language barrier or perhaps the music contributed to a misinterpretation on our part, but I feel pretty certain that Abdul was not too impressed with us.
We left the club at 4am with Abdul, Mohamed, Valerie and I all in one cab. On the way home were were stopped by a police checkpoint. The gendarme asked to see our I.D.'s. Luckily I had a photocopy of my passport with me, just as we were instructed to do. Valerie on the other hand, had no form of identification whatsoever. The cop wanted us to pay $200. Apparently this is their way up compensating for low wages. Abdul and Mohamed argued with the cop. Then, after 5 minutes and a lot of name dropping, the cop let us go. This reinforced my impression that Abdul was well connected. We passed the res of the journey in silence. The other 3 got out near their house in Pointe E and I was left to pay the remaining fare to my house.
First Saturday
I awoke bright and early Saturday morning for my tour of the city with SIT. I took a cold shower and ate my first home-made Senegalese breakfast. Baguette with chocolate spread. Big surprise there.
After breakfast I made the “30 minute walk” to school in 15 minutes. Apparently the Senegalese walk very slowly.
At school we piled into a bus for a tour of the city, which rests on a curiously shaped peninsula, somewhat like the shape of an elephants head. The city center sits not in the geographical center of the peninsula but on its tip. This part of the city is called the plateau because in fact the entire peninsula sits about 100ft out of the water. Where one expects to find beaches there are typically cliffs or very steep banks. The nearest swimable beach is on the NW edge of the peninsula, which is where we went next. In the quartier Ouakam, this beech is home to one of the city's largest mosques, the Mosque of the Divinity. The structure literally rises out of the water and its twin towers reach just above the cliffs behind them so that if one stands on the cliffs he's about eye level with anyone in the tower.
Next we visited the Monument of African Renaissance. Its bigger than the statue of liberty and it sticks up like a sore thumb in the middle of one of more humble residential districts of dakar. It was also contracted by the North Korean so it bears a strange resemblance to a communist Mao Zedong statue.
We continued our tour of the city and saw many things that we couldn't really appreciate from the bus, such as the presidential palace and the Senate Building. We also passed “Magic Land,” Senegal's only theme park. Then we went home.
Back at the house I found the Malians preparing for their weekly game of soccer to which I was invited. I didn't have cleats or soccer socks so I wore running shoes with my knee-high green Polo Ralph Lauren socks. This resulted in many strange looks. Regardless, we piled into Jay's citroen and ignoring the sandy field across the street we sped of across the city and arrived finally at none other than “Magic Land.” Needless to say I was quite confused, but it turns out that there are some turf fields with netting around them in the back of the Magic Land complex. We played two games and lost the second, mostly because our goalie was totally nulle but also because I was kinda nulle. I know because they told me so immediately after the game: “You know you're very bad at passing. You're quite good at running but you have no fine touch.” I'd been warned about Senegalese bluntness but having experienced it I found it rather refreshing.
After soccer I got a call from Valerie, another SIT student. Her host brother Abdul had invited us to go out with he and his friends to a bar. I was intrigued, especially since most people in Senegal were Muslim and thus forbidden from drinking. I also didn't want to leave Valerie alone with a bunch of dudes she could barely communicate with. I arrived at their house at 11:30pm, a good half hour late which I thought was appropriate for Senegal. We immediately walked to Abdul's friend Cheikh's house where we met his girlfriend, his little sister, and his best friend Mohamed, all of whom were dressed very well in the latest American fashions.
In our brief introductions I revealed that I was one of ten children. This announcement was accompanied by audible gasps and surprised faces. I intended to say “I know, its quite rare for an american family,” but in my limited french I accidentally said, “Yes, its very strange...” Immediately I was cut off by Abdul who pounded his fist on his knee. “It's not strange!” he said, “It's natural. It's normal!” Not wanting to upset him further, I changed the subject. I told them I played guitar and asked if any of them played musical instruments. They all said no. I persisted and asked if any of them sang or danced. I had hear that Senegal was a very expressive culture. Abdul turned to me and said, “We don't do that. You see, for a noble like me, its not really appropriate.” And that was my first exposure to the Senegalese caste system. Apparently only the highest caste still cares about that stuff.
The girls disappeared into their rooms and Valerie and the guys and I went into the Salon to begin a series of interesting conversations ranging from American pop culture, to Senegalese music, films, the languages of Dakar, and religions of the world. After what seemed like an hour and a half of waiting around for nothing (I thought perhaps we weren't going out after all) we got onto the subject of women's makeup, a droll subject to be sure. Cheikh and I seemed to be in accord that in general makeup was a waste of time. Abdul and Mohamed made an argument in support of it. I took this opportunity to elaborate on why I thought makeup was stupid. And just then, when I thought we couldn't possibly still go out, and just after we had listed all of makeup's shortcomings, the girls emerged at last covered, not so discretely, in makeup. And they were no longer wearing their chic american fashions. They were now dressed to the nines in stunning evening wear. Valerie and I looked down at our jeans and checkered shirts. We both gulped.
Ready or not, the whole motley crew piled into two taxis, girls in one, guys in the other. In twenty minutes we arrived at the large strip of clubs and bars in Sacre-Coeur. Our bar was called “5” and it was attached to the club “DIAMOND.” Abdul whispered something to the bouncer and he let us in. I took a seat on a bench with my back to the bar. Abdul sat down next to me and Valerie sat in the chair to my left with Cheikh to here left. Mohamed sat facing me in a chair to himself and Cheikh and his girlfriend sat together on a love seat.
I looked around and noticed a few things: A) everyone in the bar was dressed like runway models; Valerie and I looked like lumberjacks in comparison; B) The music in the bar was exclusively American, as were the music videos, however, the videos and the music did not match up; C) No one seemed to be having a good time! Mostly everyone just sat around sipping their over-priced, non-alcoholic cocktails as they scrutinized the outfits of everyone who walked in.
The whole scene made no sense to me. I've hear of Senegalese kids going out to drink even though its not allowed, and I've also heard of Senegalese kids going to dance clubs and having tons of fun without drinking at all. But these guys weren't doing either of these things. They were pretending to have fun while pretending to drink their pretend cocktails. One would think that with no booze and no dancing one would resort to conversation which I'm sure we would have done if it hadn't been for the music. It was hard enough to hear myself think let alone talk to anyone. The end result was a bunch of absurdly well dressed Senegalese and two American kids staring at each other in sober silence.
Out of boredom and turned to Abdul and started a conversation about senegalese fashion. I explained to him that in American universities, people who put too much effort into the way they dress might be considered vain or self interested. I asked him what the Senegalese attitude was towards looking nice.
He said that when you get dressed in the morning you're not dressing for yourself, you're dressing for everyone who has to look at you all day. “Its everyone's business to look nice all the time.”
As the night wained on I made several more attempts at conversation but each time I was overpowered by the music. At a particularly stagnant point, Abdul turned to Valerie and me and said, “I'm afraid you're bored ... Americans can't have fun unless they're drinking alcohol.”
I was mildly offended by this remark, as was Valerie. We assured him that we were not bored and that we did not need alcohol to have fun but he seemed not to believe us on either count. Its possible that the language barrier or perhaps the music contributed to a misinterpretation on our part, but I feel pretty certain that Abdul was not too impressed with us.
We left the club at 4am with Abdul, Mohamed, Valerie and I all in one cab. On the way home were were stopped by a police checkpoint. The gendarme asked to see our I.D.'s. Luckily I had a photocopy of my passport with me, just as we were instructed to do. Valerie on the other hand, had no form of identification whatsoever. The cop wanted us to pay $200. Apparently this is their way up compensating for low wages. Abdul and Mohamed argued with the cop. Then, after 5 minutes and a lot of name dropping, the cop let us go. This reinforced my impression that Abdul was well connected. We passed the res of the journey in silence. The other 3 got out near their house in Pointe E and I was left to pay the remaining fare to my house.
Monday, March 7, 2011
First Week of Homestay
02_06_11
First Week of Homestay
Today's Sunday. Two days ago was my first encounter with my host family. My host mom couldn't come pick me up from school because she's too old so she sent her Malian nephew Blonden. He was cool enough but he didn't respond at all when I greeted him in Wolof which, as I soon learned, he doesn't really speak because he's from Mali. Anyway we get back to the house and Mama Bae is hanging out with this other women on the sidewalk. She greets me casually with a wave of her hand and sends me off to my room. Its small. A bed, a night stand, a writing desk, a strange collapsable wardrobe. Two windows: one to the atrium, and one to the atrium of the house next door. All in all, quite plush. I even have a key to my room, as well as the bathroom and the front door.
In fact, the house is more like a boarding house than anything else. There are two Malians, one American (moi), two French students, the two older parents, their son (and his wife and daughter), their daughter, two maids, and two guys who seem completely unrelated. Everyone pretty much has their own room and keys and they all keep more or less their own schedules.
After depositing my bags I was given the tour of the house. The key points were the bathroom, salon (complete with TV, Playstation, and PC), and the stairway to the roof terrace. Here I found an apartment for the French man, a small pen for the sheep, and station for washing clothes by hand. It was here that I met the second Malian cousin, Papa Samba. He and his brother Blonden attend the same University in the city. Samba was washing soccer jerseys by hand and since I had several dirty articles, I requested to join him. Thus began my first lesson in washing clothes by hand.
When we had finished the linge, I spent a good hour talking to Samba about Dakar, Senegal, Mali, and the world in general. I asked him what he thought of the “Monument to the African Renaissance?” To quote him:
“It's horrible. Completely unnecessary. It cost $200 million and it doesn't even look good. He could have used that money fix the power shortages, or expand the overcrowded public university or build an entirely new university. Some say it will help with tourism but it won't. If President Wade really wanted to improve tourism, he should have fixed the roads or built a university designed for international students. That would be tourism. Besides, did you know that Wade gets to keep 30% of all revenue from the statue? Its crazy. I hate it.”
My thoughts exactly. With those lovely thoughts in my head I went back to my room to organize my things but, remembering that its impolite to hide away from people, especially on my first night, I wondered into the salon with my journal. Blonden and some other guy were playing a soccer video game, so I began my journal entry. Suddenly a girl about my age who I'd never seen before pokes her head into the room and shouts at me. “Hey you, what your name?” I stood up and opened my mouth to introduce myself but she cut me off. “Mangez!” she said. And with that the turned and left me there with an outstretched hand and a stupid look on my face.
When I got downstairs and the same girl wiping the table and preparing the food I realized she must be the maid. I thought I might have a friend there but her stoic coldness and outright refusal to engage in conversation suggested otherwise. This notion was confirmed when, towards the end of the meal, though I was blatantly still eating, she stood up and slapped the lid back on the platter and whisked it off to the kitchen.
After dinner I did some more journaling and went to bed. This ended my first night with the Thiam family. First impressions: they seem generally disinterested in me.
First Week of Homestay
Today's Sunday. Two days ago was my first encounter with my host family. My host mom couldn't come pick me up from school because she's too old so she sent her Malian nephew Blonden. He was cool enough but he didn't respond at all when I greeted him in Wolof which, as I soon learned, he doesn't really speak because he's from Mali. Anyway we get back to the house and Mama Bae is hanging out with this other women on the sidewalk. She greets me casually with a wave of her hand and sends me off to my room. Its small. A bed, a night stand, a writing desk, a strange collapsable wardrobe. Two windows: one to the atrium, and one to the atrium of the house next door. All in all, quite plush. I even have a key to my room, as well as the bathroom and the front door.
In fact, the house is more like a boarding house than anything else. There are two Malians, one American (moi), two French students, the two older parents, their son (and his wife and daughter), their daughter, two maids, and two guys who seem completely unrelated. Everyone pretty much has their own room and keys and they all keep more or less their own schedules.
After depositing my bags I was given the tour of the house. The key points were the bathroom, salon (complete with TV, Playstation, and PC), and the stairway to the roof terrace. Here I found an apartment for the French man, a small pen for the sheep, and station for washing clothes by hand. It was here that I met the second Malian cousin, Papa Samba. He and his brother Blonden attend the same University in the city. Samba was washing soccer jerseys by hand and since I had several dirty articles, I requested to join him. Thus began my first lesson in washing clothes by hand.
When we had finished the linge, I spent a good hour talking to Samba about Dakar, Senegal, Mali, and the world in general. I asked him what he thought of the “Monument to the African Renaissance?” To quote him:
“It's horrible. Completely unnecessary. It cost $200 million and it doesn't even look good. He could have used that money fix the power shortages, or expand the overcrowded public university or build an entirely new university. Some say it will help with tourism but it won't. If President Wade really wanted to improve tourism, he should have fixed the roads or built a university designed for international students. That would be tourism. Besides, did you know that Wade gets to keep 30% of all revenue from the statue? Its crazy. I hate it.”
My thoughts exactly. With those lovely thoughts in my head I went back to my room to organize my things but, remembering that its impolite to hide away from people, especially on my first night, I wondered into the salon with my journal. Blonden and some other guy were playing a soccer video game, so I began my journal entry. Suddenly a girl about my age who I'd never seen before pokes her head into the room and shouts at me. “Hey you, what your name?” I stood up and opened my mouth to introduce myself but she cut me off. “Mangez!” she said. And with that the turned and left me there with an outstretched hand and a stupid look on my face.
When I got downstairs and the same girl wiping the table and preparing the food I realized she must be the maid. I thought I might have a friend there but her stoic coldness and outright refusal to engage in conversation suggested otherwise. This notion was confirmed when, towards the end of the meal, though I was blatantly still eating, she stood up and slapped the lid back on the platter and whisked it off to the kitchen.
After dinner I did some more journaling and went to bed. This ended my first night with the Thiam family. First impressions: they seem generally disinterested in me.
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