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.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
The Drop-Off
Feb. 3, 2011
The Drop-Off
Place d'Independence
Molly, Nina, and John (and the mysterious twin)
Today we had the Drop-Off, a very exiting immersion exercise in which students are literally shoved into a taxi with 6000 francs in our hands and an urban destination on our lips.
“La Place d'Independence” we shouted to the driver, and off we went bouncing along in a rickety old Renault with a cracked windshield. When we arrived at our destination, which turned out to be the busiest spot in the whole city, we were taken aback by the speed and confusion of the midday traffic. No sooner had we reached the curb than we were accosted by no less than 3 different men all trying to sell us something of little or no value. One of them, a tall slender man in a denim suit and dark glasses, immediately latched on to Nina and began to coax her towards a shop in the distance where he claimed he would giver her his business card. I'm sure we must have looked like pretty stupid wandering around with no particular destination in mind and stunned expression on our pale faces, but I really don't know how he expected us to follow him down a narrow street just for a business card. Fed up and altogether uneasy, Molly and I began to walk away hoping that Nina would soon follow and leave the man to his tawdry scams.
“Hey,” Nina shouted, “could you guys not leave me here please?”
I understood that she didn't want to be rude, but this was not the time to entertain the whims of street vendors. Grabbing her by the hand we apologized to Mr. Denim jacket made our way to a business plaza across the way. The square was relatively quiet so we decided to review our list of objectives for the day and form a game plan. Suddenly the man appeared again, although this time he had removed his sunglasses and held his denim jacket behind his back. He presented himself as if he were a completely different person and even went so far as so say that he had a twin who sometimes wandered around this part of Dakar. To my embarrassment, it actually took me a full five minutes to realize that he was the same man and when I did I felt quite betrayed. Still, he showed no signs of wanting to leave us alone and we had beaucoup de questions to ask for our assignment so we gave it a shot.
“Who's the president of Senegal?” we asked. “Whats the dominant political party? Who's the prime minister?” and so on...
He answered politely, albeit inaccurately, and puffed out his chest in pride. But after he ran out of answers we realized that it was going to be even harder to get rid of him. He seemed intent on giving us a tour of the city. I told him “thank you but we need have to leave now,” and we started to walk away. He asked us where we were going so I told him we were going to the market. I hoped he would take the hint and let us leave. Instead he said that he too was going to the market and would walk us there as a favor. According to him, that was just the Senegalese way. “We're nice people. It's what we do.”
Not knowing what else to do, we walked with him into the city's largest open air market. He kept trying to pull us into different booths or alleyways but we refused each time, all the while speaking our very best french so as not to appear ignorant. But as the minutes past and the conversation dragged on he became more attached to us and we looked all the helpless. Several times we told him directly that we no longer desired his company but he was incredibly persistent. Finally he tried to drag us into the old historic indoor market, at which point we refused point blank and walked the other way. He chased after us and in desperation demanded that we take him somewhere and buy him a coke. In a final attempt to escape we ducked into a small shoe shop, but he simply stood outside and waited for us to emerge.
In the safety of the shop, we planned our escape route. It seemed the only solution was to walk past him and keep walking until he left us alone. The only problem with this plan was that we had no idea where we were and no idea where to go. We braced ourselves and left the shop in the general direction from which we had come. The man caught up to us and walk ahead facing backwards as he did so. He seemed furious. He went on and on about how he had shown us around and been so nice to us and no we should repay his kindness by taking to a cafe and buying him a coke. He was shouting now and making quite the scene. Everyone in the market was looking at us. Molly had the idea of telling him she had no money and, to prove it, she emptied the contents of her purse, a mere 25 franc coin (the equivalent of an American nickel). This appeared to insult him deeply. He slapped the coin out of Molly's hand and clapped his own hand to his head in disbelief. “C'est quoi ça?” he shouted. “Jamais!!”
I apologized briefly and pulled the others away. At this he lunged out and grabbed my arm. That's when I realized that we really had to leave. I resolved to break away and walk in the other direction without stopping or looking back.
Just then another man from the market ran over and shouted at the first man. He appeared to be defending us, but when he too grabbed my arm I decided we had better just make an exit. I tore away from both of them and we made our escape. The two men stood on the street corner shouting into each other's faces. I still don't know who the second man was or what his motives were but it was lucky he showed up.
The three of us spent the rest of the day trying to justify our actions and reactions to fiasco in the market. Naturally we were all very upset. The man had been quite rude. Surely we had no obligation to accompany a man to his shop to get his business card. And imagine the audacity to approach the same group of foreigners and pretend to be another person. Imagine, a twin! But we didn't want to be rude. We tried several times to give him the slip but he wouldn't take a hint. He must have known that we were uncomfortable with the city and the language. It was really quite cruel of him to take advantage us. Still Nina and Molly felt guilty, though they felt a little better when I pointed out that the man had praised Senegalese hospitality and then demanded money for his unrequested services. Mostly we felt bad about being “those Toubabs” who screw everything up for the locals.
In hindsight, I realize we made all the classic mistakes. We engaged in conversation. We continued conversation. We asked him questions and gave him multiple opportunities to do favors for us. We followed him. And we admitted to our ignorance our surroundings. We probably should have called him out on the twin ploy. Going along with it only encouraged him.
A better tactic would have been to ignore him, or pretend we knew more than we did. Smiling seems to be a great way of diffusing attention. Its easy for venders to tell when someone is tense or nervous. A happy countenance is essential to blending in. Next time will surely be better.
The Drop-Off
Place d'Independence
Molly, Nina, and John (and the mysterious twin)
Today we had the Drop-Off, a very exiting immersion exercise in which students are literally shoved into a taxi with 6000 francs in our hands and an urban destination on our lips.
“La Place d'Independence” we shouted to the driver, and off we went bouncing along in a rickety old Renault with a cracked windshield. When we arrived at our destination, which turned out to be the busiest spot in the whole city, we were taken aback by the speed and confusion of the midday traffic. No sooner had we reached the curb than we were accosted by no less than 3 different men all trying to sell us something of little or no value. One of them, a tall slender man in a denim suit and dark glasses, immediately latched on to Nina and began to coax her towards a shop in the distance where he claimed he would giver her his business card. I'm sure we must have looked like pretty stupid wandering around with no particular destination in mind and stunned expression on our pale faces, but I really don't know how he expected us to follow him down a narrow street just for a business card. Fed up and altogether uneasy, Molly and I began to walk away hoping that Nina would soon follow and leave the man to his tawdry scams.
“Hey,” Nina shouted, “could you guys not leave me here please?”
I understood that she didn't want to be rude, but this was not the time to entertain the whims of street vendors. Grabbing her by the hand we apologized to Mr. Denim jacket made our way to a business plaza across the way. The square was relatively quiet so we decided to review our list of objectives for the day and form a game plan. Suddenly the man appeared again, although this time he had removed his sunglasses and held his denim jacket behind his back. He presented himself as if he were a completely different person and even went so far as so say that he had a twin who sometimes wandered around this part of Dakar. To my embarrassment, it actually took me a full five minutes to realize that he was the same man and when I did I felt quite betrayed. Still, he showed no signs of wanting to leave us alone and we had beaucoup de questions to ask for our assignment so we gave it a shot.
“Who's the president of Senegal?” we asked. “Whats the dominant political party? Who's the prime minister?” and so on...
He answered politely, albeit inaccurately, and puffed out his chest in pride. But after he ran out of answers we realized that it was going to be even harder to get rid of him. He seemed intent on giving us a tour of the city. I told him “thank you but we need have to leave now,” and we started to walk away. He asked us where we were going so I told him we were going to the market. I hoped he would take the hint and let us leave. Instead he said that he too was going to the market and would walk us there as a favor. According to him, that was just the Senegalese way. “We're nice people. It's what we do.”
Not knowing what else to do, we walked with him into the city's largest open air market. He kept trying to pull us into different booths or alleyways but we refused each time, all the while speaking our very best french so as not to appear ignorant. But as the minutes past and the conversation dragged on he became more attached to us and we looked all the helpless. Several times we told him directly that we no longer desired his company but he was incredibly persistent. Finally he tried to drag us into the old historic indoor market, at which point we refused point blank and walked the other way. He chased after us and in desperation demanded that we take him somewhere and buy him a coke. In a final attempt to escape we ducked into a small shoe shop, but he simply stood outside and waited for us to emerge.
In the safety of the shop, we planned our escape route. It seemed the only solution was to walk past him and keep walking until he left us alone. The only problem with this plan was that we had no idea where we were and no idea where to go. We braced ourselves and left the shop in the general direction from which we had come. The man caught up to us and walk ahead facing backwards as he did so. He seemed furious. He went on and on about how he had shown us around and been so nice to us and no we should repay his kindness by taking to a cafe and buying him a coke. He was shouting now and making quite the scene. Everyone in the market was looking at us. Molly had the idea of telling him she had no money and, to prove it, she emptied the contents of her purse, a mere 25 franc coin (the equivalent of an American nickel). This appeared to insult him deeply. He slapped the coin out of Molly's hand and clapped his own hand to his head in disbelief. “C'est quoi ça?” he shouted. “Jamais!!”
I apologized briefly and pulled the others away. At this he lunged out and grabbed my arm. That's when I realized that we really had to leave. I resolved to break away and walk in the other direction without stopping or looking back.
Just then another man from the market ran over and shouted at the first man. He appeared to be defending us, but when he too grabbed my arm I decided we had better just make an exit. I tore away from both of them and we made our escape. The two men stood on the street corner shouting into each other's faces. I still don't know who the second man was or what his motives were but it was lucky he showed up.
The three of us spent the rest of the day trying to justify our actions and reactions to fiasco in the market. Naturally we were all very upset. The man had been quite rude. Surely we had no obligation to accompany a man to his shop to get his business card. And imagine the audacity to approach the same group of foreigners and pretend to be another person. Imagine, a twin! But we didn't want to be rude. We tried several times to give him the slip but he wouldn't take a hint. He must have known that we were uncomfortable with the city and the language. It was really quite cruel of him to take advantage us. Still Nina and Molly felt guilty, though they felt a little better when I pointed out that the man had praised Senegalese hospitality and then demanded money for his unrequested services. Mostly we felt bad about being “those Toubabs” who screw everything up for the locals.
In hindsight, I realize we made all the classic mistakes. We engaged in conversation. We continued conversation. We asked him questions and gave him multiple opportunities to do favors for us. We followed him. And we admitted to our ignorance our surroundings. We probably should have called him out on the twin ploy. Going along with it only encouraged him.
A better tactic would have been to ignore him, or pretend we knew more than we did. Smiling seems to be a great way of diffusing attention. Its easy for venders to tell when someone is tense or nervous. A happy countenance is essential to blending in. Next time will surely be better.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
The Sun Makes My Eyes Hurt
Jan. 30, 2011
I arrived in senegal this morning a 6.00am. As I exited the plane to board the shuttle to the terminal by two young airport employees who welcomed me in french and actually took the time to check off my name on a list of passengers. The effect was quite charming although, as I was soon to discover, it gave an exaggerated impression of the organizational standards of Senegal. In customs, there were no signs telling us where to go and no officials to offer us assistance in finding and filling out our landing cards which we did by ourselves anyway. When we turned over our passports to get stamped some officials asked a long series of detailed questions while others barely glanced at the passports before stamping them violently. An SIT representative met us in baggage claims and checked our names off a list before leading us to the luggage security scanner. As I placed my bag on the conveyor belt destined for the X-ray scanner I noticed that most people were walked through the checkpoint without processing their luggage. Then I realized that there were no attendants, no guards, and certainly no incentives to obey security protocol.
Outside, our guide led us to a bus sequestered by SIT to take us to a hotel where we would be staying the week. On the way we were accosted by a horde of young local dudes offering to carry our bags to their cabs so they could overcharge us and drive us to the wrong place. At the bus we met our program director Souleye Diallo and our program assistant Bouna Fall, both charming men who speak about 10 languages each. Bouna tells us that we should get some sleep at the hotel but he'll be back in about 6 hours to take us to lunch.
Right now its 11:00am. We got in to the hotel somewhere around 7:00am but the sun was still down. I met my room mate Jon as he stumbled out of bed to unlock to the door. After I settled my things he went back to sleep (he was still exhausted from yesterday's travel) and I met briefly with my group to get briefed on the hotel and some basic Wolof.
When I got back to room I found Jon still awake. He admitted that he couldn't sleep. I wasn't in the mood to sleep either so we struck up a conversation. It wasn't long before we realized that all hope of sleeping that morning had vanished so we got dressed and went to breakfast to continue our conversation which concluded with a significant levellevel of comfort for both parties. This led me to assume two things:
A.) going through high school and college programs has made us quite adept at befriending new room mates, and
B.) a study abroad program in Senegal tends to attract similarly minded people
I arrived in senegal this morning a 6.00am. As I exited the plane to board the shuttle to the terminal by two young airport employees who welcomed me in french and actually took the time to check off my name on a list of passengers. The effect was quite charming although, as I was soon to discover, it gave an exaggerated impression of the organizational standards of Senegal. In customs, there were no signs telling us where to go and no officials to offer us assistance in finding and filling out our landing cards which we did by ourselves anyway. When we turned over our passports to get stamped some officials asked a long series of detailed questions while others barely glanced at the passports before stamping them violently. An SIT representative met us in baggage claims and checked our names off a list before leading us to the luggage security scanner. As I placed my bag on the conveyor belt destined for the X-ray scanner I noticed that most people were walked through the checkpoint without processing their luggage. Then I realized that there were no attendants, no guards, and certainly no incentives to obey security protocol.
Outside, our guide led us to a bus sequestered by SIT to take us to a hotel where we would be staying the week. On the way we were accosted by a horde of young local dudes offering to carry our bags to their cabs so they could overcharge us and drive us to the wrong place. At the bus we met our program director Souleye Diallo and our program assistant Bouna Fall, both charming men who speak about 10 languages each. Bouna tells us that we should get some sleep at the hotel but he'll be back in about 6 hours to take us to lunch.
Right now its 11:00am. We got in to the hotel somewhere around 7:00am but the sun was still down. I met my room mate Jon as he stumbled out of bed to unlock to the door. After I settled my things he went back to sleep (he was still exhausted from yesterday's travel) and I met briefly with my group to get briefed on the hotel and some basic Wolof.
When I got back to room I found Jon still awake. He admitted that he couldn't sleep. I wasn't in the mood to sleep either so we struck up a conversation. It wasn't long before we realized that all hope of sleeping that morning had vanished so we got dressed and went to breakfast to continue our conversation which concluded with a significant levellevel of comfort for both parties. This led me to assume two things:
A.) going through high school and college programs has made us quite adept at befriending new room mates, and
B.) a study abroad program in Senegal tends to attract similarly minded people
Predeparture Essay
I wrote this the day before I left.
Seneal is a Muslim country suspended between Islam and the West. Though it was conquered by Muslims in the 11th century, it was colonized by Christian Europeans for several hundred years, culminating in French Rule from the 17th century until the 1960's. An African country at heart, Senegal carries a long history multiculturalism and self organized government struggling for peace.
Despite its muddy past, Senegal seems today to be a very peaceful nation. Since its independence in 1960, the nation prides itself on being the “most advanced Democracy in Africa.” In fact, despite the majority Muslim population, Senegal has supported suffrage for women since 1945. However, as a Muslim culture, Senegal places a strong emphasis on community and uniformity rather than the American model of individualism.
In the street, Senegal is not that different from a western country. Young and unmarried people wear clothes that typically fall under the American category of “business casual.” Only the older and married people sport the more traditional Senegalese garments made with ornate local textiles. The Senegalese also pride themselves on being well-dressed and very rarely wear ripped, worn, or dirty clothes. For religious and cultural reasons, it is also inappropriate to show ones legs. Despite the tropical temperatures, nearly everyone wears long pants and skirts. Even if ones' clothes are very low quality, it is important to look presentable.
Senegalese family structure is fairly traditional. Many house holds include extended families of 10-12 members. Families are as much of an economic unit as they are social. Many marriages are polygamous with husbands having up to four wives. Children, for the most part, are expected to live and learn as a group instead of pursuing individual interests and hobbies. Almost everyone works to support the family especially in rural settings. Family meal times are also very important to family structure.
Islam is very prominent in Senegalese culture. The marriages, and funerals and baptisms are all religious ceremonies. Social law is almost identical to Islamic Law. Every day, the majority of the nation comes together in prayer.
Music, Dance, and the Arts are central to society. Most are practiced and enjoyed in the street where, from a very young age, citizens learn to improvise with each other. Although I have never lived in a culture so creatively inclusive, I think I will take great joy participating in the variety of group activities, especially since it is so seldom found in the United States.
Perhaps the largest cultural difference, and also the hardest to adjust to, will be the emphasis on conformity. As an american child, I've always been taught to seek my own path and discover who I am as an individual. Conforming to a group for conformity's sake was essentially frowned upon despite the fact that most of us put quite a lot of effort into “fitting in.” Although it will be difficult to change my mindset, the challenges of conformity will probably teach me even more about myself as an individual.
In America, one of my strongest cultural influences has been the Catholic Church. Although the french catholic presence survives today in Senegal, the country is 94% muslim. In addition to my native language and race, I will also be a minority religiously.
As for the fashion, this will take significant adjustment on my part. Though there is certainly value in looking presentable, I usually err on the side of utility. Sometimes being a sculpture major makes one too comfortable wearing worn and dirty clothes. During my study abroad I wil need to make a conscious effort to dress nicely, not just to be polite, but to establish a good images for all Americans who will follow me.
On the whole I expect to experience severe culture shock during my time abroad. As of now, the only familiar elements of my destination will be those that I've read about in books or letters from friends. I have only actually met one person from senegal and two others who have visited. My conversations will all three of them were very brief but each time I received the same message: “You really just have to go there.”
With that in mind, I've had a considerable amount of time to sit around and ponder my upcoming voyage. All through this past semester at Syracuse I've had to reassure myself that I actually wanted to go through with this program. Time and time again I had to answer the troubled interrogations of friends who thought I might be losing my grip. “Why Africa?” they asked. I told them I wanted to know what it was like to be a complete foreigner. And each time I did so, I became more confident in my decision. But as their questions probed deeper, I had need of more sophisticated answers. Eventually I made a list of the experiences I wanted from my college career. I listed my options. I ranked them in order of importance. I listed pro's and con's. I discovered that I want to become a teacher, and that I seek out uncommon experiences. I no longer try to fit in. Instead I try to learn through difference and by challenging boundaries.
Emotionally, I feel quite prepared for the trip. Of course, I'll have to leave room for disappointment, but that's precisely why I feel so prepared: I'm used to disappointment. For a large portion of my life I've been an outsider. There was a time when I wanted nothing more than the comfort of conformity, but that time has long gone. In my years at Syracuse have taken many classes outside my major, and outside my comfort zone. All of my eight roommates have been in programs other than my own. This past year, I lived with four architects. Every night I was consistently cut out of conversation until I learned the vocabulary. Two these architects speak spanish as their first language, as do many of our mutual friends. Every time I hang out with them, I do my best to understand their their rapid Espagnol, which proves difficult since I've never taken classes. The unfamiliarity helps keep me on my toes.
I've been told many times that during my studies I should keep low expectations and be flexible. Growing up in a family of ten kids has taught me a lot about flexibility. I've always relied on older siblings for transportation, which meant that my schedule usually fell at the mercy of others. Even now, I do not own a car, and when I'm home for the holidays I must find rides or walk (not easily done where I live). This holiday, I decided to put the needs of my family first. Each day I woke up early to baby-sit my two-year-old nephew until his mother returned home. During the afternoon I would shovel snow, fix windows, do yard work, or feed the horses. If my parents needed me to drive all over town to run errands, I accepted. By putting other's needs before mine I learned a different way of organizing my time. In the rare times I found myself alone or with free time, I worked on essays, scholarship applications, and research. Many times my plans were canceled, my hopes were dashed, and my time used up, but I learned a lot.
For the past five months my family has hosted an eighteen-year-old french exchange student. Because of me study abroad schedule, I've been able to spend the last six weeks at home with him. This has given me plenty of time to brush up on my french before Senegal, and to observe the ways in which an outsider adjusts to a new culture. This provided valuable practice in learning new body language and non-verbal cues. This student was frequently shy and rarely spoke up when he felt uncomfortable. As a result, I learned to anticipate situations that might cause discomfort for him, even if they were perfectly normal for me. His questions and reactions to American behavior gave me insights into those traits that are specifically american, and also those that are particularly French. The peak or our cummunicative development occurred when he felt comfortable enough to make jokes, in English, about Americans, and later when I felt comfortable making jokes, in French, about the French.
Today the french student boarded his plane back to France, and tomorrow I board my plane to Senegal. It seems fitting that just as I observed the end of his journey I get to start my own. In the end, I think I've been very well prepared.
Seneal is a Muslim country suspended between Islam and the West. Though it was conquered by Muslims in the 11th century, it was colonized by Christian Europeans for several hundred years, culminating in French Rule from the 17th century until the 1960's. An African country at heart, Senegal carries a long history multiculturalism and self organized government struggling for peace.
Despite its muddy past, Senegal seems today to be a very peaceful nation. Since its independence in 1960, the nation prides itself on being the “most advanced Democracy in Africa.” In fact, despite the majority Muslim population, Senegal has supported suffrage for women since 1945. However, as a Muslim culture, Senegal places a strong emphasis on community and uniformity rather than the American model of individualism.
In the street, Senegal is not that different from a western country. Young and unmarried people wear clothes that typically fall under the American category of “business casual.” Only the older and married people sport the more traditional Senegalese garments made with ornate local textiles. The Senegalese also pride themselves on being well-dressed and very rarely wear ripped, worn, or dirty clothes. For religious and cultural reasons, it is also inappropriate to show ones legs. Despite the tropical temperatures, nearly everyone wears long pants and skirts. Even if ones' clothes are very low quality, it is important to look presentable.
Senegalese family structure is fairly traditional. Many house holds include extended families of 10-12 members. Families are as much of an economic unit as they are social. Many marriages are polygamous with husbands having up to four wives. Children, for the most part, are expected to live and learn as a group instead of pursuing individual interests and hobbies. Almost everyone works to support the family especially in rural settings. Family meal times are also very important to family structure.
Islam is very prominent in Senegalese culture. The marriages, and funerals and baptisms are all religious ceremonies. Social law is almost identical to Islamic Law. Every day, the majority of the nation comes together in prayer.
Music, Dance, and the Arts are central to society. Most are practiced and enjoyed in the street where, from a very young age, citizens learn to improvise with each other. Although I have never lived in a culture so creatively inclusive, I think I will take great joy participating in the variety of group activities, especially since it is so seldom found in the United States.
Perhaps the largest cultural difference, and also the hardest to adjust to, will be the emphasis on conformity. As an american child, I've always been taught to seek my own path and discover who I am as an individual. Conforming to a group for conformity's sake was essentially frowned upon despite the fact that most of us put quite a lot of effort into “fitting in.” Although it will be difficult to change my mindset, the challenges of conformity will probably teach me even more about myself as an individual.
In America, one of my strongest cultural influences has been the Catholic Church. Although the french catholic presence survives today in Senegal, the country is 94% muslim. In addition to my native language and race, I will also be a minority religiously.
As for the fashion, this will take significant adjustment on my part. Though there is certainly value in looking presentable, I usually err on the side of utility. Sometimes being a sculpture major makes one too comfortable wearing worn and dirty clothes. During my study abroad I wil need to make a conscious effort to dress nicely, not just to be polite, but to establish a good images for all Americans who will follow me.
On the whole I expect to experience severe culture shock during my time abroad. As of now, the only familiar elements of my destination will be those that I've read about in books or letters from friends. I have only actually met one person from senegal and two others who have visited. My conversations will all three of them were very brief but each time I received the same message: “You really just have to go there.”
With that in mind, I've had a considerable amount of time to sit around and ponder my upcoming voyage. All through this past semester at Syracuse I've had to reassure myself that I actually wanted to go through with this program. Time and time again I had to answer the troubled interrogations of friends who thought I might be losing my grip. “Why Africa?” they asked. I told them I wanted to know what it was like to be a complete foreigner. And each time I did so, I became more confident in my decision. But as their questions probed deeper, I had need of more sophisticated answers. Eventually I made a list of the experiences I wanted from my college career. I listed my options. I ranked them in order of importance. I listed pro's and con's. I discovered that I want to become a teacher, and that I seek out uncommon experiences. I no longer try to fit in. Instead I try to learn through difference and by challenging boundaries.
Emotionally, I feel quite prepared for the trip. Of course, I'll have to leave room for disappointment, but that's precisely why I feel so prepared: I'm used to disappointment. For a large portion of my life I've been an outsider. There was a time when I wanted nothing more than the comfort of conformity, but that time has long gone. In my years at Syracuse have taken many classes outside my major, and outside my comfort zone. All of my eight roommates have been in programs other than my own. This past year, I lived with four architects. Every night I was consistently cut out of conversation until I learned the vocabulary. Two these architects speak spanish as their first language, as do many of our mutual friends. Every time I hang out with them, I do my best to understand their their rapid Espagnol, which proves difficult since I've never taken classes. The unfamiliarity helps keep me on my toes.
I've been told many times that during my studies I should keep low expectations and be flexible. Growing up in a family of ten kids has taught me a lot about flexibility. I've always relied on older siblings for transportation, which meant that my schedule usually fell at the mercy of others. Even now, I do not own a car, and when I'm home for the holidays I must find rides or walk (not easily done where I live). This holiday, I decided to put the needs of my family first. Each day I woke up early to baby-sit my two-year-old nephew until his mother returned home. During the afternoon I would shovel snow, fix windows, do yard work, or feed the horses. If my parents needed me to drive all over town to run errands, I accepted. By putting other's needs before mine I learned a different way of organizing my time. In the rare times I found myself alone or with free time, I worked on essays, scholarship applications, and research. Many times my plans were canceled, my hopes were dashed, and my time used up, but I learned a lot.
For the past five months my family has hosted an eighteen-year-old french exchange student. Because of me study abroad schedule, I've been able to spend the last six weeks at home with him. This has given me plenty of time to brush up on my french before Senegal, and to observe the ways in which an outsider adjusts to a new culture. This provided valuable practice in learning new body language and non-verbal cues. This student was frequently shy and rarely spoke up when he felt uncomfortable. As a result, I learned to anticipate situations that might cause discomfort for him, even if they were perfectly normal for me. His questions and reactions to American behavior gave me insights into those traits that are specifically american, and also those that are particularly French. The peak or our cummunicative development occurred when he felt comfortable enough to make jokes, in English, about Americans, and later when I felt comfortable making jokes, in French, about the French.
Today the french student boarded his plane back to France, and tomorrow I board my plane to Senegal. It seems fitting that just as I observed the end of his journey I get to start my own. In the end, I think I've been very well prepared.
Arrival
Bonjour tout le monde
I have successfully AND safely arrived in Dakar. I will probably have consistant internet connection for about a week. After that, I'm not sure really. The city seems very cosmopolitan and the people are very genial, and in the case of cab drivers at the airport, sometimes too genial. I have already met 12 of the 18 students. I'm sharing a room for the first week with two guys, Jon and Charles. The weather here is toute sweet. very warm during the day with cool breezes in the evenings and mornings.
I really like senegal so far. The entire country seems to really understand how to relax. Mostly everyone speaks french and they're quite happy to talk to you in the street. The food is deeeelicious. We ate rice and fish wih our hands today. We made a mess at first. But then the professors showed us how to roll everything into a ball and eat it cleanly.
I have successfully AND safely arrived in Dakar. I will probably have consistant internet connection for about a week. After that, I'm not sure really. The city seems very cosmopolitan and the people are very genial, and in the case of cab drivers at the airport, sometimes too genial. I have already met 12 of the 18 students. I'm sharing a room for the first week with two guys, Jon and Charles. The weather here is toute sweet. very warm during the day with cool breezes in the evenings and mornings.
I really like senegal so far. The entire country seems to really understand how to relax. Mostly everyone speaks french and they're quite happy to talk to you in the street. The food is deeeelicious. We ate rice and fish wih our hands today. We made a mess at first. But then the professors showed us how to roll everything into a ball and eat it cleanly.
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