Home

So I'm back in Seattle, after about 30 hours of traveling and a few days after. I'm still getting used to US time, but I have to admit - I'm really glad to be back here. I thought reverse culture shock would be more of a problem, although I definitely am experiencing it to a certain degree - like, for example, I'm totally frustrated with the American standard of beauty versus beauty in Senegal, which is more about self-expression than holding yourself to an anorexic, unrealistic, and unhealthy ideal. It's really just being able to look at the US with something concrete to compare it to, and I think if anything, it's a good thing. My conception of feminism has changed a lot too, because I've realized that you can't impose western ideas of feminism on Senegal or any other country, really. But I've also noticed that in the US, women are more likely to say that they aren't feminists and to sincerely believe that we've made "enough" strides for equality that we don't need to make anymore. And I'm totally frustrated that some people say things like, "Oh, maybe we just aren't ready for a woman/black/not white Protestant male president."

Newsflash. Benazir Bhutto, Pakistan, anyone?

Seriously. Pakistan beat us to it. Bangladesh. Finland.

I guess that living in another country has made me realize that the US way isn't always the best way, when it comes to women's rights or anything else.

I still love it here, and I still love Christmas, and I still love my family. And I definitely like smooth roads and seatbelts and vegetables and stuff.

But seriously America, we are at such a position to do good in the world. We should fight global warming and genocide because we CAN. We have the resources to do it.

And as for a woman president, if Pakistan can do it, then we can too.

Nothing like traveling abroad to make you develop a love-hate relationship with your own country. I do love America, I just think that we could be doing a lot better. Because going abroad has made me realize that changing the world is SO possible, which makes me feel so optimistic and frustrated at the same time.

It's a journey.

I'll add the rest of my photos in the coming days.

There's no place like home.

Coming Home

Tonight I'm leaving Dakar and heading home after 3 and a half months abroad. I'm really excited to go home and see my family and friends, but I know there are things I'm going to miss about Senegal, like getting an espresso for 40 cents on the street and being able to bargain for the price I want when I go to the markets, which I did, yesterday, in a mad attempt to get all of my post-departure shopping (aka Christmas presents) done. I went to Sandaga, one of the biggest, busiest markets downtown, where I bought the last presents I needed to buy and a ridiculous pair of sparkly green flats that are Chinese, terrible quality, and cost me 4 dollars, but are really pretty...

I also ate dinner at my old boarding house with my old housemates. It was nice to see everyone again, especially the old woman who runs the house, because she's a wonderful person and it was her birthday the day before. The other boarders - a crazy musician, a Canadian student who's doing a journalism internship here, and another guy who I think is visiting from somewhere else in Senegal saw us to the door, and we all shook hands with our left hands (which you're not supposed to do normally, because of what left hands are intended for in many countries), which is what you do when you'll hope you'll see the other person again.

This morning I went to see my host family and was able to catch a few of them at home, my host mom was getting ready to go to a baptism and two of my host brothers were home, as well as their maid, who is really funny and who I really like even though I can't really talk to her because she only speaks Wolof.

We went to the 500 CFA ceebu jen place again for lunch and said good-bye to the woman who runs it, and then had ice cream at a place nearby.

Tomorrow night I'll be back in Seattle, which is exciting and wonderful, but I will miss Senegal. I told my host mom I would come back to visit, inch'allah.

Oops

To get anywhere in Dakar, you have to take a taxi, a car rapide (truck turned minibus decorated with religious symbols and lots of color), an Ndiaga Ndiaye (ancient white Mercedes minibuses that are like car rapides but less interesting), or the bright blue Dakar Demm Dikk city buses. And with the exception of the city buses, each one of these vehicles is driven crazily through the streets of the city as the driver takes weird shortcuts onto sandy side streets or through parking lots, narrowly misses hitting other cars, stops just short of running over a pedestrian (or two, or three, or a whole crowd including babies and goats), and sometimes they drive on the sidewalk, if there is one.

But it was not until tonight that I have ever been in a vehicle where the crazy driving wasn’t controlled. Around 9, after seeing some friends’ art on display at the National Arts Village, a friend and I hailed a cab to head back to the boarding house for dinner (because we didn’t want Baye to be sad if we missed it) and after nearly having our feet run over by the driver, who was so appalled at the 2000 CFA we offered him that he screeched off without saying a word, we crossed two busy lanes of traffic in the dark and hailed a second taxi, the driver of which also overcharged us, but we were in a hurry to get home so we hopped in. Not two minutes later, our driver almost killed a policeman who was directing traffic, and, knowing full well that he was going to be arrested for it, fled the scene, lurching onto a side street (one of the sandy ones) in full police-chase mode, and I realized that we were in a dangerous situation. The car was literally out of control, but lucky for me, the streets in Dakar aren’t always well-maintained, especially the little roads that aren’t frequented by cars, so there was a foot-high rock in the middle of the road that our ever-so-courteous driver smacked right into, flinging us up in our seats but fortunately bringing the taxi to stop, albeit a loud, smoky, crunchy one. As soon as this happened, we got out, and my friend noticed the cab driver duck out and start sprinting away from the car (again with the not wanting to be arrested). We were instantly surrounded by a group of people, asking us what happened—to which I could only say, “He almost broke someone”—while a Senegalese woman patted my back and asked us if we were okay, where we lived, and told us to take a new taxi home.

The car, the front part crushed onto the rock and leaking oil, was surrounded by people, onlookers and a policeman, to which we asked if we had to give a statement or something, but he only looked at us concernedly—“You were in the car?!”—asked us if we were all right, said we could go home, and even helped us get another taxi back to our house.
Oh yeah, and the driver left all of his money in the car when he ran off.

So, in sum:

1. I was in a taxi in which I witnessed a crime and evasion of arrest.
2. Aside from bumping my elbow, I’m okay, and so is the friend I was with.
3. Thank god for that rock in the road, or who knows what this man would have done?
4. Yet another reminder that Senegalese people are nice, especially to toubabs who have just gotten into a car accident and as a result can’t find their French.
5. The driver probably didn’t have the proper documentation to drive a taxi, which would have made his arrest even worse, and which probably caused him to leave his earnings when he fled.
5. Next time I’m in a taxi/car rapide/Ndiaga Ndiaye driven by a crazy driver of the ordinary Senegalese variety, I’ll heave a sigh of relief.

I came to Senegal for an adventure, and I’d say that qualifies. I’m glad to be alive and writing about this in the past tense.

Christmas & 500 CFA ceebu jen

Today I listened to Christmas music while I recorded some interview notes from last week, and it occurred to me that this is pretty much the only preparation for Christmas that I've had. Senegal being a Muslim country, you're unlikely to encounter Christmas music in stores and on the radio, after-Thanksgiving Christmas shopping sales, stocking stuffer commercials on TV, Christmas movies on TV, or even decorations and painted windows in shops. And by unlikely, I mean it just won't be there, although there is one shop near SIT (frequented by non-locals, I should add) that has had its windows decked out for Christmas and 2008 for several weeks, which is just jarring beside the sandy streets and hot weather in Dakar. When I get back to the US (in three weeks!), I think I'll be ready to see America's more garish displays of holiday cheer once more.

Yesterday I found out that you can get a chocolate and banana sandwich on French bread for about 25 cents from a little kiosk near my boarding house (where I've gotten used to sheep on the roof and doing my laundry on the roof by hand and all the sounds of the city). And a delicious lunch for a dollar in a little restaurant/shack near school. The woman who runs it is really friendly and doesn't seem to speak much French, and it's frequented only by Senegalese. Every weekday she makes two dishes you can choose from, and then you get to drink tap water (and not get sick! - because I've been here for a long time now) and try to speak Wolof with the other patrons.

Senegal is fun once you've been here a while and know your way around and can drink the water without getting sick and aren't afraid of street food. It was good before, but being able to do more authentic things - like eating lunch in a shack at a communal table - makes it much better.

I should add that ceebu jen - rice and fish - is the national dish of Senegal and what pretty much everyone eats for lunch. 500 CFA is a dollar in Senegalese currency. And getting really good ceebu jen for 500 CFA - well, that's a good reason to come to Senegal in the first place.

From HLM Fass

I'm now living in a boarding house in a neighborhood called Fass. It's close to the university and SIT, and it's run by a wonderful old woman named Baye. It's pink and yellow and has three floors, with a courtyard in the middle and the best view of Dakar I've ever seen is what you see from the roof, if you're not too distracted by the pen full of sheep up there. That's right, there are sheep on the roof of my house, along with a few rooms for boarders and communal laundry lines. There are a lot of boarders, and it's nice to be in a place where I can talk to people who speak French but where I don't have to worry about what time I come home; it's definitely better for ISP period anyway, although I miss my homestay a lot! Outside, there's the grossest-smelling canal in Dakar (because it's basically a garbage/raw sewage drop-off spot), but at least I know that when I smell the canal, I'm in the right place. I'm living with three other students from the program, and a fourth one will be joining us in about two weeks. It's really really strange living with other Americans again after living in a host family. Sometimes I actually get tired of speaking English and talking about American things when I want to practice my French and actually be in Senegal. I hope I get used to it before I come home!

ISP is weird. I've been hanging out with medical students at the university, mostly my host sister's friends, and it's been really interesting to see the university system/situation up close. The campus is HUGE, it makes Smith look like a quaint little traffic circle or something. There are several entrances lined with people selling snacks, passport photos, bookbags, clothes, shoes, notebooks, homemade bissap and bouye juice, and the use of the copy machines in the little shacks they sell things from. The buildings are almost all concrete, and some of the dorms look a little like they're falling apart. There are palm trees and taxis driving through the campus at all times, and a lot of students. They're all really young-looking, and most of them wear western-style clothes; some girls are veiled. There are also a lot of foreign students, so I don't really stick out too much when I'm there.

The medical school (which also houses pharmacy school and some other schools I can't remember) is actually in a large and beautiful building with a tiled facade and columns and has directional signs, which is really weird to see. My favorite place thus far is a "garden" outside the medical school that is basically just a lot with some trees on it, and some concrete benches that are so tall your feet dangle from them. It's a nice place to sit in the shade when you're waiting to interview your informants.

I have less than a month left here in Senegal, so I'm trying to get the most out of it. On Saturday, I went back to Goree Island with one of my friends from the program, and we went to the beach and to the market, where women say things like, "Come to my shop, good price!" in English and "Elle est ma cherie - She is my lovely" to us while we look at the jewelry they're selling, and then charge us exorbitant prices for the jewelry, because they're used to tourists. Then we had a wonderful dinner in a less tourist-full (if that is possible on Goree, which it's not really) restaurant, and saw "Persepolis" for free as part of Goree's Diaspora Festival. It was great, although I didn't catch all of the dialogue (it was in French), so I'll have to see it again when I'm back in the States.

It was really weird going to Goree a second time. The boat over was full of more tourists than usual, probably because of the diaspora festival, and honestly it was really strange to see so many white people (I've been in Africa for two and a half months), it was even weirder seeing obese people. That's not really a problem in Senegal. Coming back on the boat, it occurred to me that most tourists probably visit Goree, go to the beach and the House of Slaves (hopefully, because it's kind of the reason to go there), buy a quilted bag in a stereotypically "African" print (men with spears, anyone?), and head back to their nice hotels in Dakar. This is what you do when you're a tourist, and I've definitely done that before, in other countries. But that really hasn't been my experience here in Senegal, and I'm grateful for the difference.

As I said, I have less than a month left. It's weird and sad and good to know that I'll be home in a short time. Also, Thanksgiving is this week and I'm in Senegal, where you can't even buy a turkey that isn't pre-plucked...or, I think, pre-slaughtered for that matter. There are a lot of things I have to do before I go home, including an increasingly complicated independent research project. Oh well - petit-d-petit, l'oiseau fait son nid.

Funny Story

So sometimes I take the bus from Ouakam to and from school in Point E. It costs about 40 cents and takes about 40 minutes, and it's always incredibly crowded unless you catch it at the terminus, but even then you've got to put your bag down on your seat to save it and fight the line to pay the cashier your 150 CFA. If you don't get a seat, you get to hang onto a pole and try not to fall down. But this is usually not a problem, as you are surrounded by people on all sides. On the bus ride, you pass the embassies for Madagascar and Indonesia, Suffolk University's Dakar campus, and a bunch of stalls where people sell things to stopped traffic. There's also a monkey that belongs to someone near there who is always tied up in a tree.

A few days ago I took the bus home as per usual, was really glad to not fall over at all, and finally secured a seat as we entered my quartier (but not my neighborhood) when I heard this great big bang! Now, being a silly American, I instantly thought that a bomb had exploded on the bus or something. But it turned out that the cashier's cash box had fallen onto the floor, and a group of people were helping him pick up the coins. Then I started smelling smoke, consequently was worried, and asked a woman, "Qu'est-ce qui se passe?"

"Pneu creve," she said - flat tire. I was really glad to hear this. As I descended the bus with the rest of the passengers, I saw the busted tire, and I also noticed that everyone was getting off the bus. So there we were, this parade of displaced bus passengers, and everyone walked home. No one stuck around to wait for the tire to get fixed, or even to get another bus. We were all close enough to our houses. There were business people, students, women in elegant boubous - I was definitely the only white person (it's not as weird as you'd think) - and no one seemed upset. They just got off the bus and went on their way.

As I walked to my house through the dusty streets, past tailors and stalls and garbage piles and kids playing soccer in a large field, it occurred to me that this would never happen in the US. People would be so angry if a bus got a flat tire. They would probably stick around and wait for it to get fixed - demand that it be fixed. They might wait around to see if another bus would show up. They might call a friend or relative to come pick them up. They might call a cab company. They might threaten to send an angry letter to the local government. But they certainly wouldn't walk home. And that is exactly what my fellow commuters - and I - did. And I thought to myself, this country is pretty amazing.

Corrections

I want to append my last post by saying that I was pretty judgmental of the people I stayed with and I want to clarify something - first of all, I didn't get the perspective of the women residents of the village on what their lives are like, because they didn't speak French. From what I learned from the men in the village, it seemed like women there didn't have a lot of power, but I'm not sure this is true, because I never was able to actually speak to one of the chief's wives or his daughter-in-law about how they feel about their lives.

So, I don't want to speak for them. Because the power structure in the village may allow for women to have power in a way that wasn't visible to me. I don't know that they feel oppressed or mistreated by the men. One thing that I do know, though, is that they are strong - they work in the fields, cook, clean, raise children, and are a crucial part of the system that keeps the compound going. I truly believe that without the women, the compound wouldn't be able to function. So even though they may not speak French or hold power in a way that a western feminist like me would instantly recognize as such, they are still incredibly strong individuals who play an indispensable role in their community. Senegalese women are strong.

So, post appended.

Yesterday I found out that my host sister is a Harry Potter fan, that my host mom thinks that Senegalese girls who wear colored contacts look like witches, and that my indepedent study project proposal is due tomorrow. During ISP, our homestays are officially over, but I'm spending an extra week in my homestay, then moving to a boarding house with three other girls from the program for the rest of my time here. It's pretty stressful to think about this, and what comes after - going home. There are so many things I still have to do in Senegal and I am not looking forward to reverse culture shock. I know it'll be weird to see the following when I go home: dogs on leashes, SUVs on perfectly smooth paved roads (how ridiculous!), meat in butcher shops neatly confined to glass cases, people dressed in sweatpants, MacDonald's drive-thrus, signage in English.

I will be glad to see women and girls out running again (here it's only men most of the time - kind of a deterrent if you're a female runner), less pollution, more bookstores and movie theatres, and I can't wait for cold weather, overcast skies, rain at home and snow at school.

It seems a long way off. But I register for next semester's classes tomorrow. Sometimes things feel very slow here, and then I realize that my semester in Senegal has gone by so fast.