Showing my "Teranga" - May 10th

It has been forever since my last blog entry, but as surprising as it might seem, life has been moving pretty fast here in Senegal. Last week I had two friends come to visit – Cari from New York City and Julie, making her way to Africa all the way from Colorado. The first few days of their visit we spent in Dakar. Cari and Julie came with me to the College Le Damel to meet my students and mingle with the faculty. After the visit, both are emphatic about sending me a care package for the children. It would appear that they had the same reaction to the school as I did – the children are in dire need of supplies. After our first day at school, we went to Mame Diarra’s home (where I eat most of my meals) to deliver the things that she had requested from America. A box of Bisquick to make pancakes and as many Top Ramen soups that Cari could fit in her suitcase (which ended up being a ton.) She couldn’t have been more excited about this gift…it’s the simple things in life that matter, right? I mean, who doesn’t love a fresh batch of pancakes in the morning?!!! After 3 long, fun days in Dakar we took a boat to the Casamance Region of Senegal (see pics!.) I booked us three “couchettes” so that we could sleep the 16 long hours away and, hopefully, end up in Casamance well-rested. Unfortunately, that wasn’t exactly the case. The “couchette” cabin was more like the steerage cabin as beds were laid out one after another in a huge room. Essentially, one is required to sleep 2 feet from an absolute stranger. For Senegalese, most likely, this doesn’t prove to be as much of a problem considering that they seem to all know each other. For Cari, Julie, and I this was absolutely crazy. When we finally decided to take the plunge and make our way to the steerage cabin to sleep the night away we noticed that everyone had (much-needed) blankets.The cabin was freezing and we only had three wet towels and a change of clothes to provide warmth, so we decided to find ourselves some blankets. Somehow Julie and I found our way down to the main area (the boat was impossible to navigate) and I found the guy who claimed to be the blanket man. I wasn’t even sure at that point if he even worked for the boat company as he wasn’t wearing a uniform. With that said, he demanded my passport in return for a blanket, and I gasped at the idea. He told me, in a very strict manner, that he was not “completely joking” as I had accused him of, and that one passport = one blanket. This was ludicrous so I went back to the cabin empty handed. When I returned, having been accompanied by Julie, we decided we would turn into ice cubes without covers. Julie, luckily or unluckily, found two blankets on two empty beds. It was around two in the morning at that point so we were sure that the blankets did not have owners. She had hit the jackpot. At least we thought so until I was woken up an hour later by a really nice Senegalese woman who wanted her blanket back. Graciously, she said that we could keep the other blanket that belonged to her sister. I quickly asked her about the passport situation and to my amazement the blanket man was, in fact, the blanket man, and did require a passport for a blanket. We had, unknowingly, stolen this woman (and her sisters’) blankets!!! Moral of the story: take the flight, skip the boat. We arrived in Zinguinchor just in time for lunch. We were met at the dock by our guide/body guard Moussa for the next two days. Moussa is the brother of my friend Manga who is an artist at the Village D’Art here in Dakar. Our first stop was our hotel “Le Perroquet,” a quaint, affordable, French-owned spot located on the Casamance River. It was perfect. After “freshening-up” we hit up a local restaurant and toured the town. For dinner we returned to the same restaurant for some drinks and live music. The second day we rented a pirogue and a guide for the day. We visited the Island of Birds and two other local islands. This gave us a taste for “real” Senegalese life in the region of Casamance. We discovered a beautiful, tiny beach on one of the islands and Cari and I took a quick dip in the water. It was something between a beach a river and a lake. The only other non-Senegalese person visible was an older French man who had sailed to the island and was hanging out somewhere below deck on his sailboat. What a paradise. Throughout our stint in Casamance we continued to run into these two older French women who were on holiday in Africa. Both were well traveled and had great spirits. One of the women was leaving in the morning on the same flight to Dakar as us and was staying at the hotel next door. We decided to share a cab to the airport the following morning. When we arrived at the small Zinguinchor airport (and hour prior to our flight) we were told that we were late and that the plane was full. After an hour of attempting to reason with the guys at the airport the only solution we came up with was to take the late flight back to Dakar from Cap Skiing that night. So we hired a taximan and we were on our way. The drive was about two hours but it was well worth it. I told the taximan to take us to a hotel on the beach and that he did. We ended up at paradise. The hotel was situated on one of the most beautiful beaches I have ever been to, complete with palm trees and topless Europeans. Missing the flight could not have been a better mishap. Cari and Julie flew out of Dakar the following night – I cried on the cab ride home. Last Saturday, the project that I have been working on with Cheikh finally came to fruition and was a huge success. The theme of the project was “Clandestine” – immigration. Illegal immigration is a problem in Senegal as many Senegalese leave in search of a “better life” in Europe. I chose six students who have a background in art to work with artists from the Village D’Art to create paintings that represent their views on immigration. On Saturday, the village had an expose of the artwork of the students followed by a sketch by the English Club and a concert to close the day. I couldn’t have been more excited with the outcome of this project as the talent of the students was hard to miss on the day of the exposition. The local television station came and covered the exposition of the kids and stars were made. I was amazed at home many people saw the coverage on TV (both in Wolof and French) and happy about the exposure for Senecorps

Journal Entry from 3/5

Once again, my mother has given me some ideas about what to write in my blog. I know it must appear strange that I am at a loss for words, however, I am accustomed to things here. With that said, I think I will begin with a normal day in the life of Brooke (god I feel conceited writing that but hopefully it will be interesting enough...) Note: this will be more an account of the places rather than the activities.

My apartment is a small cluttered one-bedroom with a balcony. When I wake up in the morning I use gas to heat water for my morning coffee. Fortunately I have a refrigerator so I can keep food – mainly spreadable cheese, bread, juice and yogurt. The milk here is powder…it is delicious.

I am able to walk to school although the walk in itself is an obstacle course. Grand-Yoff is bustling so I am constantly trying to avoid people, goats, children, cars, trash, horse carriage things (driven by people of course,) holes in the sidewalk, and random pieces of metal that crowd the ground. I am so glad that I got my Tetanus shot. After a block or two of walking on the main road which is scarcely paved, I turn onto a dirt road which leads to the school. I am constantly hounded by random children as well as students who require a handshake or something resembling one. Throughout the day kids approach me (as well as other adults) to shake hands. This is a custom here, to shake hands with children along the road or at school. If your hand is busy or holding something you simply offer up your wrist for them to shake. Come to think of it, I am really glad I got my Meningitis shot as well.

The school is very plain on the inside. Some of the classrooms have electricity, some do not. The floor of the classrooms is cement and poorly laid cement at that. There is a chalk board in each classroom as well as wooden benches/desks (attached to one another.) Supplies are extremely limited at the school. If children have pencils the pencils look as if they have been handled by a dog for a few days – without erasers and terribly chewed up. Most of the older students use pens to write, however, there are only one or two white-outs for the school. I was in a class one day in which the students were taking an exam. I was in charge of the white out passing it from student to student. Every 10 minutes or so, a student from another class would come to take the white out for use in another class. (If you are reading this, thank you Ana for sending me some white-out, it was greatly appreciated.)

Students dress in anything from jeans and a tee-shirt (resembling an ordinary American kid,) to traditional African dress, to wearing a head-dress in adherence with the strict Muslim code. Surprisingly, even though Senegal is a predominantly Muslim country, one would not think so judging by how women dress here…especially in the clubs. One day while in downtown Dakar I saw a woman wearing what looked like traditional Senegalese dress (made-to-order, bright colored fabric, short sleeved with a boat neck and a long fitted skirt) but the pattern of the fabric was the Chanel Cs. I was sooo pissed that I didn’t have my camera because, well just because I thought it was great. It was like Senegal meets runway Paris.

I eat my meals everyday with Mama Diara, an extremely gentile, caring woman. She lives very close to my apartment so it takes me only a few minutes to walk there. Walking to her house I pass many boutiques (equivalent to a NY bodega,) tiny stores selling clothes or house wares, a small school (itsy bitsy by our standards,) hardware stores, etc. Again, the streets are very busy here. There are apartment buildings a few stories high, tin shacks and houses along the road. Everything appears to be under construction considering it is either not painted or not entirely built.

Mama Diara’s house is located off a main road (which is off the main road) in a small alleyway. From the outside, one can see a white wall with a large brass door painted light blue. It is very quaint I might add. When opening the door you step down onto an open dirt space which houses their goat and restroom. A curtain covers the opening to the main living area where normally, I find Mama Diara sitting happily on the couch watching TV and tending to the meal. The room is small with a TV, telephone, two couches and a chair. Even though the spaces are small here – I never really feel cramped. Maybe it’s because Senegal is such a communal place where people find comfort in being around one another. Branching off from the living room there is a small bedroom where Mama Diara sleeps. If you continue walking a few steps after entering the big blue door and passing the goat, you will find another bedroom. In actuality, Mama Diara’s house really is under construction so I am not really sure how things looked before or will look after once they are finished. Regardless, I have come to love this house.

3/?/07

I visited Goree Island last week on a field trip with the students. It was an incredibly beautiful island, which is slightly ironic considering the amount of bad things that took place there. Goree Island is where the European’s housed the slaves before shipping them off to their various destinations. “The House of Slaves” is a large round building painted in a bright red color. The house is filled with small rooms labeled on the outside with “femmes,” “garcons,” and “enfants,” (women, men, and children.)

After visiting the “House of Slaves,” and the various museums we spent the rest of the afternoon on the beach. I decided to go swimming in my sports bra and skirt –which turned out to be the perfect attire. The students were ecstatic that I was swimming…

The following night I left for Thies (pronounced Chess) with a teacher from the school called Sorna. She had invited me to spend the weekend there with her and her family. I was excited considering that I had heard a ton of people talk about Thies which is approx. one hour and a half from Grand-Yoff. Sorna and I arrived just in time for lunch. We ate and immediately left for the market to walk around. It was extremely hot so we left fairly early to return home. I was a bit on the tired side so we crashed around midnight after a little excursion on the town.

In the morning Sorna and I walked to the local market to pick up food to prepare for lunch. Everything is prepared fresh so we bought just enough for the meal. It was understood that I was to prepare the meal for lunch (chepujan sp?)with the help of Sorna. This is the main dish in Senegal so I figured I would give it a shot. It was much harder than I had anticipated and it took about 3 hours to prepare. I now realize why the Senegalese people say “eat, eat, eat” at every meal. It is because the meal took three hours to prepare. No exaggeration.

Journal Entry from 2/21

Two days ago was Mardi Gras and College Damel had a grand party to celebrate. School ended early which became apparent to me only that day; there is always something that I am not aware of here.

Students came dressed in traditional Senegalese dress with makeup and markings on their face – the girls wearing tons of their mother’s jewelry and the boys wearing cotton on their faces where hair will one day grow so that they resembled old men. This is a holiday more for the children than the adults as the older children didn’t even dress up. It was sooo great seeing my students dressed up in these costumes, they were so freaking cute.

Of course I dressed up - one of the teachers loaned me a traditional Senegalese boo boo to wear – a bright orange, plain, long shirt with a long orange skirt to match. She also gave me the fabric to wear on my head as the African women do, however, after seeing myself in the mirror I decided I looked too much like a pumpkin. I wasn’t sure how exactly to put on the skirt so I asked my nice neighbor to help dress me…

The party started in the classrooms where the teachers of each class distributed drinks and treats to the children. I brought chocolate elephants which were a huge hit with the children as well as the staff of the school.

After eating, drinking, and taking photos the kids spilled outside the classrooms for some dancing. There was a DJ and two massive speakers outside in the small space that separates the classrooms. Different from American children, ALL the kids were dancing their heads off – and quite well I might add. The DJ played a combination of African dance music (nearly impossible for a white person to dance to) as well as hip hop, reggae and raggaeton. I definitely had some fun on the dance floor with the kids, no one in the crowd stood still. I was absolutely exhausted after the grand-fete.

Class is more fun everyday as I get to know the students more and more. I am currently teaching them the alphabet. Unbenonst to me, they had never been taught the alphabet. I dream the alphabet song every night –Remember “Now you know you’re A,B,Cs, come on won’t you sing with me.” It’s important to drill everything into the heads of the students during class because they do not study at home. Class becomes an exercise in memorization. With the older children I am working towards learning the colors and body parts. I am gearing up for a big game of Twister.

I finally met up with my friend Niko – he invited me to a Rap concert in Pikine. Pikine is nuts – I was absolutely sure I was going to be hit by a car when walking around the village. Fortunately I had about 6 bodyguards who watched after me making sure that I wasn’t abducted on trampled. Niko works for an NGO that concentrates on cultural events and cultural exchange programs so he is very involved in the music scene in Senegal. As mentioned before, Niko is Suisse so he speaks French. Although I can speak and understand Niko well normally, I managed to have an entire phone conversation with Niko yesterday in which I did not understand a single word. It was classic. He tends to slur a little bit as French people do and this is especially difficult when on the phone.

The concert was tons of fun and the music was good. I found myself extremely tired at around 11 so I cashed out early. Niko will definitely be a good friend here in Senegal.

The Presidential election is this Sunday so things are a bit crazy here. I think this contributed to my experience in Pikine. There is a bit of violence in certain areas but nothing serious. Mostly I see caravans traveling from town to town with loud speakers and posters. Crowds of people gather on the streets to hear speakers and rally for their favorite candidates. My friend Chere has told me that I need to stay at home on both Sunday and Monday (not too difficult because there will be no transportation available.) He also told me that there will not be school on Monday…funny but no one told me this before. Again, I am in the dark; it has become a personal joke now.

BTW- I am unable to find my camera connector so I can’t download my pictures onto my computer just yet. It takes forever to get things done here so buying a new one will take a while and who knows if it will actually work when I get it back to my apartment to plug-in. Pictures on my blog….to come.

Journal Entry from 2/18

I really haven’t been up to much this weekend. I think I am still in recovery mode after being sick for a few days. It really takes a lot out of you.

However, I did get out and about on Sunday with a teacher from my school called Sorna. She came to my apartment to pick me up this morning at 11:45. Of course, like most Senegalese, I hadn’t even begun to get ready for my day out so I scurried without too much effort to get ready to leave Grand-Yoff for the day.

We took the “Rapide” to a gas station where we jumped into what seemed like a random guy’s car. This was actually the second time I have taken this form of transportation, at the same exact station. It is a random guy’s car and its cheaper than a taxi.

Sorna lives in a town called Yoff which is on the beach. This is a very popular town for foreigners and after spending the day there I can surely see why.

We walked around the town for about an hour. The town is very calm with few cars on the street. Because the town is on the beach, the dirt roads almost appear to be an extension of the beach. This was quite a change from Grand-Yoff which is bustling at all hours of the day and one has to be very careful not to fall victim to one of thousands of obstacles in the street. Last week I was lucky enough to get hit by a horse (hauling wood) and walk away with only a massive, ugly bruise on my arm. In case you were wondering, it looks much better this week.

Sorna took me to the area on the beach where the boats catch the fish. Walking there was a sad sight considering the amount of pollution on the beach. There was one area we passed that had piles of rags and tattered clothes in a giant heap. This is the time when you keep your flip-flops on.

The boats are massive banana boats painted in all different bright colors. It is quite a site to see all the boats lined up on the shorefront. After catching the fish, the fish are taken directly to the women who sell them (about 50 feet from where the boats park.) Talk about fresh.

One has to be very careful when walking in this area and beyond because it is very likely that you will step on a fish-head if you are not paying attention. This isn’t too difficult with the pungent smell of fish everywhere.

After eating a massive meal of chubajai (sp, the traditional Senegalese dish) Sorna and I returned to the beach for some R&R. Walking in the opposite direction from where the boats are parked, we found a nice spot on the beach, paid the man who is in charge of the umbrella and mats, and spent the rest of the day lying horizontal. Sorna helped me practice my Wolof.

Journal Entry from 2/14

MY BOUT WITH SICKNESS

Last night turned out to be a very interesting evening for me; I got my first bout of sickness. I wasn’t feeling well all day, however, I had dinner plans with the GodMother of the school where I work as a teacher. These were plans that I did not want to back out on. Up until ½ hour of when I was scheduled to be there I could not decide for the life of me if I should cancel. I decided to brave the night, bad stomach and all.

For the first part of the evening, I was extremely glad that I came. I spent time with different members of the family and small talked with the GodMother. The second part of the evening consisted of the meal. The food was really great (although all fried) but, my stomach was still not well. I ate as much as a possibly could and had to fight off the GodMother’s comments that I wasn’t eating anything (which was NOT true anyway.) Anyhow, I stood up after the meal was finished, walked into the back yard and realized that things were going to get bad really quickly. I lost control and started throwing up in a fire pit (it seemed the most appropriate place at the time.) Her entire family seemed to be fascinated with the whole experience…so I had an audience of about 6. Then I shed a few tears of embarrassment.

The funniest part of the whole evening was that even after my little bout of sickness, the GodMother still gave me crap about not eating! When passing her friends in the hallway, after the usual prolonged introduction, she told them about how I didn’t eat anything that night and didn’t drink the soda that I brought. Walking back to my apartment, she proceeded to ask me what I was going to eat when I got home as I had nothing in my stomach! I couldn’t even answer these accusations; I couldn’t even believe the conversation.

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I continue to be amazed with the depth of the people here. I spend a lot of time chatting (hanging out) with different groups of young people and I am continuously challenged by the conversation. As you probably know, 90% of the Senegalese are Muslim. There is a very real sense of spirituality amongst the people and I attribute the peacefulness of this country to Islam.

With that said, when hanging out with friends, many of the conversations that I have are about god and my relationship with god. Now, for those of you who have tried, this is not an easy conversation to have…and not one that I hear often in the United States. I am a Christian but have not been to church in years…thus my relationship is dwindling to say the least. Plus, although I am proficient at French, I am not yet fluent…speaking of things so untouchable proves to be a very tiring task for me. However, I am lucky; Senegal has even given me a new sense of spirituality.


Yesterday, I was asked what my “true name” was – I didn’t really understand the question considering that I had given him the list of my names, including my evolved Senegalese name Binta. He then told me that everyone has a “true name” that only he or she knows. This is the name that god gives you. When I asked Chere if he knows his true name, he answered “of course” without hesitation.

Also remember that these people are in their 20s. Considering how many Americans are confused and searching for a sense of self during these years, I am amazed at the self-knowledge of all the individuals I meet here. It’s like they have the answer to life; There is a feeling of assurance that is extremely comforting.

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Things are coming along nicely with “the project.” The artists are very excited and
my friend Bamba has lined up some great musicians for the concert. There will be two days of activities – a concert and an art day. The concert will most likely be Senegalese music, hip hop and some reggae, not all mutually exclusive.

To market this project, Bamba and I are going to all the local radio stations and TV stations to place an announcement. We will be asking for sponsors to donate supplies and food/beverages. We have already concocted the letter and will be delivering it, by hand, to the companies sometime in the next few weeks.

Journal entry from 2/11/07

I spoke with my mother yesterday and apparently I have forgotten to write about a lot of interesting stuff. I am so engulfed in this culture that I don’t even really notice when things are strange.

First of all, my village is far from starving…in the literal sense. Food for the Senegalese is a very important part of their life and they eat a ton of it. As a guest in people’s house I am constantly pestered to “mange,” “mange” – this means “eat, eat.” I hear these words in my sleep now.

The Senegalese do not drink during the meal as they don’t want their stomachs to fill up. They do not speak much during a meal, their concentration on one thing…eating. They eat quickly and a lot at once. I have absolutely no idea how these people remain so skinny considering the amount of food that they intake everyday. However, the Senegalese never eat dessert. Adults rarely eat sugar for that matter except in their coffee. Unlike the adults, kids relish their bon-bons and chocolates that they buy at the local boutique.

Speaking of coffee, I finally succumbed to buy a water heater but my first attempt at making coffee failed miserably. Every time I plugged in my water heater the electricity turned off. I have no idea how I am going to rectify this problem but hopefully Bamba will think of something.

Senegal is a very communal place. In my apartment building everyone keeps their door open (with a lace curtain like material hanging in the place of a door.) People are in and out of one another’s apartments as if it was their own. I haven’t really gotten used to this concept as I relish my privacy. Even though I almost always have a guest, I keep my apartment door closed and the door to my balcony wide open. It’s nice to have the natural sunlight.

In regards to having guests…people just “drop by” in Senegal. Everyone from my mentor to Bamba to my students. My students have taken to dropping by often…

In addition, everyday on my way home from school I am accompanied by about 5-10 students – my entourage. They insist on carrying my backpack and anything else I might be holding. I am not used to being surrounded by children but I am really enjoying their company and their innocence. It is also nice to walk around Grand-Yoff and know people everywhere I go. I hear children saying “Miss Brooke” and/or “Teacher” while walking around almost everyday.

I finally got around to going to a “boite” (nightclub) on Friday night. I had a great time dancing until 4 in the morning. We went for pizza afterwards; It was just like New York. We went to the beach all day on Saturday. It was a private beach about one half an hour from my apartment. I spent the entire day under the umbrella reading. I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect way to spend my time.

Journal From 2/8

It gets harder and harder for me to write these journal entries. First of all, I am not much of a writer – in the personal sense. In addition, I have less and less observations; I believe that I am almost completely acclimated to the life here in beautiful Senegal. I even managed to haggle my way to a low price from the taxi-man(as they call them) last night for my ride into Dakar. Supposedly that is the tell-tale sign that I am a Senegalese.

Two nights ago I went with my friend Chere to an artist community to check out some artwork and talk to the artists about a “project.” I am not sure if Chere told me about his idea for the “project” before we arrived because when everyone starting discussing it, I had no idea what they were talking about. I have a tendency to nod in comprehension when I am not always paying attention. Anyway, the project involves bringing together my students with the artists for a cultural experience. However, the idea for the project is fantastic and I am meeting with the artists this weekend to discuss logistics.

Journal From 2/4/07

So, I finally met the other Senecorps girl, Sally. Sally is working at a maternity ward, for her this is one stop before medical school. Sally has a great spirit.

Last night Bamba #2 organized a traditional African dance with his entire neighborhood – about 200 guests came in our honor. I can’t begin to explain how crazy the dancing was and how hard for a white person it is to move like these people. However, since the dance was organized for Sally and me – we danced hard.

How it works is that everyone sits and/or stands in a massive circle. About 10 drummers sit together on one end of the circle creating extremely fast beats. When someone feels “it” they skip into the circle and begin dancing kicking their legs high into the air spreading sand as they jump around.

Dancing in this circle (twice) was probably one of the most embarrassing things I have ever done. Bamba#1 happened to catch the whole thing on film, however, the last thing I am going to do is watch this video. Hopefully they won’t post it on the Senecorps website.

At around 1pm, we went to town to attend the concert. This time the concert was held in a nightclub in downtown Dakar. At around 3pm, Sally and I were dragging so we decided to hit the sack back in Grand-Yoff.

Journal From 2/3/07

Currently I am at my friend Cheikh’s (pronounced Chere) house in an attempt to have my computer fixed. Although it isn’t exactly broken, the fact that I am unable to connect it to the internet is causing me much grief and emotional energy…

Last night we went to a killer rap concert. Bamba manages one of the groups that performed so we hung out backstage – met all sorts of cool people. And, I finally met a tubop, he is Suisse. I am not sure yet how long he has been in Senegal but he appears to have found his way in this country. Similar to me, we are chilling like locals. We met eyes and almost humorously quick, I started up a conversation. I was relieved to find a white friend – if only someone to share my experience with....We are hanging tonight at another concert.

Nico (from Nicolie sp?) called me today, most likely to talk about tonight. Unfortunately the conversation consisted of me saying “what?, I can’t understand, what?” Talking on the phone is hilarious because I cannot understand a word that people say to me. For example, Nico speaks French and a little English. For me, visa versa. It makes for a difficult phone conversation. My new tactic is to tell people to send me a text message. Text messaging is the best invention ever for non-fluent speaking people.

Journal Entry From 2/1

Today was my first day teaching at the school –“College Damal,” and I just woke up from a very necessary nap. I created a lesson plan for all the levels that I barely began. First of all – I must say the children in the United States have it really good.

My youngest students are 5. Before beginning to teach them anything, it is necessary that they overcome their fear of me. These are the same age children that say “Tubop” = “white” when I am walking down the street. I hear allll the time, “tubop, tubop, tubop.” With that said, these children are not used to seeing a white person let alone being close to one. I have a hard time keeping their attention because they are so busy staring at me. You know how children are….

I was surprised at how little the children know in terms of basic English. So, I am starting from scratch and pounding numbers and “my name is” into their head until they are saying it in their sleep. As an incentive, I have brought stickers to the class.

I find that I am not afraid of this project. Yes it’s frustrating because of the lack of resources but I was glad to find that I am not afraid of standing in front of the children and speaking French and/or disciplining the children.

Something that is also humorous is the amount of invitations I get everyday whether it be students or friends of my friends, it appears that everyone wants to bring me home to their family. I receive so many invitations that I don’t even know how to handle my own schedule.

Second Entry – From 1/29

Second Entry – 1/29

I thought this might be an opportune time to write my next journal entry for two reasons:
#1 I am awake (at 1:00am) from taking a cold shower (washing hair and all).

#2 It is a holiday today so the children are drumming in the streets – this will probably last until around 300a.m.

I went to the market today in Dakar to purchase some necessary items. It was an absolute madhouse. All I can say is thank god I had Bamba #1 and Conior (a friend of Senecorps) with me. I was hassled everywhere. It is a common assumption that white person = money. So, having two locals with me to bargain prices was absolutely essential. Hopefully once I have a grasp of the language I will be able to bargain myself.

The majority of my purchases were gifts. Gift giving is commonplace in Senegal, especially as a foreigner who is welcomed into the homes of strangers day after day. Most of the time before attending a meal at someone’s house, I pick up a bottle of Coca-Cola and Fantail at a local boutique in order to contribute to the meal. In addition to the gifts I purchased today, I have promised my green cap to a friend who is leaving for another village next Sunday and I gave my Nike watch to my best African friend, guide, and savior – Bamba Diop (Bamba #1.)

After dinner tonight, we went to Bamba #2s house to hang out with my new family. The house was chaotic as Bamba's children were all dressed up for the holiday, wrecking havoc outside the house on the street. It is an Islamic holiday (I will return with the correct name) – essentially the Muslim calendar new year. The children walk through the streets – boys dressed like girls and visa versa – drumming and dancing all night long.

Brooke: English Teacher Intern

My Email: bhalenza@hotmail.com

I arrived at the airport at 6am. I was greeted by two members of Senecorps – Bamba Diop and Bamba Seydi. Immediately, I renamed them Bamba #1 and Bamba #2 (in no particular order of course.) To any foreigner, the Bambas appear to be my bodyguards in the way that they watch over me and make sure I don’t get hit by the RAPIDE (the local bus driven by crazy people. One quickly learns that the RAPIDE always has the right away.)

I was taken to my apartment in Grand-Yoff to take a quick nap. It was important because my day was full of activity. Grand-Yoff is a very lively town (as are all Senegalese towns so far) – goats roaming, babies playing on the side of the road in the dirt (yes, the roads are not paved in my town,) women walking in beautiful costumes carrying jugs on their heads, people working on various crafts outside, children screaming… If you want to know where I live in Grand-Yoff, I would not be able to tell you considering that the streets are not named (stay tuned because I do have a mailing address at another address,) except for the main street that is named after the first priest in Senegal. So far, I have been using landmarks as my guide.

After napping, the Bambas came to my apartment to pick me up. We walked around the town – and finally made our way to Bamba #2’s house where I met his entire extended family - around 15 -20 people, his goats, his neighbors that take care of the goats, the man at the boutique (who is a Rastafarian and seems to have a strange fascination with me,) and the roaming dog. Since I did not, and still barely do speak Wolof it was extremely difficult to communicate as they did not speak good French. Fortunately, Bambas mother and wife agreed that I had a genuine smile. That was enough for me.

After leaving Bamba #2’s house, we walked around town for awhile. The Bambas insisted that I eat something considering it had been awhile since my last meal. They bought an orange for me on the street. There is NO getting around joining the culture and eating street food, drinking coffee from street vendors, etc. The rest of my meals I ate at different homes with different families (with my hands.) Fortunately, my stomach has been 100% so far but I know that one of these days, I will not be so fortunate. Not being a pessimist, just a realist.

So, I am doing very well. The Bambas have given me a new Senegalese name – Bintu Seydi – Bamba#2 will use only this name now and has consistently called me by this name. Also, when I meet people in the street (which is inevitable when walking around) I call myself Bintu because it is easier for people to understand and pronounce. It is strange answering to something other than Brooke. However, I am now part of the family –

I have taken two Wolof classes so I can basically greet people and ask them a few questions. So far I have been speaking a combination of pathetic Wolof, broken French and English. In one single sentence, I use words in all languages (at least an attempt at Wolof.)

I ate dinner at Bamba #2’s house last night (Bamba #1 was there as well – he is with me always) – his family was soooo nice and the food was good. After dinner I played football with all the children – I had brought them a nerf football as a gift. Bamba’s daughter asked me in a whisper if I wanted to be her friend and I said yes.

After dinner, Bamba #1 took me to a local reggae concert. It was amazing - Again, I was the only white person to be seen but I am used to that by now. When I walk down the street day or night, everyone looks – the children call me “tu-bop” over and over. It means “white.” I hear it everywhere.