Karen's Day Out

Some how some productive spirit took over my body and I finished the first draft of my ISP yesterday…six days before it’s due! The other people on my program were giving me dirty looks so I decided to go on an adventure. This adventure had a mission of course! 2 specific gifts for 2 specific people…and I wanted to try to get some Henna.

Going to the market is usually quite an ordeal and it takes a lot of energy. You’re going to be called “toubab” a lot, there will be mud, you might get robbed or more likely ripped off, oh and getting lost in this labyrinth of a market place is also a likelihood I’d only been twice before (the second time was only a few days ago) but each time I was with other people who dealt with the cabs and knew where we were going in the market. This time: I was on my own.

I head out on my own—no need to hail a cab, within minutes one has screeched to a halt at my feet… “asalaamalekum nanga def---maangi dem HLM 800 baax na” and away we go. I have improved LOTS on the whole cab thing. I only ever pay what I’ve decided ahead of time I am willing to pay—of course not being in a rush helps because there’s always another cab.

At the market I made my way down to the row of stalls with ****** (I am leaving this crucial piece of information out because two family members and a close friend are getting things from here) Here again, I knew ahead of time that these things I was going to buy were expensive, but I also knew how expensive—so I wouldn’t get ri

pped off. Plus then the bargaining comes into play. If I buy this this and two of these…I’ll pay you X…ummmm okay but ONLY because we are friends (the vender remembered me from last time and of course that makes us friends). Great I’ve been in the market for 30 mins maximum and I’ve accomplished half of the things I wanted to do!

Next stop: the bank. No not to get money, but when I walked by the other day I’d seen a sign with pictures of henna motifs on hands and feet. So I went there and asked the bank’s guard, “where do they do the henna?” while pointing to the sign. Turns out you need to call the number and they come find you! SO I did.

Ten minutes or so later someone was at the bank and I followed him to his house. I’ll admit I was a little skeptical about GOING TO HIS HOUSE but I figured that I could handle it. So we get there and any worry I had was gone—this was not a sketchy place…it was a really nice place and there was another customer there already who’d just had herfeet and hands covered in a beautiful design.

I sit down and flip through the photo albums they have. The general prices are 10,000 for one foot, 2500 to 3500 for one palm. I explained that Iwanted a palm design and I wanted to spend 2500, then he said I should pay 10000 and he’d do a foot and the hands for free…when I told him that I only HAVE 5000 we settled on 2 palms for 5000 with the backs of my hands as “gifts” cool.

(word shut down and lost what I wrote and I am tired and don’t want to rewrite it but here’s the gist)

I told him I was named Mame Diarra Obama. I am married, my American husband is still in America, I am not willing to leave him to marry the henna man. I asked henna man if he had a wife—he said “I’ll leave her for you” hmmm….

Oh then when I was done he INSISTED that I stay to eat lunch (it was 3:30 already and I hadn’t eaten anything yet…so ok!)

I HAD A GREAT DAY!!!!!!!!!!!! Then got to talk to Hannah! She’s in the airport in Delhi.

ISP (bum bum buhmmm) cont.

So the ISP has the very vague requirement of “a 15-40 page paper about an aspect of Senegalese art or culture”. This had worried me until I wrote my introduction a week and a half ago. You know: background info, situate the reader, goals of the study, methodologies used, I already have ten pages. Now I just need to figure out how to use my research.
I have more or less finished researching (need to get some interviews transcribed—it’s hard to transcribe!! I spent over 6 hours transcribing an hour long interview in English—I decided to pay to get my French interviews transcribed). For my topic there’s actually (completely coincidentally) a lot going on right now! Which is A) great because this means there’s a decent amount of new information out there—I even got my hands on an unreleased copy of Senegal’s latest National Action Plan but it’s also B) really bad because everyone is super busy and therefore they don’t really have time to humor the American student who wants to waste an hour of their time with some unprofessional interview.

I managed to get 3 very very helpful interviews rich with relevant information, and I think that’s all I am going to get. Having only 3 interviews is less than ideal. It’s actually disappointing. But I am not going to complain because 2 of my 3 interviews squeezed me in before they both left Dakar, one has a weeklong conference in Thiès, and the other is going to Mali (or Mauritania…).

So I spent my weekend sifting through very official government documents, and evaluations of the first National Action Plan, and the new unreleased National Action Plan---my head hurts. It’s all in very official governmental language and it’s tiring!!

I am pleased with my ability to understand (I only occasionally have to look up words and 9.5 times out of 10 they are cognates in English—then I just feel dumb for not knowing the word in English—good thing I have an English Dictionary on my Ipod). Also, I was pleased when we had to write out “formulaires d’ahésion” (consent forms) for our interviews. I managed to sound legitimate! Used fancy grammatical structures—all very official.

So, yeah. I am going to outline the body of my ISP tomorrow, fill in what I can with what I’ve got, identify holes, then when I get these transcriptions (hopefully Tuesday or Wednesday, but probably thrusday) I’ll do my best to finish it up.

We have the choice to do all of our class work in either French or English but in hopes of getting Major credit at Davidson I’ve done everything in French. Including my ISP. The longest paper I’ve written in French was for Jacobus’ Poetry Passion and Painting class that I took last fall. It was a 15 pager on the symbolic use of windows in Baudelaire’s prose poetry. I thought that was hard.

I wanted to challenge myself by writing this in French and so far I am pleased with what I have been able to produce. My introduction is informative and (I think) pretty well written. So we’ll see how the rest of it goes.

The Silence of the Lambs—Sénégal Style

Saturday was the biggest Muslim holiday—most commonly called Second Eid—it's the sacrifice one…Here in western Africa they call it Tabaski.

Though I've been "independent" for almost two weeks now, I was invited back to my family in Baobab to celebrate with them. This is my nephew Moussa showing off his new Boubou!!

I love this kid!

On the walk to Baobab I was noticing that there were unhappy sheep noises coming from every house. Not dying sheep noises, just "we know what's about to happen" sheep noises.

So I get to the house and walk on in. I was very pleased at how warmly they all greeted me. Especially my host dad. (probably because he's senile and didn't realize I was coming). He then asked me if I am back from Kaolack…I have never been to Kaolack, I never plan on going to Kaolack.

My host sister told me that "everything's upstairs" so I headed up to the terrace where I'd spent so many evenings hanging out with Moussa and Cherif, then as soon as I get to the landing and glance over my shoulder:

5 SHEEP WITH BLOODY NECKS LYING IN POOLS OF THEIR OWN BLOOD.

I mean, if you tell me that at Tabaski they are going to kill sheep---yeah ok I know what to expect…I guess I wasn't quite ready to see it though. Then just as I am processing the scene, I realize that my host brother and two other men and carrying another sheep, this one's still alive. When they put it on the ground and step away I realize that it won't be alive for long, they've already slit its throat. In all, my family killed seven sheep on Saturday.

The meat was delicious; they grilled it all up right there in the house. The only thing that I had a hard time dealing with (yeah I was actually ok with the bloody scene upstairs) was when they started bringing down the "scraps" in buckets: skins, feet, intestines, horns, heads (without the skin—this was the creepiest—eyes and teeth still there but no skin--)

I was glad to have the experience, and am glad I had a chance to go back to my family for a little bit—but I don't think I'll be signing up for a repeat any time soon. The soccer field across from the house was still full of sheep—these lucky bastards didn't get purchased for this holiday and will most likely end up in the wood chipper like the rest of the left over Christmas Trees…or you know, the sheep equivalent.

ISP (bum bum buhmmmm)

Ok, ISP has commenced. I am still petrified. I have NEVER conducted first hand research before in my life and now I have to do it in AFRICA and in FRENCH! Shoot me. Why'd I pick this program again? Kidding, I've loved the program, it was the right choice, but I am having a hard time getting my head around this project—mostly because all the people I am going to interview are inaccessible this week because Tabaski (2^nd Eid) is Saturday and everyone is too busy buying their sheep and getting new clothes made to talk to me. I've been trying to do "archival research" this week and we'll see how next week goes.

I opted to take them up on the offer of supplementary wolof lessons during the ISP period. So twice a week I have wolof. I think I am learning more in wolof now than I did all semester (different teacher—different techniques). I can make sentences now (sort of…) some examples include:

Ndax ñungi jënd ay tisi? – did they buy fabric?

Lutax nga baal sa xarit? – why did you forgive your friend?

Démb, ñaari ginaar nga jënd—yesterday you bought two chickens.

Gisuma bukki—I did not see a hyena.

Dañu tayaloon biig kon jánguñuwoon—we were lazy last night so we didn't study

Ay bik yu bari laa amoon—I had a lot of pens

Bingeen juillee, lekk ngeen bu bari—After praying you (pl) ate a lot.

Ay xar ci Dakar lañu seeroon—the sheep in Dakar were expensive

You know…really useful sentences!!! Today is thanksgiving and a bunch of us are going to be having chicken and carrots, and some kind of cake thing, not quite the same as good ol' American Thanksgiving but hey, we take what we can get—including the weather that doesn't go above 85 anymore—it's sooo much cooler out now. But still feels really hot when you're out in the sun from 10:30-2. Otherwise, it feels much much nicer—almost cold!!! (which scares me since at its coldest it doesn't get colder than 75…and I am going to go back to NJ at the end of December with no winter clothes! (poor planning on my part—they are all in storage in NC).

That's what's up for now.

Hello Clarice…

Deciding for sure, a week before ISP starts that I was going to stay in Dakar was really stressing me out. When possible I like to have details planned out so this was driving me crazy. Now, because I had thought I was going to be leaving Dakar, the group of people staying in Dakar had figured out that they'd be a group of 4 and they'd get a two bedroom apartment. Nice for them. Anyway I can't join the group because 5 people in a two bedroom would be a bit tight, and five people in a three bedroom would be a bit expensive. This leaves me to find my own lodgment, which will be kinda lonely.

So apparently Papis, the office assistant, has a cousin who lives in Kedougou, but lives here too, and he is like a room finder—I guess he works on commission to find rooms and apartments (mostly, I think, for us Americans). Anyway Karim was helping me and another girl look for apartments or rooms. This is where you say "wait wait, if you're both looking for a place to stay why don't you share a small apartment, that'd be cheaper!" to which I'd reply "thank you!!! I agree completely". Anyway apparently the other girl is very set on being on her own. Something about she doesn't like to mix friends and living situations. So Karim is helping us both look. The other girl actually ends up renting Karim's room from him, but his whole family is there too and the neighborhood is far from school—so I didn't really want it.

I was really worrying that I wasn't going to find anything seeing as it was Friday before we start ISP on Tuesday. GARRR. Luckily one of the two boys on the program lives in a host family that also rents rooms to travelers and students have rented rooms there during ISP before. Perk: wifi and food included. downside: he'd still be there in his "family" and I'd be a boarder. But it was a good back up option. For our "budget" we are looking to spend around 100,000 CFA for housing, this place would have been 150,000 CFA but INCLUDED at least one meal—therefore a really good deal.

Friday, Karim stops by school and says he has a room for me to look at. It's in Point E (the same neighborhood as school—also one of the fanciest neighborhoods) and we can go check it out. This is where I meet Clarice. (it's unclear whether this is really her name or if this is her "western" name, people tend to introduce themselves using names like: Pierre, Elisabeth, or Gerald). Anyway, Clarice has crazy hair. I am sure that she is not crazy but if you were to judge her from her hair alone you'd say "whoa that lady is crazy" and by 'crazy' I mean legitimately loony. But she's a very nice lady from what I can tell so far and her house is really nice.

She lives there with her brother (from what I can gather). I can't be certain, because I wasn't listening that closely, but I think she said her husband comes in the evenings—leading me to assume it's a polygamous marriage. So she showed me "my room" and it's fine. She was talking about moving the huge armoire in but I was thinking, "I've been living out of my suitcase for two months, I think the dresser is fine!!" so I don't think she'll be putting the armoire in my room. There is also a mini fridge in my room—not sure it works—and it looks like it's from 1973. The bathroom is SO nice. Exciting that 1) there is a "chaise Anglaise" (English Chair= porcelain toilet) 2) there is a BATHTUB!! 3) there is a bidet <--probably won't use it but it reinforces my attempt to explain the fanciness.

Moving in on Tuesday.

America Night

So we’ve been in Senegal for over two months and we are finishing up with classes. Tuesday is the start of our ISP period—the ISP is a unique part of all SIT programs during which each student conducts independent research on a topic of their choosing related to the target culture. Since we are getting ready to disperse somewhat and we’ve been here for long enough that we are really starting to miss the silly little things from America, we decided to throw ourselves an American themed party.

We each prepared a “dish” from America—improvised of course because certain ingredients are hard to come by. We had: Pizza bread, Mac & Cheese, baked beans, salad, stir fry chicken in a lime/honey glaze, brownies, frozen chocolate covered bananas, pineapple upsidedown cake, and peanut butter cookies.

If you know me or my family (which you PROBABLY do if you’re reading my blog) it is pretty likely that you’ve eaten our peanut butter cookies. It is the world’s simplest and most surprisingly delicious recipe. So easy that for “professor day” in 3^rd grade, when we all had to teach something to the class, I decided to teach everyone how to make these cookies. One egg, one cup of sugar, one cup of peanut butter. That easy. Of course I ran into a few problems.

1) In a country with so many peanuts, they don’t really eat peanut butter—finding that would be a big challenge. I was optimistic about the French grocery store: Casino. While on the expensive side I was confident that they’d have peanut butter. I had a lot to do at school (and was waiting to look at a room to rent for the next month) and so a member of the group who was going to Casino was going to get me a jar of PB. Check.

2) I needed sugar. Not wanting to burden my peers who had enough of their own ingredients to hunt down, I decided to buy sugar from our friend Samba at the boutique across the street. The only sugar he has is Vanilla Sugar, I figured that’d be fine, add a bit of a vanilla aroma to the cookies.

3) Eggs, not a prob. Got those

4) The group gets back from the grocery store and the only thing that RESEMBLED peanut butter was labeled “peanut paste” and came in a 1 kilo tub. So this paste is called “OLECA” –interesting because there is a choco/peanut spread called “CHOCOLECA” and it’s amazing, so I guess this is the same thing without the choco. It is a very bitter goop that is not really like peanut butter at all. It’ll have to do

I get to mixing up the “dough” and by dough of course I mean sludge. Surprisingly enough they were not only edible but pretty decent. Not quite what I’d intended but everyone said they were good. So that’s good I guess. But now I have a big tub of “peanut paste” hmmm…

After our feasting we put on some pixar shorts <-- so much fun. And now (yes now because I am at school and therefore have internet) we are watching Casablanca, which a surprising number of us have never seen—including me, so I should stop typing and start paying attention!!

my dream from last night:

It started here in Dakar at a restaurant called LGM (Le Glacier Moderne) and we (me and whoever was there, you know how faces are in dreams…) were becoming the new owners I guess so we had to design new t-shirts. But while they were carving the chalk board (yes odd I know) we decided to go to a concert.

So. Suddenly We (some people—indistinct which ones—from my program) and some people I don’t like from high school (why them I have nooo idea) piled into cars to go to this concert. The first two cars were convertibles and they filled up quick so I was the only one (of the people I like) who didn’t fit in the car: sadness. Which meant that I was stuck in the Hummer filled with people I don’t like.

Anyway we arrive at the venue but get ushered into a reception hall where there is some kind of luncheon going on. It was almost like a REALLY boring speech was required before we went to the concert. But some people in my group were pissed and said “we didn’t drive out here for THIS” so we left to walk through one of those REALLLY LONG maze things that are supposed to control long lines (like at amusement parks) it was pretty empty so we ran through but that makes you dizzy you know?? Anyway just as I am turning a corner the driver of the Hummer (no names though I know who this was…) yells “BEYONCE!!!” and boom, there I am standing next to beyoncé. I shook her hand and we walked together in the line for a while I asked to take a picture and she said yes. Then I told her about the interpretive dances that Maddie and I would do to “halo” to de-stress ourselves—she loved it!

More moving around in line (w/o beyoncé) then somehow I am alone-ish with Akon and we talk in wolof!! (though he is Senegalese, I don’t actually KNOW that he speaks wolof…but anyway it’s a dream—also MY FIRST DREAM IN WHICH I SPOKE WOLOF!) We did greetings and basics: I am a student etc etc. Then I told him my name was “Mame Diarra” the name that the tailor who works for my host mom gave me my first week here. It was pretty amazing. So the concert started then something happened (I forget what) and they announced “oh sorry we’ll have to finish this tomorrow…” so I saw Akon’s roadie and told him to tell Akon that “Mame Diarra” said hi. Then Akon comes out—he’s soo famous and meets so many people that he didn’t remember my name—but he recognized me and gave me a back stage pass—AWESOME, but only one, I was trying to negotiate a few more when the beeping started and I had to wake up.