The Silence of the Lambs

This week has been marked by the celebration of Tabaski, the biggest Muslim holiday of the year. It is sort of similar to the North American thanksgiving celebration. Family members from all other regions come together for several days of feasting upon Turkey sheep. The main difference between Thanksgiving and Tabaski: the freshness of the meat. Now when I say freshness I literally mean the sheep was killed and cooked the same day.  Now when I say the sheep was killed, I mean every family kills the sheep themselves. Over the past couple weeks, the sheep population has multiplied twentyfold as sheep herders have brought their sheep to sell to the Saint-Louisians. They were all gathered in one large area located just down my road. Here is a picture I took at night:

People started buying them last weekend and bringing them to their houses. My host family being Christian did not celebrate Tabaski or buy any sheep. Fortunately, one of my Senegalese friends Pape invited me over to his house for the celebration.

I woke up on Wednesday morning to the call to prayer, put on my Boubou, and went outside. It was quiet, eerily quiet. No people in the street, no taxis honking at us, no children shouting “Toubab”, nothing. Dan and I walked over to Jan’s house (Jan is a volunteer who works for a different company, and is good friends with Pape as well.) Along the way, we bought some bottles of coke and ananas (sparkling pineapple flavored soft drink) along with some fruit to give to his family as gifts for having us. We waited at Jan’s house for a while for Pape to come show us how to get to his house. While we were waiting, we suddenly heard several loud hitting sounds, followed by loud yelping screams. The killings had begun.

Pape eventually showed up around 11:00 and took us to his house. It was definitely not as nice as my host familys house, but it was quaint. By the time we arrived they had already killed and skinned the sheep, and all that I could see was a large piece of skin lying on the ground with a still intact skull attached to it.

The women had already removed all the meat and were now cooking it. We all sat down on a mat and waited for the food to be ready. Around 1pm we were served a big platter and commenced to eat in the traditional Senegalese style; that is sitting on the floor (on a mat) circled around one big bowl or plate. Oh and eating with our hands, or rather our right hands. The dirty left hand is not used for eating, and is reserved only for bathroom use. The platter consisted of ribs and onion sauce, and was pretty good, but not quite the filling dish that everyone had said it was. After, we had some fruit, and Pape made some tea. Then Pape told me if I was ready for the second meal. It turns out our first dish was just an appetizer. The next platter consisted of more meaty sheep parts like legs, etc, French fries, and of course onion sauce. We stayed at Papes until about 6pm just talking, eating, and drinking tea, then thanked him and his family for having us, and walked home.

For dinner, La Taverne, one of the bars in town where we have quiz night every Wednesday, had bought us a sheep and prepared a meal for us for being such good customers. It was funny to see all the other volunteers wearing their new Boubous and dresses. The dish they served us here consisted of Sheep, cuscus, and yes, onion sauce. It was probably my favorite dish of the day. The night was finished off with a concert by one of the local Senegalese bands, which was particularly interesting tonight due to the presence of a male dancer dressed in some sort of sheep dress/outfit complete with spilling intestines. Overall, it was a very interesting day. My only regret was that I didn’t get to watch the actually killing of the sheep. One of the other volunteers managed to take a video though, so I will try and see if i can upload that sometime this week

Camel Ride

The Lampoul Desert

This weekend I went to a desert about 2 hours south of Saint Louis. I went with three other volunteers who had all arrived within the past two weeks. We organized it with a travel guide in Saint Louis who drove us to the desert and back.

We drove along the road and stopped at several places including:

 1) a 150 year old Baobab tree that looked like Rafiki’s tree in the lion King

 

 2) a small village where we were given a huge bag of peanuts

 3) a spot just on the side of the road where we sat under the shade of some trees and had a picnic.

We got to the desert around 3 in the afternoon, where we were shown to our little campsite tent/huts.

 Then we went for a walk through the desert. I had never been to a desert before, and this place was just incredible. The Lampool Desert is actually quite small and from one of the bigger sand dunes you could see the entire barrier of trees that encircled the desert. The sand was very fine, and had a really interesting orange tint to it that made it almost glow in the sun. It was an amazing feeling climbing to the top of an enormous sand dune and being able to see this beautiful sand stretching out for miles upon miles.

 Later in the afternoon, we went on a camel ride which was just such a cool experience. Check out the video and pictures below:

For dinner, we had a nice three course meal at the campsite. It was a really surreal experience because we were eating at tables with cutlery and tablecloths etc, but we were in the middle of an actual desert. Overall It was just a really nice, relaxed experience. I’ve put up a lot more pictures on fb if you wanna see more of the trip.

Distributing Beignets

Today I went with a group of other volunteers to help distribute the beignets. We walked to a Talibe centre sponsored by projects abroad called espoir (hope). There we met up with a few Senegalese guys who worked for the centre who would take us around to the Daaras where we would distribute the beignets to the Talibe. Before we left however, the guy who ran the centre gave a good 10 minute speech in Frolof (French-Wolof) about brotherhood, honest work, and other things that seemed far too emotional for a Monday morning. As we began to leave I asked Sara what the speech was about. She told me that last week one of the guys who worked at the centre turned another one in for smoking weed. Getting caught smoking weed here carries a heavy penalty of two months in a Senegalese prison, so this was a pretty big accusation. The guy accused had been arrested last Thursday, and had spent a day in prison where he was given no food, until he was cleared of the charges. I don’t think that either of those guys were there today, but it was just some big controversy. Anyway I digress.

We walked along the road and went to 5 or 6 different Daaras distributing the beignets to every Talibe there. There were a couple half decent places that didn’t look like they would be that miserable to live in, and then there were those that were, well, miserable. One in particular made a pretty  deep impression on me. It was situated about 15 minutes away from the centre, and the road to get there was filled with makeshift sewage systems and stagnant odors. I was told by one of the Senegalese guys taking us there that this Daara was nicknamed “le Daara de mouches” or the Daara of flys. I soon found out why. The place was extremely dirty, and flies occupied 20% of my visual field. I peeked into one of the rooms where the children were memorizing pages of the Koran, and saw… hardly anything. The room was poorly lit, and at first all I saw was twenty sets of white eyes staring up at me. The pleasant smell of the beignets must have alerted them to my presence;  a fresh shift from the foul odor of feces that seeped out from the nearby bathrooms. I threw the sachets of beignets out to the children, and they all wolfed them down ferociously. Not too many “mercies” though. I guess that they don’t teach manners here, only useful things like the Koran. I am sure they will all have very successful lives.

Religion   1

Progress  0

How to make Beignets (donuts) in 15 easy steps

Step 1 acquire ingredients and instructions from someone more culinarily inclined (Sara).

Step 2 Call over someone more capable of properly mixing ingredients and properly making dough (Mia).

Step 3 Put In a large (LARGE) bowl and ask host mum if she can make room in the fridge for it. Use force if necessary. The fridge can take it.

Step 4 Leave in the refridgerator overnight. Pass the time by staying out all night partying pretending to celebrate Halloween, but really just using it as an excuse to party in one’s Boubou (traditional Senegalese outfit)

Step 5 Wake up and check on dough. Ask host mum if you can borrow the bowl (hope that she has forgiven/forgotten about that knife you borrowed and lost last week.

Step 6 Go to a rooftop, along the beach preferably, and meet up with all the other aspiring bakers.

Step 7 Start rolling the dough into small balls and placing them on a tray. If the dough is too sticky because you couldn’t follow some simple instructions and added too much water to the mixture, then add some flour.

Step 8 Lick excess dough off of fingers and sides of bowl. Ignore that voice in the back of your head telling you not to eat uncooked dough made with Senegalese eggs.

Step 9 With the assistance of some more experienced cooks (Sara’s host mom and sisters), start boiling oil in pots.

Step 10 Use a large draining spoon to take the beignets out of the pot and into a bowl.

Step 11 Sample one to make sure they taste good.

Step 12 Sample another. Just to be sure.

Step 13 Start putting beignets into small plastic bags.

Step 14 Put little plastic bags into big plastic bags that are to be given to the Talibe centres. Pocket some for yourself, all that cooking was hard work.

Step 15 Job well done. Clean hands (weapon of choice – tongue or sink as you prefer) and go home.

An objective description of Daaras

For those who don’t already know, a Daara is a school where children in Senegal go to learn the Koran. The children who study the Koran in these Daaras are called Talibe or disciples. The majority of them are boys, and their ages generally range from 5-25 years old. They come from all over Senegal, and even neighbouring countries such as Mauritania and the Gambia. The majority of them come from very poor families who cannot afford to raise them. The families will often send them to some of the bigger towns in Senegal like St. Louis to learn the Koran, or sometimes just to experience hardship . Each Daara is run by a Maribu who is in charge of teaching the Talibe the Koran, and providing them with food. However, because nobody pays the Maribu to run the Daara, he often sends the children out to beg for money so he can feed them. Some of the Maribus are very corrupt and merely use the Talibe to beg for money which he just takes for himself. The Talibe generally spend 10 years memorizing the Koran, usually at a pace of one page per day, and 10 years learning what they’ve memorized. Because they must memorize the Koran in Arabic, and none of them know Arabic, it takes a very long time to learn and understand it all. Most families will give their leftover food to the Talibe, but they are still a very big problem.

Update

Sorry I havnt been putting up many posts recently ive been really busy the past couple of weeks. But here are the top ten most interesting things that have happened this week.

1.       Last Saturday was Georgina’s last weekend so we started off at the French Cultural Centre in town where a jazz band was playing. One of the volunteers actually wnet up on stage with the band and sang a couple songs with them which was really cool. We proceeded to go out to several bars before going to a night club in town. Returned to chez moi at around 6 in the morning.

2.       I have a roommate now. His name is Dan and he’s from London. He’s cool.

3.       I bought a Bou-bou. A traditional Senegalese outfit. It resembles a set of nice pyjamas.

4.       I started lessons with a French professor. 2 hours every afternoon. Really think my French is improving (at least the listening part)

5.       It rained again on Sunday. My room got slightly flooded, but because there is a slight slant, most of the water went onto Dan’s side of the room. We filled three buckets of water up while draining the room. I was literally scooping water up with a dustpan.

I’ll try and upload a bunch of pictures sometime this week.

Mal au ventre

I woke up on Sunday morning with an upset stomach, and my Dad always said I was overly dramatic when I was sick so:

7:00 First thought, “too much to drink last night?” No, only had two beers, couldn’t be that. “Dehydration?” Could be, better drink some water.

9:00 This isn’t helping much, ughhh my stomach.

9:30 Huuuuughhhh, huuuughhhhh. Head in a Senegalese toilet. This Can’t be very sanitary.

10:30 Ugghhh still feel like shit. What if I have something serious? Appendicitis? I heard that you get a sharp pain in your gut – ughhhhh – sounds about right. Do they even have surgery places in St. Louis? Maybe I should call a doctor.

11:00 I’ll call Sara firt and ask her what I should do.

“hey sara, hows it goin”

“Yeah Im not feeling so good”

“No clinics open on a Sunday huh, great”

“Yeah I don’t wanna wait till Monday”

“Meet you at the hospital in town? Okay”

“pay up front huh? Okay I’ll bring some cash. See you in 20 minutes”

11:07 Okay stand up now – No, no, no, back down, back down

11:10 Okay slowly this time. Okay open the door. Damn its sooo hot out – ughhhh – don’t pass out in the road.

“Psst, Psst, Taxi!”

“En ville, a l’hopital”

11:20 “merci”

Now where do I go? And is Sara here yet? I’ll call her

“Hey are you here yet?”

“10 minutes okay, so where should I go?”

“Right after the gates, okay, see you soon”

So is it this right or this one... Ughhhh, maybe I’ll ask this guy.

“Bonjour, ou est-ce que je peux trouver un docteur?” (Hello, where can I find a doctor?)

“ah d’accord, merci” (ah okay, thank you)

Now what the hell did he say through the doors over here? Arrgh where the hell is sara!? Hmm maybe this is the place to go.

“Bonjour, J’ai le mal au ventre, est-ce que je peux voir un docteur?” (Hello, I am having stomach pain, can I see a doctor?)

“D’accord, j’attend pour un moment” (Okay, I will wait a moment)

I guess I’ll just sit her – Uggghh  - I better not puke in the hallway…

11:30 Ah finally.

“Hey Sara”

“don’t worry, they don’t have an open bed just yet, so im just waiting”

“Yeah my stomach hurts pretty  bad and I keep getting this sharp pain in my stom– uggghhh”

“Yeah I think its gotta be the fish from last night as well, is anyone else sick?”

“Just me, of course… Hey looks like they have an open bed for me.”

11:40 So I guess I just lie down here. Doesn’t really look like they cleaned it or anything after that other guy used it. Maybe this plasticy stuff on it makes that okay…

“Est-ce que le docteur viens” (Is the doctor coming?)

“D’accord” (okay)

“Elle ne peut pas rester ici? Mm D’accord…” (She cannot stay here? Mm okay…)

I guess Sara’s not allowed to be in the room. Ah this sucks, why did I eat that stupid fish!? Krista and Kate are gonna have a laugh when they find about about this. All that bullshit about the dangers of meat, damn vegetarians. Uggghh where’s this doctor!?

11:50 Finally this must be him. White coat, stethoscope, looks pretty official I guess.

“Bonjour”

“Oui j’ai mal au ventre depuis cet matin et j’ai vomi plusier fois” (Yes, I have stomach pain since this morning, and I have thrown up several times)

“Pardon?”

“Je ne comprends pas. Est-ce que ma amie reviens pour umm translater?” (I don’t understand, can my friend come back to translate?)

11:52 “so they wanna know how long I’ve been here, umm about 3 weeks right?”

“No I’ve taken my malaria pills everyday”

“no this is the first time I’ve felt sick”

“haha oui je mange le thiebodienne”

“He thinks it was the plates at the beach, ah I  see.”

“Yeah okay I’ll give you the money and you can go buy the drugs, thanks Sara”

11:55 ugghh so now what? Is this my nurse? Oh damn that’s a big looking needle – are they hooking me up to an IV!? Uggghhh I don’t know if I can handle this. Phew she’s just cleaning the top of my wrist, maybe this will numb it as we – ARGHH FUCK!

“Je voms, je voms, non maintenant!”

Huuuuughhh, huuuuuuuuuugghhhh, ugh shit. Huuuuughhhhh.

Ugghh I guess she doesn’t want me puking in the sink. At least the needle is already in. Will it hurt when they put the actual tube in? Wait whats she doing with my fing – AH FUCK – Agh what the hell did she stab my finger for? Blood sample maybe? Okay this must be the actual IV drip that shes about to attach. Okay that didn’t hurt. Good. Uhhh I hate having needles in me – am I gonna faint? Okay just lie down, close your eyes.  Don’t think about it….

2:15 ugghh how long was I out for? What time did I even get here? Looks like the IV bag is empty, so what now? Wheres that nurse? Is Sara back yet? Looks like the nurse is gonna take the IV out now – Agh could this lady be any rougher? Hey looks like Sara’s back.

“Hey”

“oh wow theres a lot of stuff”

“You had to go to 3 different pharmacies! Wow thsnks a lot”

“Yeah I’m feeling a little better, my stomach still hurts a bit, but im not puking or anything. I am really light headed though, do you have any water?”

“Haha yeah thanks head Toubab no more fish on the beach, I’m warning all the other volunteers about this excursion. Hey here comes the doctor”

“D’accord donc je prends les medicaments et je serai bien?” (Okay so I take this medicine and I will be fine?)

“Merci beaucoup”

2:20 “Okay lets get out of here. I’m just gonna try standing up first – nope, nope lets wait a couple minutes”

2:23 “I’ll try again – nope ah-ha maybe I need a wheelchair for now…”

“you’ll go get one? Cool, thanks Sara”

2:26 Okay I can do this, just sit down in the chair. Okay there, not so hard.

“lets really leave now”

Good Samaritan

Today me and some of the other volunteers cleaned a Daara. A Daara is a home for Talibe (the street children of Senegal. Normally I do not even clean much at home, so this experience was somewhat new to me. The Daara was a four story building painted in gray (A somewhat cruel color that seemed to serve only to emphasize the bleakness of the Talibes’ living conditions). We started cleaning from the top floor down, first sweeping and then washing and scrubbing. It probably would’ve taken all day if not for the Talibe who decided to join in and help us clean. We worked from about 9-1. To be honest, even when we were finished cleaning, it still did not seem that this would be a very sanitary place to live. The odor of feces floated throughout the second floor where the bathrooms were situated, and I saw cockroaches the size of an iPod Nano. It’s really a shame that there wasn’t much more we could do for them.

As I was walking back home, I saw a little boy in a wheelchair trying to get over the curb. I went over to help him, but he stood up. I quickly realized that he was bringing the chair to an old sitting against a wall. The man started shuffling himself over to the chair with his hands, so I asked if I could help him. He replied with a “wah” (yes in Wolof), and I carried him to his chair. He thanked me with an appreciative handshake. As I turned around to continue on my way, a few older Senegalese women who had seen the whole ordeal thanked me and gave me looks of respect and commendation. Now all I need to do is help an old lady cross the road and I can join the Justice League or run for a political office. I can see the slogan already: “DJ Riefler: Teacher, Volunteer, living cliché”

“This is just so Cliché”

Today was the last day of classes for adults. Because some new volunteers had come in last week, I was no longer teaching an adult class. I went to school anyway though because I had to practice for the ceremony on Thursday. I am doing a song with Katie (an Irish volunteer who can really sing) and Bashir (a Senegalese guy who loves to play guitar and make music) about AIDS. As it was so hot on Tuesday, we decided to go up on the roof to practice. This was my first time on a roof in Senegal, and the view was simply spectacular. It was about 6pm, so the sun was just about to start setting and you go to see this beautiful orange glow. Bashir, Katie, and I started practicing our song. Because the night classes don’t start until around 6:30pm, a bunch of the students and teachers came up onto the roof to watch us play. Soon we had everyone singing with us for the chorus “Take care, of your life, anyway. If not, AIDS will take, it away.” After our performance I handed over the guitar to Bashir who wanted to practice a new song with Katie. I walked over to the side of the roof to watch the sunset with one of the other volunteers, Krista. The sunset looked absolutely stunning. Krista turned to me and said “Look at us! We are playing guitar, on a roof, at sunset. This is just so cliché.” I laughed, but she was definitely right. I must have seen a scene like this in at least twenty different movies. But then again, who actually gets to live out those scenes in real life?

African Basketball

This is African Basketball

You know how there are some things you cant really explain in words, you have to see them for yourself? Well the rain in Africa is one of those things. Today it started raining, then it started pouring, then it started to literally feel like someone was pouring buckets o water on my head. The raindrops here aren’t like those thin droplets you get in England. No, the raindrops here bear a much closer resemblance to hmm… horse druel: lengthy, heavy, and above all else, something you do not want all over your body. It just so happens that I was playing basketball when it started raining today.

                I had arrived at the courts around 4. As is becoming a common occurance, there was some sort of meeting going on thatprevented us from playing until about 5. A minor inconvenience. As is also becoming quite a common occurance, the coach did not show up today, so we went straight into matches. All the younger age groups play first, so I had to wait yet another hour before I could start playing. But another minor inconvenience. Just as the last game was finishing up, however, it started raining. My first thought was well this sucks, I’ve waited two hours to play, and now I have to go home! Just as I was taking off my shoes, however, I heard a “hey Lamine aren’t you gonna come play?” I was skeptical at first, but then I thought well hey, im here, I’ve been waiting 2 hours, TIA, why not? I played one of the most entertaining games of basketball in my life.

                It started out fine. It was raining, but because the court isn’t really, well a court, it wasn’t too slippery. As the game progressed, however, water began to build up on the court. Soon there were spots that you couldn’t dribble through, and eventually dribbling turned into rolling. At one point, I felt like I was walking through little puddles. The game soon regressed to netball with nobody really dribbling/rolling the ball, just passing and shooting.  After about 20 minutes of playing in these conditions, I asked one of the players on my team if we were even playing basketball anymore. He chuckled and replied “This is African basketball”.

                We continued to play for another 10 minutes, but by now I literally had to wade through water to get from one end of the court to another, so we stopped. I went home absolutely drenched in water, and I don’t think my shoes will be dry for another week. Regardless of the little inconveniences, playing “African basketball” is probably one of the coolest things I have ever done.

Slamming

Yesterday was Jess’ last night. To celebrate, we went out to a bar called the source. Situated in a dodgy back alley of the cornice area, the source is a place where friends go for cheap drinks and a good time (what I imagine the sign in front of the source would say if it existed). We started off the night with a few drinks and a drinking game called commando drums (courtesy of Olivier, a Swiss guy on holiday in Senegal). After a while, one of the other volunteers said I should go get my guitar so we could sing a song for Jess’ last night. Since I only live a half minute away, I figured why the hell not. I returned with my guitar and Babacar proposed that we do some slam. For those who don’t know, slam is like improvised poetry/rapping with a simple beat in the background (in our case a guitar). It is meant to be deep and emotional. I started off by giving babacar a simple picking pattern on the guitar, and he began to sing/rap in Wolof. I only know about 5 or 6 phrases in Wolof, but I could tell just from the way he was speaking and the body language of the other Senegalese guys in our group that the song was emotional. My guitar was passed around to several other Senegalese guys who did their own slams, and we all joined in singing. People sang in Wolof, French, and English, which made for some very humorous songs. Some odd choruses that come to mind are “Jess, Jess, you have a nice dress”, and Babacar’s “English lover” song (a homage to the English language, not something, well naughty). We slammed till about 3 in the morning. Needless to say it was my favorite night here so far.

Class Swapping

Today at basketball I taught the lower level kids. It was good fun because we did a bunch of dribbling drills, and I had to teach a lot of the fundamental dribbling moves. Most of them found it difficult, but like most of the younger Senegalese I have encountered, they were good natured and had fun with it. I was particularly excited today because one of my students from my English class who had expressed an interest in playing basketball had come to play today as well. He was a little shy at first, but before long he was joking and playing with the others. After a while I split them up into teams and let them play some matches. I noticed that one of the boys was particularly good, and I told him that I would ask the coach if I could move him up a level. He came up to me gleaming later and asked if he could come to my English class (the student from my English class had told him I was also an English teacher). I really am making a difference after all…

Notes on Basketball

Today was the first day of basketball teaching. As I am growing accustomed to in this country, it was not what I expected. As usual, Banda came to collect me from my house and walk me to my placement. It is a big concrete court in the backyard of a church about 5 mins away from my house. There are six hoops: two lengthways, and two on each half of the court width ways.  The concrete was not very even and it is very evident that this area was not designed as a basketball court. I was introduced to my supervisor, a large Senegalese man wearing sweats. He told that I was to take a group of players and run drills with them.  I was given the group of 10 girls whose ages ranged from 10-18. I did left-handed lay-up drills for a little while, before splitting them into teams and letting them play a match. I probably should’ve brushed up on my French Basketball vocabulary because I struggled to tell them what to do and relied mostly on demonstrations. Thank God I made my first shot because I don’t think I would have been able to control them otherwise. It was evident however, that one of the nine year old could have done a better job than me.

After about an hour, the supervisor called us over, and split us up into teams for some matches (Part of my placement is to just play with the older guys). I didn’t play bad, but not playing in several months had made me a bit rusty (I did have a 3 point play one game though). Nevertheless, I still felt a bit out of place, and kept getting looks that were to say “I am not quite sure what to make of this character.” My insecurities were soon put to rest though. At the end of the matches, one of the better players (6’3 Senegalese guy who absolutely stuffed me one play) came up to me and said “bien joue, vous etes un bon jouer.” In English, “well played, you are a good player.” Perhaps the highlight of my trip so far.

Induction

The past couple days have lightened my spirits. I had my induction into my program yesterday and I got to meet a bunch of other volunteers, practically all of whom speak english. We went out for drinks to some bar called Embuscade. The main beer here is called flag and its not bad, but its definitely no premium lager. There are a few irish volunteers, americans, british, so its a nice mixture.

Today I visited the summer School where I will be teaching for the next few weeks. Its not bad, a little run down as every building here is, but still not bad. I met the director of the school who gave me my schedule, a grammar book, and a Senegalese name. Lamine. I sat in on a class that a couple of the volunteers i had gone out with last night were teaching. It seems to be a very relaxed envvironment, and i think I will enjoy this.

Map of Saint Louis

I live on the mainland on the right (sor)

My family - quick stats

• Home to Madame Cecile Tine Dione, a nurse. Her Husband Monsieur Gregoire Aly Dione, a transporter. Their son Augustin (21), a student at a university in St. Louis. Their daughter Sandrine (24), also a student, but doesnt live with the family.  They also have another daughter, a little girl named Dessous (11)
• Augustin is cool, he speaks some english and helps to bridge the language gap between me and my family. He is a football fan (Liverpool supporter), and also a tennis fan. We play fifa on his playstation sometimes (he beats me). He is usually around for lunch and dinner which is also nice.
• The dad is nice. He doesnt speak any english, and his accent is hard to understand sometimes. He is there at every meal as well. He always has something interesting or funny to say. If only I could understand him...
• The Mom makes wonderful food. She is nice, and does a lot of work around the house.
• The older daughter I havent seen much of, but she speaks some english as well.
• The younger one is always laughing about something. She is very cute.

A Brave New World (Culture Shock)

Admittedly, my first day was not how I expected it to be. I was reeling from the shock of the new world I had entered. The temperature has yet to drop below 20 C, and the humidity is killer. The people are well different… There are those who are friendly and love to meet and shake your hand, and those who really do not like toubabs (westerners). While the majority fall into the former category, I stilll do feel a bit out of place.  I think the best way to explain what is happening here is to make an analogy to Avatar.

I am Jake Sully (DJ Riefler). I came to this new world (Senegal), in hopes of having some sort of paradigm shift. I am living with the locals, but I do get to see my own kind (the volunteers) every night though. I am learning the language of the locals, living with them, and learning their customs. Everyone recognizes me as an outsider, but some people like me and others do not. If you’ve seen Avatar you’ll have some general idea of what my life is like.

My placement - quick stats

·         I am teaching English in the mornings and basketball in the afternoons

·         In October, school stops so I will be taking French lessons in the mornings and teaching basketball in the afternoons

·         I have a new Senegalese phone, brick city

·         The projects abroad office is my home away from host home away from real home. Many of the volunteers come here to relax, use the free wifi, and talk in English.

St. Louis Quick Stats

·         The main part of St. Louis is the island just 20 mins away from my house.

·         It is a tourist site because of the historical value of the town. I am not a big history buff so I haven’t done much research myself, but if you want further details you should google it.

·         The roads are paved, but since there are no sidewalks, all the dirt from the side of the roads slides into the road and hides the tarmac. So it looks like this:

·         The markets are along my way to town: they are a little dirty…

·         This is the bridge that links the town of Saint-Louis to the mainland (sor). It looks a little dodgy right now because they are doing construction, and are halfway through redoing the bridge. The nice looking grayish half is the new half. The other rusty side is well, the old part.

My Home - quick stats

·         The house is the equivalent of a one floor apartment. There are three bedrooms, one kitchen, a bathroom, a foyer, and a living room (the nicest room in the house living up to European standards almost).

·         My room is very nice with a tiled floor a wardrobe, desk, night stand, and two beds

·         The bathroom is really to put it plainly a bit dodgy. The shower is in a corner of the small room marked off from the rest of the bathroom by only a slightly lowered elevation, and a drain. The sink looks as though it will fall off any moment, and the hanging rack on the side of the wall does fall off every moment.

·         The living room has a TV (shocker) complete with the son’s PS2 (absolute shocker), and is filled with nice couches and paintings on the walls.

The Journey

Hey everybody, this is my first official post from Senegal. It is about my journey, sort of a long story , but theres a lot to be said. So I hope you enjoy:

The flight from London to Tripoli was fine, however upon arrival in Tripoli, I realized that I had really left western civilization. The security team at the airport did not know English very well (Arabic is the main language in Libya) and I was scared that I would not be able to find my gate in time. After being shown the wrong direction several times, I eventually found my way to a dodgy looking gate. I soon found myself to be  one of three white people on a packed plane. The man sitting next to me was a friendly Senegalese man who attempted to tell me a bit about Senegal, not that I could understand him much.

After landing in Dakar, we disembarked into a dark, extremely humid environment. At the bag terminal I was relieved to find that both of my bags had come through intact (putting rest to fears that they were still in Tripoli because they had not been checked all the way through). I was pestered by a man who insisted he help me carry my bags outside. Not having any senegalese money nor any idea as to where I could find the projects abroad rep  being sent to pick me up, I was growing increasingly anxious. After going through security however, a young black man came up to me and asked if I was Duncan. My face lit up and I replied with a relieved "oui!". The young man quickly took care of the man who had been trying to "help" me and then introduced himself as Banda. I spoke with him in my limited French, and asked him where we were going from here. He replied that we were going to a hotel where we would stay for the night. He hailed a taxi in the typical Senegalese fashion of hissing and clicking at a passing automobile. Now I use the word automobile not to sound sophisticated, but to illustrate a difference between your typical London or New York taxi and this beat up contraption. The "cab" had black tape covering the left side of the back of the car, a broken mirror on the right, and a missing trunk top. Banda laughed in his boyish yet reassuring way, and shoved my bags and I into the back seat. From there we went to the hotel, a place even more precarious (EXTREMELY DODGY) than the cab.

The hotel's lobby looked like a (DODGY) bar. The room Banda took me up to looked like it would cave in any minute. Complete with a dirty mosquito net, peeling walls, and an even more destitute (REALLY DODGY) bathroom. Banda told me we would be getting up at 5 tommorow morning, and left me to my cosy (DODGY) room.

I was awoken the next morning by a knock on the door. I promptly replied with a "Je suis levee" (I am up in French), gathered my bags and left the room. Still groggy from last night’s sleep I stumbled down the stairs in the dark and approached Banda. He was sitting at the bar drinking some tea and conversing with the hotel attendant. He greeted me enthusiastically with a handshake, and then told me something that really made me wonder what I had signed up for. “Duncan , ah-ha” chuckled Banda as if merely bemused, “there is a slight problem. There is no bread in this town…” He laughed again and told me not to worry. I was beginning to sense that Banda was either extremely laid back, or just plain crazy…

After leaving the hotel without any breakfast, Banda and I proceeded to take another cab. This one was a little nicer than the last, but still not spectacular. He drove us to a place about 20 mins away where we would hire a “sept-place” taxi to take us to St.- Louis. A sept-place is a type of Senegalese automobile (yes, automobile) that is named after the sept-places or seven seats available in the car. In our case however, the car was to be filled with nine… Fortunately, we were the first ones to hire this particular sept-place, so we got to choose our seats and were not stuck in the (dreaded) middle. While we waited for other passengers to arrive, Banda went to the nearby fruit stand and bought me some bananas and a large bottle of water. It seems that I would be having breakfast after all.

When the car was filled, we set off on our 4 and a half hour journey to St. Louis. For the first three hours I stared vacantly out the window pondering the many mysteries of life… including why on earth I had decided to volunteer here of all places. We passed many small villages along the way, most of which were places I could not see myself living in for 3 months. I had been assuming/hoping that St. Louis was a beautiful seaside metropolis for the past few days. I would soon find out however, that this was not the case. My dream would not be spoiled yet though, for 3 hours into the journey the automobile broke down. It started very unassumingly as the driver began to slow down and pull over (after 3 hours I thought it must be for a bathroom break). When I saw smoke steam to seep through the vents however, I realized that this was not the case.

The driver turned off the engine, went in front of the car and pulled up the hood. Needless to say, a certain catchphrase of one John Mcenroe came to mind… “YOU CANNOT BE SERIOUS!?” Banda looked at me with that grin that a child has when he knows something is wrong but knows that it will not affect him in a grievous way. I too managed to contort my face into a smile as I looked at the sheer irony of the situation. A beat up car breaking down in the middle of the road, nowhere near a mechanic? I mean come on. Eventually the driver told us (after realizing he had no idea how to operate under the hood of a car) to get out and push. So we complied and believe it or not, the car started working again. We all quickly hopped back in to our “cosy” seats and set off once again.

We reached St. Louis about an hour and a half after the incident. While not an absolute shithole, it was no seaside utopia either. Banda hailed another taxi which would take me to my host family’s house. This the house I would be staying in for the next three months. The place I would sleep, drink, eat, go to the bathroom, shower, and live in. It was… quaint.