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.