Apparently, I suck at writing blogs…

Well, it’s been QUITE a long time since I’ve last written.  I feel a little embarrassed… Needless to say, a lot has happened in the last two months or so, so I’m going to break it up into 3 main parts: 1) Christmas trip to Gambia, 2) New Year’s and Magal, and 3) Current goings-on.  So here goes, get ready!

Gambia, Man!

Well, Neal, Sarah, and I decided to spend Christmas in the Gambia this year, so on the 23^rd of December, we packed our bags and got ready to go.  The trip there took a measly 15 hours (to go maybe 500 km/ 310 m), but with many a bump on the way as the road leading from Dakar to the Gambia often disappeared, and we were forced to drive on the sand heaps next to the road.

We spent the first three nights in an adorable little hotel on the beach.  It was extremely picturesque: just a few “bungalows” about 50 feet away from the beach.  Free breakfast was also included!  We spent most of our time on the coast just relaxing and eating.  One day, we decided to go into a small town nearby and check out the market.  Gambian’s tend to be way more chill than Senegalese when it comes to pressuring tourists into buying their shit, which was quite surprising.  That afternoon, we also went to the world-famous crocodile pond and got to touch a few of the scaly creatures.  Sarah was quite thrilled by this, haha.  We spent Christmas day on the beach and then headed into a really touristy town nearby to have a nice Christmas dinner.

After our few days at the beach, we headed into the interior of the country, to a place called Bintang Bolong lodge, to explore the forest.  Once again, the trip was a little rough--- to start with, a police officer took us into the middle of an intersection, planning to stop every van to see if they were going in the direction we wanted.  Thankfully, by God’s mercy, the very first van to stop was heading where we wanted to go.  After two other forms of transportation, we arrived in a dusty village with one road heading down the middle of it.  At the very end of this road, right on a small branch of the Gambia River, sat our small camp site. 

The staff at Bintang Bolong lodge were amazingly friendly, and we had a really good time with them.  The sort of maitre d’, Ibou, invited us to drink tea with them one day, and since then, they always included us.  We did a lot more relaxing at the lodge, but we also got to experience a little bit more of the Gambia.  One morning, a local guide took us on a monkey walk.  Yes, I did say a monkey walk!  We went into the forest that surrounded the village in an attempt to see as many monkeys as possible.  There’s a Wolof proverb that says: “Ndank, ndank, mooy japp golo ci ñaay,” meaning, “Only with patience can one catch the monkey in the forest.”  Whoever thought that one up was a wise feller.  Them monkeys are slipp’ry bitches!  Shoot!  After an hour in the forest, I had given up any hope of seeing monkeys, but all of a sudden, our guide shouted and pointed high into a tree, where we saw a monkey jump onto a branch and then disappear.  Wow!  All in all, the tour was quite interesting because the forest is beautiful and very interesting to explore.  Voir photos ci-après.

That evening, the staff invited us to a kora concert at the local elementary school (where apparently all the community events happen).  The kora is a traditional Senegalese instrument that sort of sounds like a piano mixed with a guitar.  It’s very pleasant.  Anyway, the concert was really awesome.  Lots of people were dancing, and of course, everyone laughed when we, the toubabs, started dancing in the middle circle with everyone.  What really surprised me though was the intense smell of marijuana that permeated the entire kindergarten.  Apparently, Gambians really enjoy smoking the reefer, even when children are present!  I guess the laws are less strict there… that or the police don’t feel like going into the middle of bum-fuck nowhere to enforce them.

So, anyway, that was our trip to the Gambia.  The return home took even longer than the way there, and for about two hours of it, we were travelling on a dirt road, during which time, the Gambians thought it wise to keep the windows open so the dust could fly in and out of the van… don’t ask me why.  Consequently, I looked about 5 shades darker after getting off the bus because I was completely covered in dust (see picture below).  I had to sit my smelly/dusty self down squashed in between 4 Senegalese men for the reminder of the ride (10 hours), and what a treat that was!  Oh Senegal/Gambia!

Our bungalow!

Neal and Sarah readin' on the beach

Bungalow on the mangroves in Bintang Balong!

Forest tour

Neal with several Gambian children

Wonderful Weekend in Dakar

        This past weekend, I paid another visit to my beloved Dakar, and what a trip!  A friend of Mike's in Brazil, Ivens, was here in Senegal for a conference in Dakar, so I went to show him around the city and such. As usual, I travelled with the utmost comfort, in a sept-place seated next to a very large bubu-ed woman (a bubu is a traditional Senegalese outfit- as women age, their bubus tend to get larger and larger, flowier and flowier, and their foulards (festive hats) more and more spectacular).  Several times throughout the voyage, she decided it was perfectly socially acceptable to put her arm around me and lean on me so that I couldn't move at all--- whatever.
        So, I arrived after a few very uncomfortable hours and headed to the hotel where the conference was.  Upon stepping out of the taxi at the hotel, I could not believe my eyes.  I had never in my life seen such a luxurious hotel!  It was completely un-Senegalese!  There was a beautiful pool and glass ceilings and a really nice restaurant.  I almost shit myself!  Throughout the weekend, I experienced a completely different type of Senegal that I had not yet seen--- the toubab Senegal of luxury hotels and high-class downtown Dakar.  The hotels had toilets and comfy beds and even hot running water!  I felt so spoiled!  It was a strange feeling.  Sometimes, I almost felt like I was in New York City... almost.  It was also strange because most of the businesses in downtown Dakar had started to put up Christmas decorations.  This compounded my feeling of being in a place that was very un-Senegalese.  But then a merchant would approach me with his rack of sunglasses or his crappy touristy items and follow me for several minutes trying to make me buy... and then I happily remembered I was still in Senegal.
       Anyway, I showed Ivens around town and did all the necessary touristy things... a visit to Marché Sandaga, probably the biggest and most overwhelming market in Senegal, where we purchased many a touristy item, and of course a visit to Ile de Goré, which I described in an earlier post.  It ended up being a very fun weekend.  And best of all, I got Pudgy back!  But after all the fun, it was back to the old grind.  I'm once again taking bucket showers with freezing cold water, taking dumps in a whole, eating crappy cafeteria food, and drinking tea in the wee hours of the morning with Senegalese friends... and I couldn't be happier!  And now, what you've all been waiting for... Pudgy pics!

Pudgy à la plage!

Pudgy needs a pick-me-up!

Erik and Pudgy à la plage... we're both gettin' a lil' pudgy!

 

Tabaski Holiday! It's like choose your own adventure... but with slaughtering and goats.

     Hello Dear Readers!  It has once again been quite a while since I've written, so I'll have to search deep in the depths of my memory for this post... well at least a week ago.  So, today, I'm going to tell you a little story about Tabaski.  "What is Tabaski, brother Erik?"  I can hear you asking.  Well, dear readers, Tabaski is a Muslim holiday where everyone goes and visits their family, wherever they may be- spends time with them, buys new clothes, and slays many many goats in the name of Abraham and Allah.  So, last week, like all the other Senegalese, I prepared to visit my family in Dakar to get a little taste of this, the biggest holiday of the year.
      The fun all started early in the morning on Friday, when Neal, Sarah, and I were to take a caravan (a bus jam-packed with people) to Dakar.  Now, the bus was originally supposed to leave at 4 AM, but that apparently wasn't early enough, so the organizers decided to push it back to 3 AM.  In addition, they called us the night before saying we should be out to the bus by 2:15 AM.  "Well, okay," I thought, "but seeing as this is Africa, and we are on African time, I'll get out to the bus at 3:30 and everything should be fine."  Haha, silly me, thinking I could predict Senegalese people.  Oh no.  I get a disruptive call at 1:45 AM asking where I am and why I'm not outside with my luggage.  Oookkkaaay... so I hurry my lil' self up and get out to the bus and board.  And then I sit in my seat.  And we wait.  And then we finally leave at 3:15.  So glad I got there on time!
     So, after much ado, we reached the outskirts of Dakar by 7:30 (which is actually fairly quick for Senegalese transportation).  Unfortunately, we chose the most trafficky time possible, and it took us another 3 hours to get to our final destination of downtown Dakar.  So, it ended up being a wonderfully comfortable trip of 7 hours, crammed between a huge (as in tall and broad-shouldered, not fat) Senegalese man and a prickly window.
    But finally we were there.  So I headed to my host family's house and impressed them with my new-learned Wolof words.  Instead of saying, "Hi, How are you?  I'm studying Wolof," I could now say, "Hey, what up, yo, I'm studying wolof at UGB in St. Louis"  It's amazing how quickly you learn idiomatic language when you're around youths.  After about 20 minutes my new arrival stature wore off, and I sort of just faded into the background of daily life again, which was nice then because I was TIRED!  Damoonnaa sonn!
     And, finally, Sunday arrived, the day of Tabaski!  I got up early so that I could go the mosque with the boys.  Apparently, women don't go to the mosque on Tabaski, only men.  The women stay and pray at home.  Not sure why it's like that.  So, I got up and hurriedly took my shower and donned my Tabaski clothes (see pictures to follow).
     I got out of the shower, ready to engage in some cultural/relgiousy experiences.  But none of the men were there.  I asked my host mom where they went, and she replied, "Oh, they went to the mosque.  I thought you knew we did that on Tabaski."  And I was like, "Yeah, I was gonna go, I was showering."  And she just laughed, probably thinking, "Silly toubab, thinking he can keep track of Senegalese people."  They're so slippery, the Senegalese!  Always disappearing somewhere and then coming back with handfuls of bread or suckers or something weird.
     So, anyway, the boys got back, and it was finally time for the goat slaying.  I excitedly/frightedly waited and watched as they led Haphaestus (the big ol' goat) out of his cage.  My family had hired 3 professionals to do the slaying because they didn't want to do the nitty-gritty.  Two of the men held Haphy down with his throat by the drain, and then 1, 2, 3, they slit his throat!  And the blood came gushing.  It was quite disgusting, but I made sure to watch.  It was a cultural experience after all!  All this happened as the other goats nervously looked on in their cage, probably thinking they were next.  Poor guys!  But we gave them some vegetables to munch on, and they were fine.
     After all the killing, the professionals disemboweled and skinned the goats and then removed the meat, which the ladies of the family then cooked on open spicket/grill things.  I wasn't able to eat much of the meat because I watched the whole affair, but I did try about so as not to offend my host family.  They were really surprised when I didn't want to try the goat testicles.  I almost barfed when they offered them to me.
     After a few hours the food was ready, and the family started to come over.  So many cute babies!  Most of my host dad's brothers came over, and they all brought their adorable baby boys and girls which I played with.  One of the little boys heard the goats baa-ing and thought it was hilarious.  For the rest of the afternoon, he was at the goat kennel, shouting, "Bagaaaaaa!"  So adorable!
     After eating with my family, I made the rounds to the other toubab houses, where I ate several more times and drank much bisap juice, alxamdulillaaaay, it's good!  I'll soon be writing a post about the varieties of fruit juices in Senegal, so tune in!  So, that was Tabaski!  A fun and wonderful day which was nothing at all like I expected, but good nonetheless.  Until next time, dear readers.  Ba ci kanaam!

Tabaski Smorgesbord!

Baby Bamba!

                                                                   

Poor Haphy, all dead and stuff

My new home: St. Louis

Holy SHIT, a lot has happened!

So, it’s been quite a while since I’ve written, and a lot has happened, so much condensing will be done here.  First and most importantly: we have now moved to St. Louis, where we will be going to school at Université Gaston-Berger for the next 8 months.  I’m actually writing from Dakar because I’m here for a few days for Tabaski.. .more on that later.

Anyway, so we left for St. Louis about two weeks ago.  I was quite excited to leave and finally see the place where we would be spending most of our time in Senegal: UGB (Université Gaston-Berger).  So, the day of our departure, we all got on our big Toubab bus and hit the road. 

The journey went quite smoothly.  Outside of Dakar, Senegal is very undeveloped, so we got to see a lot of untouched natural areas.  Looking out the window of the van, I really got the sense that I was in Africa.  Tons of baobab and acacia trees (pictures to come), sandy fields with people cultivating millet and peanuts, and tiny villages where horse carts are the main form of transportation and agriculture is the only way of life.  It was quite an interesting sight, and definitely not like the US.  Once you get out of Dakar, there are very few people and even fewer tall buildings (excluding Thiès, a relatively large city on the way to St. Louis).       

As I was saying, the journey went quite smoothly… until we hit the pot holes… and then the sheep… and then the cows.  Yes, every form of domestic animal you can think of passed in front of our bus.  Most of them we almost hit.  But all survived, hooray!  And, oh the pot holes.  They came up all of a sudden.  For several hundred kilometers, the road was quite smooth, albeit small (only 2 lanes), until suddenly only half the road seemed to be there, and the rest was who knows where… probably in the piles of rock on the side of the road.  So, for about 50 km, the road was pretty bumpy.  My ass definitely hurt.

But then the road smoothed again.  And finally, after 5 hours (and only 260 km or so), we arrived on the outskirts of St. Louis.  So, we’re going along and along.  We sort of pass on the outside of the city and don’t see much, except for dumpy water and lots of trash… and then all of the sudden we stop and start turning left, and I see the tiniest sign that signs “Université Gaston-Berger.”  Our university literally appeared out of nowhere, completely in the middle of God-knows-where hot-ass village, Senegal.  My new home!

Shake Those Hips! Going out in Senegal

So, last Friday night (haha, Katy Perry song), I got the opportunity to go out and party in Senegal for the first time.  Here is how I would describe it in three words: Sketchiest night EVER.  My night began at 10:00 PM when I speed-walked my freshly showered ass in 90-degree heat to my friend's house, for fear of getting mugged on the way.  (Dakar tends to be a fairly dangerous place at night, so I was urged to use caution.  Many of my friends had their money stolen, etc...)  

I arrived safely at my destination and after much night-time adieu, I found my friend Sarah’s house.  After 30 minutes, half of the Toubab population of Dakar arrived at my friend's house for our big "go out" night.  Shortly thereafter, our host, Sarah's host brother Yousou, herded us outside where we preceded to stand and wait for another twenty minutes, unsure of what we were doing or what the Senegalese protocol was for standing and taking up space in the street.

 Once again, the signal came to move so we followed the Senegalese guys, supposedly looking for booze to "pre-game."  The first place apparently was closed so we continued to amble down the unlit road, past abandoned buildings, to a diesel-selling gas station next to a huge highway.  We picked up our supplies from the gas station (a 50cl bottle of HORRIBLE gin and a gazelle ananas, a pineappley sugar drink).  One attendant in the gas station looked at my friend Grace and proudly stated, "Danga rafet," which means "You're beautiful," in Wolof.  She didn’t really understand so she replied, "Waaw, waaw!" which means "Of course!"  I burst out laughing, and Grace just looked really confused.  I told her what the man had said to her, and she blushed and ran behind one of the aisles.  Hahaha!

So, after the clusterfuck that was getting our beverages was done, we looked for a good place to pre-game close to the gas station.  Oh, and what a place we found!  The unlit courtyard of a shnazzy apartment complex!  Are we creepers?  No!  ‘Cause this is how you do in Senegal.

Okay, now we’ll skip ahead to the club.  My favorite part of the night is when the Senegalese jams started a-pumpin’.  All of the Senegalese men in the bar descended onto the dance floor and started moving their hips in ways I didn’t even know was possible.  Every once in a while, a few would come towards me and show me how to do.  I would follow, and it was like a hip-shaking man parade on steroids!  And then came the shaky leg dance.  I think I have found my favorite dance of all time.  Maybe I’ll post a youtube video sometime for everyone’s enjoyment.  I can only describe it as a cross between a series of hip pops and a disco fever dance.  Quite similar to the shtanky leg actually.  I now know where the shtanky leg originated from… and it is a club in Senegal full of men with their wiggly butts and hips.  I can’t wait until my next dancing excursion!

Toubab!-- A Short Treatise on Foreigners in Senegal

I would just like to put things on hold here and explain a very important word in Wolof: TOUBAB.  This word means foreigner, and it is used to describe EVERYONE who isn't Senegalese, but especially white people.  Little children love to shout it at me as I walk by.  Sometimes they even make up rhymes, and by rhymes I mean saying "Toubab, toubab, toubab" 80 times in a row.  Often it is used affectionately, like, "Oh, cute puppy Toubab, he has no clue what's going on."  Often it is used in a less affectionate manner, "Oh, cute puppy Toubab, he has no clue what's going on... let's play him and take his money."  The latter is less common, but it always pays to be cautious, haha.  Anyway, I'll be using this term rather frequently, so now you now!

A Post Devoted Entirely to Goats

It's a party and EVERYBODY invited!

The baby, Junior.  He's got quite the hop, skip, jump.

And here they are, the animals of the hour: Our goats! 

Haphaestus, the big goat on campus.
 Ain't nobody mess with his ass.

And here's Ruby:
her shining wit and docile mine make her the favorite

Ol' No Name.  He has yet to prove himself.
Once he does, he shall be christened with a name.