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.

My Host Family

So, this is another entry that could last forever, so I’m going to condense quite a bit.  I’ll start with the first day I moved in and then just describe a few interesting points.

Okay, so it was the second day we were here, and we were supposed to move to our host families that night.  I, of course, was nervous as a little beaver because I had NO idea what I was in for.  With much difficulty, we got all my luggage into the cab and drove to my house.  We got there and our housing coordinator, Aby, took me in to introduce me to the family. 

Now, their house has an outer courtyard thing and then a small tunnel-like covered pathway that leads to their main courtyard.  So, I’m walking through this tunnely thing, and the first thing I see is a goat’s head sticking out up ahead.  It turned towards me and let out a huge, “BAAAA!”  I almost ran away I was so frightened.  Aby noticed and sort of giggled to herself. 

So, anyway, after my extreme startlement (which I’m pretty sure isn’t a word), we entered the courtyard and this tall, slim woman came to greet us--- my host mother.  The minute Aby saw her they both burst into greeting each other, asking about the family, how business is going, etc.  So I just sat and tried to look pleasant.  After a minute or so, my host mother turned to me and introduced herself, offering me her left wrist because every other appendage was busy.  We bumped wrists, and I tried to tell her my name in Wolof.  As is common here, there was some miscommunication about what the hell my name actually is and how to pronounce it.  I introduced myself as “Errrik” using an American “r” sound.  That clearly wasn’t working, so I just said, “Call me Erique” with more of a French “r.”  Okay, one hurdle crossed.

Then I got my first glimpse of the layout of the house.  Their house is a traditional African set-up: a fairly large open courtyard made of concrete with a big tree in the middle and several small rooms attached.  It is common in Senegalese culture to not show guests around the house or smother them too much.  They are simply expected to figure things out and eventually integrate into household life.  This was quite different for me because I am used to entertaining my guests and, similarly, being entertained when I visit people.  Definitely not the case here.  The family makes sure to give me my space and rarely brings me into their conversations or household schedule.  It is up to me, the guest to assert themselves and join in the fun.  It’s certainly a different experience than in the United States but no less interesting or valuable.  I’m really working on asserting myself --- asking questions, entering conversations and games, and generally making myself visible.  It happens only slowly, but I’m getting there.

Now, about my host family.  It consists of the mother and father, and their 4 children, 3 boys and 1 girl, ranging from 9-19 years old.  The oldest boy recently left for France (so we slayed a goat for him), so now there’s only 3.  We also started with 4 foreigners in the house: me, 3 other Americans, and 1 Italian, but the Italian girl is now gone.  It makes for quite the full house but quite a lot of fun.  My host brothers are pretty silly, and my host sister is sassy and awesome.  Also, her French is impeccable, which I find very impressive.  We also have another family relation living with us, who helps out the mother with cooking and cleaning.

Okay, well, that’s enough for now, but I’m sure I’ll be writing more about my host family soon.  And now, a few pics.  I don't have any pictures of my family members yet, but those will be coming soon.

More Goats!  Left: No name, Right: Haphaestus

GOATS!  This one is Ruby.  And yes, I have named them, even though we're killing them.

My room... with dirty clothes hanging out the window.

Tree.

The Doorway of Goats, as I call it

Outer Courtyard

Our first Excursion from Dakar- L'Ile de Goré

This trip is starting to get fuzzy in my mind, so I’ll have to try and remember all the good deets.  So, L’Ile de Goré (Island of Goré) is an island (duh) just off the coast of Senegal near Dakar where many of the Europeans first landed before actually getting to Senegal.  Since the 1500’s, it has been a favorite tourist/living spot for many of the Europeans who colonized Senegal, including the Dutch, the Portuguese, the British, and last but not least, the French.  It also housed La Maison des Esclaves, a holding prison for African slaves before they were shipped to the Americas.  And, it is to this happy island that we went. 

So, on Saturday, we all, that is me, Sarah, Neal, and David, one of our comrades who’s studying at the Baobab Center and who is in the Navy, took a taxi to Le Port de Dakar to hop on a ship to Goré.  And anyone who knows me and ships, knows that we do not go well together.  We are like bacon and cupcakes… it makes you puke.   Surprisingly, the ship from Dakar to Goré was a much more pleasant boat ride than I have ever before experienced.  It was starting out to be a good day.

So, after a short boat ride, we arrived at the island.  And it was beautiful!  The island is covered with green, separated by beautifully-colored houses, in subtle tones of yellow, red, and orange (see pictures below).  A wonderful beach that laps warm water onto your toes.  A perfect Mediterranean paradise.  Until the vendors and locals see you…  There are vendors that accost you almost everywhere in Senegal, but the ones on Goré seem to be of a very different breed.  Not only are they insistent and pesky, but they also get very upset when you don't purchase their wares--- a very unpleasant experience.  But after a few minutes, we managed to fight them off and head to our destinations- La Maison des Esclaves and La Musée des Femmes.

First, La Maison des Esclaves.  Seeing this place, where they kept thousands and thousands of Africans before shipping them in terrible conditions to the Americas where they would serve the rest of their lives as slaves, was a very saddening experience.  In La Maison, there are separate rooms for women and men, which are then further divided based on height, weight, strength, etc.  The smallest rooms, those for the fit men, held 20-30 men, standing, and were impossibly small.  It was difficult to imagine how so many people could fit in there, even if they were chained and standing.  We were also brought to the door where many Africans took their last steps on their soil and boarded the ships bound for America.  They called it the point of no return (picture below).

After, La Maison des Esclaves, we visited La Musée des femmes, which included a collection of objects that traditional women used in their daily lives, along with other traditional clothing and such things.  It was a very interesting exhibit, and it allowed me to finally have an image of things that I had read about in African novels, such as calabashes (containers for carrying) and traditional headdresses.  Anyway, it turned out to be a very good day, albeit a little overwhelming because of all the pesky vendors.  And now, some pics!

Erik acting like an old African woman and fanning himself with his oppukaye, which he lost later that day :( 

The lovely beach of Goré

The Door of No Return

Finally here!

Welcome to Erik’s wonderful blog.  

Well, it’s taken me a while to get this thing started, but finally, here we go!  Le Sénégal! Well, I’m here now, and WOW are things different!  Too much has happened so far to make this a diary-like blog, so I think I will pick different aspects of life here in Senegal and describe them as I have experienced them.  As I post more entries, this will hopefully paint a (semi) clear picture of what I am doing here and what I am experiencing.  I hope you enjoy!

Note: Some of these events may have been embellished (made up), but they portray the general emotions and feelings of the author... aka what was going on inside my head.  Most of the comments should not be generalized to portray "all" of Senegalese culture.  I will note when I think something is a good explanation of Senegalese culture, but otherwise, the blog should be taken as mostly humorous with a few interjections of cultural significance.  Thanks for reading.

So, for the first few entries, I’ve decided to have a short countdown of the 5 things that have been most surprising to me so far.  This will mostly be material/physical things because those are the most immediately apparent and the easiest to describe.  As mentioned above, I prefer to add a little humor to my entries, so please don’t take them as an extremely accurate portrayal of life/culture in Senegal.  These are simply my own (often exaggerated) impressions.  I will make a note when I think something is a good description of Senegalese culture, and I wish to make a point of it.

Let's start the countdown.  In last place, but certainly not least

#5.   Some Like it Hot!

Probably the first thing that was immediately apparent... it's damn hot here!  Every day I step outside and the sun starts to burn my skin.  The sun really does feel like it's closer to Earth here ('cause it is, I guess).  I cannot tell you how much I sweat here, gallons upon gallons a day, I'm sure.  I honestly think Senegalese people are afraid I'm melting.  To illustrate just how hot it is--- here's a short example before I had adjusted to the heat.  The day after we arrived, we headed to the Baobab Center, where we take all of our Wolof classes, participate in activities, and basically get orientated.  After a short introduction, it was time for our first activity- the "neighborhood sortie."  Now, I'm not sure who planned our time here, but having us do a neighborhood sortie (which by the way means neighborhood excursion) at 11:00 AM during the hottest time of the year was definitely the WORST idea.  Almost immediately when we stepped outside, my sweat glands started doing their job.  After five minutes, I stopped and asked our guide, "How long is this supposed to last?"  "Two hours," she replied.  I almost cried.  I have no idea what the temperature was, but it had to be at least 95 degrees with 80% humidity.  If you're wondering what that feels like, picture yourself as a green bean being steamed on the stove.  It's similar.  Thankfully, the shade was much cooler, alxamdulilaay (Thanks be to God), so whenever I found some, I quickly ran under it.  Anyway, eventually we returned inside, and I collapsed in a sweaty pile of shriveled awfulness.  Most days I check the weather, it says it's about 88 degrees... and feels like 102 because of humidity.  Yuck!  They tell me it's getting cooler soon, and I pray they are not lying to spare me pain.

And, coming in at #4:
 "Baa, Baa, Blacksheep have you any wool?"  "No, 'cause it damn HOT here, yo!"

Sheep, sheep everywhere, and Tabaski’s still a month away!  The Senegalese seem to love their sheep.  I don’t think I’ve seen as many sheep in my entire life as I have seen in the last week here.  They are EVERYWHERE--- in the road, hanging out in road medians, chilling on the sidewalk, and yes, even in my own host family’s house.  We have five sheep (now 6, but the one’s a goner anyway--- he’s getting sacrificed for my host brother who’s leaving, more on this later), and they are quite possibly the loudest sack of animals I have ever had the misfortune of having as an alarm clock.  Who needs an annoying alarm clock when you can have a flock of goats that baa’s their fricking heads off at 5 AM?  And then 7 AM… and then 9 AM.  Although I am vegetarian, I cannot WAIT until we slaughter them for Tabaski, a holiday in November when each family slaughters a goat to celebrate something (I’m not quite sure what yet).  It’s an Islamic holiday, and the people here seem to get really excited about it.  Everyone goes and buys new clothes and sits around as the butcher slays their goat.  Woot!  


More coming soon!