TABASKI!

To prepare for Tabaski my host mom sent my brother out the night before to buy our family’s sheep. He asked me to come with him, so I decided why not. We walked about ten minutes to an intersection with one of the main roads where we found about 100 sheep on either side of the street. Khadim and I found his cousin/friend that sometimes lives with us (I’m still unsure how everyone is related in my house). The cousin had four sheep with him, but Khadim and I ended up walking around talking to people about all sorts of things, and looking at different sheep for about three hours. At this point it was 10:00 and I was starting to get hungry for dinner, so Khadim walked home with me, but then went back out to find our sheep again. I can’t figure out what we did for those three hours, or why the process of buying sheep is so complicated, but alas. That night it was one of my friend’s birthday, so I went out after dinner and got home around 3:00 (on the early side for Dakar). I called Khadim to let me in since I don’t have a key, but he told me he wasn’t home. I was surprised he was out, since he has stayed at home since his accident, but I figured he was feeling better (side note—he is all healed now!) and back to hanging out with his friends. Thankfully my host mom hadn’t gone to bed yet, so I called her and she let me in.

The next morning I woke up and could feel the holiday spirit in the air. It was Tabaski! My host mom was busy in the kitchen chopping garlic, hot peppers, onions, and all sorts of other treats. The house was quieter than usual since everyone but my host mom, Mbayang, Khadim, and I had left to spend Tabaski with their immediate family. I joined Mère Tall in the kitchen and she told me that Khadim was still asleep. I could tell she was upset, but I wasn’t sure why, and couldn’t figure out how to react. She moved on quickly and asked me if I had seen our sheep yet. I hadn’t but asked her how many we had, and where they were. At this my host mom changed from upset to angry (thankfully not at me). She told me we only had one sheep, and it wasn’t even very big. She continued to explain how Khadim was supposed to have gone to buy four sheep, and then sell two (in order to make/save some money) and keep two for our family. Once again, it is unclear to me how this happened, but Khadim had returned home last night after I had gone out, having accidently sold all four sheep. He didn’t seem to think this was a problem, however, until his mom asked him what happened. Turns out, Khadim was out late, not to hang with his friends, but because Mère Tall sent him out again to buy more sheep. Unfortunately, late the night before the big holiday, sheep are hard to find and have been picked over, so Khadim stayed out searching past 4:00 A.M. and was only able to buy one skinny sheep. I found this story pretty funny, but managed to contain myself while with my host mom. I went up to the roof (really an unfinished third floor with only half its walls and no ceiling) to visit our sheep. I admit I am no expert, but he looked pretty big to me. Looking around the neighborhood I could hear baa-ing from all directions and most roofs, it was a bit disturbing since I knew their fate.

Khadim woke up before long, and went to the mosque to pray. My host mom, still grumpy, had finished all the work she had in the kitchen, so all there was to do was wait for Khadim to come home so we could perform the sacrifice. Khadim took literally hours, and when he finally did arrive home Mère Tall gave him a piece of her mind. It blew over quickly however, and we all made our way up to the roof. On the stairs my host mom turned to me and said, “did you know the last student who stayed with up had never seen a sheep slaughtered before?!” Huh, I thought, she must be the only one, but I told the truth to my host mom that I hadn’t either.

The men (Khadim and two neighbors who came to help) were already on the roof, struggling with the sheep to hold it still and at the right angle. I don’t think I mentioned this before, but the holiday Tabaski celebrates when Ibrahim (or Abraham) was told to sacrifice his son Ishmael, but at the last moment Allah gave them a sheep to kill instead as a result, every Muslim family sacrifices at least one sheep, the sacrifice is supposed to be done by the oldest son, with the sheep’s blood flowing towards Mecca. Watching the process was somewhat unsettling, but to be honest was much easier than I expected. The men kept it fairly neat, and there was never a moment when I thought I would throw up. The only “iffy” part was during the skinning/dissecting/cleaning process the family decided to put me in the hot-seat of a fun game I like to call, “have you seen this part of a sheep before?” as they held up various innards. The meat was taken inside and started cooking; we ate pieces straight off the grill, and it was some of the best meat I have ever tasted (it was incredibly fresh). For lunch we ate the meat mixed with onion, garlic, spices, french fries, mayonnaise, mustard, and ketchup. This was one of the few meals we didn’t use spoons for, but instead just reached in with our hands. Messy, but delicious!

The rest of the day was filled with preparing the remaining parts of the sheep. That evening, my sister Mbayang had a friend (cousin?) over, the two girls dressed up in their traditional Senegalese outfits, and went to see their friends in the neighborhood. This is the second night my sister has been allowed to go out for an evening.

Overall it was an eye-opening day. The only negative is that Senegalese generosity made my family give away lots of the sheep meat. Since Tabaski we have been eating a variety of intestines. While not my first choice, I am able to eat them for dinner without being rude or left hungry.

Rural Visits!

Last week our program organized “rural visits” for us, another week of no classes! Another student (Matt) and I were assigned an agriculture and environment Peace Corps volunteer in the Kolda region (central-ish Senegal, just below the Gambia), we honestly had no idea what to expect, and so I am glad to say, we had a fantastic week! The trip to Kolda took two days, since we traveled around the Gambia, Sunday morning a group of 13 of us took a minibus to Tambakunda (a 9 or 10 hour drive). It may have been a bit faster, but our driver was severely ill, we think with malaria. He stopped often to get out and either throw up on the side of the road (a pleasant green/yellow color), or to lie down on the road for a few minutes. We asked/told him several times he should go see a doctor, but he refused, and got pretty grumpy. Everyone made it to Tamba alive, and we spent the night in the Peace Corps house there. The next morning we woke up bright and early, divided into smaller groups (depending on where we were headed), and continued our journey. Six of us headed to the Kolda area took a “7-place” a station-wagon looking car with seven seats (ten points for anyone who can guess where the name comes from). The drive from Tamba to Kolda took about 5 hours, and we arrived just in time for lunch! Our six went to the Kolda Peace Corps house to meet our host volunteers.


Matt and I found Jason easily, and we quickly headed out to the village of Salamata, population 700. Although reluctant to get on another bus, we were eager to get to the village, and this leg of the trip was only 45 minutes. We arrived at the village just as night was falling, and although we couldn’t see very well, it was immediately clear how all aspects of life were different from what we have gotten used to in Dakar. We greeted the members of the host family we saw as we made our way to our Peace Corps Volunteer’s hut, but even that was difficult since the local language is Pulaar and not Wolof. We pulled water from the well in Jason’s compound (I was voted better than both Matt and Jason at this, but my victory was short-lived since they told me—in jest—that it was a woman’s job anyway), took bucket showers, ate leaf sauce for dinner, and then went to bed, although it was only about 10:00, without any electricity in the village, dark mean AMAZING stars, but also that there is not much to do but go to sleep. Another result is that we woke up pretty soon after the sun rose. Our day Tuesday was spent exploring the village. We got to see Jason’s projects such as an orchard, a vegetable garden for the woman’s group, and a bridge across the stream that grows to a river in the rainy season. It didn’t take very long to see the whole village, so we hung out in a neighboring compound. In the shade of a papaya tree we ate freshly picked peanuts off the roots. Since Jason only spoke English and Pulaar; Matt and I, French, English and Wolof; some of the one man from the village spoke Pulaar and French; and another Pulaar and Wolof. To say the least, our conversations were a hilarious mixture of the four languages, and I am amazed that we were able to talk about so much given our lack of a common language. We drank four cups of attaya (local tea) as we discussed topics such as: why Pulaars are better than Wolofs, what Matt and I are doing in Senegal, and how many cows each family in the village had. After three or four hours of this, we made our way back to Jason’s compound for lunch. The afternoon was uneventful; it was too hot outside to do much, thankfully it was cool (almost cold) at night, at times I thought I should use a sheet (Connecticut winter will be a shock to come home to in December).


Wednesday brought me to Diaoubé, home of the largest open air market in West Africa; vendors come once a week from Mali, Mauritania, and other countries to sell all sorts of goods. We walked around the market, and met up with some other students and their PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers). Since Jason had friends that would be in Kolda for only one night before going back to the US, he left Matt and I with Dave, another PCV in the Kolda region. Dave’s “village” more closely resembled a bustling metropolis. A separate elementary and middle school, a health clinic with a real doctor, several boutiques, a paved road, electricity, and two banks all come together to serve the 5,000 people living in Dabo. Dave was already hosting 2 students from the program, so the five of us had a great time. We helped Dave’s 7 year old host brother chase the baby goat named Skippy around the compound. The best part of this is that since Senegalese people don’t think words can ever start with the letter “s” they add an “e” to the beginning, so you have to remember to order an “Esprite” to drink, or you play “Esport”s, and you chase around goats named “Eskippy”.


On Thursday the five of us went to join even more toubabs in Wilma’s (another PCV) village. Wilma was also hosting two students from our program, and lived in a village of 150, so having eight Americans for lunch made quite the spectacle. After we ate the family sat in a circle, turned a metal bowl upside-down to use a drum, and started a dancing/drumming circle. The young girls would pull us in one at a time and make us copy whatever they were doing (which usually was impossible for me to imitate), while another girl would make a drum beat on the bowl. They got bored after a while, and so asked us to show them some American dances. We came up with the Macarena, the Electric Slide, and some miscellaneous dance moves that were laughed at. We also taught them to play limbo, and hopscotch, both were greatly successful!


Sadly, since getting to and from Kolda took us two days each way we could only spend three days in the villages. We spent a night in the Kolda Peace Corps house, and took real showers! Another LONG ride back to Dakar brought me home on Saturday night around 6, exhausted, and pretty smelly. I also thought I had gotten tan, but it all disappeared after I showered, so it turned out to be just dust. Overall a week well spent, I learned so much, and saw so much I have never seen before. Now we have a two-day week of school, and then Tabaski, a Muslim holiday for which every family has to slaughter at least one sheep…I will let you know how it goes!

New Friends: Baobabs for Everyone!

Also from our trip to M’Bour a group of about 6 of us ran into a man, who was very excited to meet Americans.  The man told us when we went home we should bring baobab trees home with us.  We laughed and told him that wouldn’t be possible.  He explained, “oh no, it would work great! You just bring a few baobab seeds back to the United States, and then plant a few everywhere, and then you could have baobabs in America as well!”  We then told him, it wasn’t that we didn’t want baobabs in the U.S., but it would be illegal to bring baobab seeds back to the U.S. and plant them.  The man seemed very concerned about this, and thought we were lying to him, he insisted that it couldn’t be illegal!  Unfortunately, it is.  We tried to explain to him that it would be bad for the environment since baobabs trees don’t grow naturally in America.  His only response was, “no, Obama is a good president, he wouldn’t make baobabs illegal.”  As a result of that comment and his question, “can’t you just ask Obama when you get back where to plant them? he wouldn’t arrest you!” we had to hold in our laughter.  After a few more back and forths and miscommunications all around, we decided to concede, and just agree to plant baobabs in America, he was elated, telling us how life in the U.S. would be much improved as a result, and how everyone would be happier because of it.  He then thanked us for our time, and introduced himself to us, first with his name, and then his Wolof nickname by which all his friends refer to him.  He had to explain it to us in French, and it roughly translates to, “large head, but with nothing in it.”  A good fit.

New Friends: Machete Boy

This is another story from fall break in M”Bour, you could say we had lots of adventures that week.  It is not about someone I technically met, but he DEFINITELY made an impression.  On our drive to the Sine Saloum delta we had to make a pit stop at a boutique.  While we waited in the van we looked out the window and saw a large crowd of boys ages 5-9 playing and running around.  How cute! We all thought, but silly us to be so naïve.  From the middle of the crowd, emerged a boy about 7 years old wearing a potato sack over his head, and had his arms and legs each wrapped in potato sacks, and other miscellaneous food packaging.  He was also holding a machete in each hand.  Turns out the game the boys were playing was: run around and be chased by machetes.  I know it was one of my favorites growing up too.  It was very scary to watch a 7-year-old with restricted vision (due to the potato sack) running at full speed…holding two machetes.  The cherry on top, however, was definitely when one of our group members started to climb back on the bus, when he noticed machete boy.  The two locked eyes, and for a short moment, the boy stopped in his tracks, he then slowly ran the blades of his machetes together to make a “clink clink” noise, while still staring our friend down, it was creepy.  Our friend climbed into the bus, very quickly, and soon the boy took off running again.  We asked our guide about this, wondering if it was normal for a boy to run around with machetes, and his only answer was, “oh yes, it’s for a festival” and no more.  We asked for clarification, and all we got was, festival. 

New Friends: Birthday Kiss

The night before my birthday I was in M’Bour for fall break with my friends, so we went out to dinner to celebrate.  Walking back we naturally split up, since twelve is a lot in one cluster.  I ended up walking with my friend Mike, and I blame him for this event (although we are able to joke about it now).  While walking with Mike, two men around our age approached us and struck up conversation, not uncommon.  They asked us where we were from, how long we had been there, and told us about themselves.  The conversation naturally split, so I was talking to one man, and Mike to the other, and I walked with the one step or two behind Mike and the other man.  The man told me it was too bad I was leaving M’Bour the next morning, and if I ever came back I could stay with him and his family, his mom would make me ceebujen (Senegal’s national dish, delicious rice and fish), and he could play guitar for me.  I told him thank you for the invitation, and Insha’Allah (God willing) I would come back, actually meaning, yeah right.  We got to the front gate of our house, and I said goodbye, but he asked me for my phone number.  I told him I didn’t have a phone, so he settled by giving me his.  I said goodbye again, but he leaned in to kiss me.  I turned my head sharply and quickly so he would catch my cheek since I couldn’t avoid it entirely.  This is when I found out that the man was actually a ninja, because he was able to maneuver and peck me right on the lips.  I was pretty shocked, offended, taken aback, and a few other things, so I froze for a second.  I was only able to turn my body, essentially boxing him out, to get inside the gate when I heard him say “Un autre, un autre! [meaning another]” over and over again.  Inside the gate, Mike was there waiting, having arrived about ten seconds before me.  He teasingly asked me if I got another number, and I answered, “yes, and a kiss, thanks for the backup!” Note: Mike is not a good wingman.

New Friends: Hi, I Love You

I get this greeting a lot (for lots of men, it’s the only English phrase they know), but usually I pretend not to hear, keep walking, or decide to be a nationality that doesn’t speak English for the time being.  One morning, however, I arrived early at our neighborhood meeting spot before the walk to school.  A man came up to me and said the now familiar phrase, “hello, I love you”.  But I responded in French, “no you don’t.”  He seemed confused, and asked me why not, so I explained that he didn’t know me, so he obviously doesn’t love me.  The debate continued in French, him asking me “well, how can I love you?” and “don’t you want a Senegalese husband?”  I replied no, and oh darn, I have a husband in America.  This did not seem to bother him one bit, some of his other arguments included, “but it is very important for an American girl to have a Senegalese boyfriend, otherwise you won’t get to know anybody,” “I need to go to America with a new wife, and I love you,” “Our children will be so beautiful, since I am African and you are American” “It is teranga [Senegalese hospitality, taken very seriously] for me to be your husband, my duty as a Senegalese man to welcome you here,” and many others.  It took a lot of will power for me to not burst out laughing at some of these.  Finally, I was getting tired of him, so I told him I had to go to school, goodbye.  He asked me for my phone number, which saying no to is ineffective, so I have begun telling people I simply don’t have a phone.  This worked, but he decided to give me his phone number.  I was happy to take his number, and discard it as soon as he was out of sight, as long as he stopped bugging me.  After handing me the paper with his number, however, he asked me if I would meet him in the same spot that night.  Uhhhh, no.  I told him I wouldn’t be able to, but on the spot couldn’t come up with a good excuse why.  Then he started to insist that I meet him there, so I said ok, thinking he doesn’t know where I live or go to school, and he has no way to contact me, I just won’t show up and that will be the end of it.  I was wrong (sort of).  His parting words to me were, “I will see you tonight, but if you don’t come I will hit you tomorrow morning, I know you meet here every day to go to school.”  Creepy.  Men here should really find better pick-up lines.  In the end, I threw out his number, didn’t go to meet him, took a different route to school (with a friend) for a few days, and haven’t seen him since.

New Friends: We Know a Club

Over fall break, in M’Bour our group was looking to go out one night. The twelve of us set off down the road in search of just about anything.  Three other girls and I found a local couple and decided to ask them if they knew anything happening nearby that night, or any places to go.  The rest of the group waited a small distance away.  The couple told us they were just planning on going out to a club downtown, and if we wanted to go with them we could.  Figuring why not, the four of us went ahead with the couple and the rest of the twelve followed a few steps behind.  We followed them to the main (a relative term) road in M’Bour, and they hailed down a taxi.  It then dawned on us that we didn’t know where we were going, so we asked them the name of the club, looking back to relay the name to our group, they were nowhere to be seen.  We called several people in the group, but couldn’t figure out where they were, or how we had gotten separated.  Our group of four called the others, and we agreed to meet at the club, since we were taking taxis, splitting up would have happened anyway.  The couple we were with convinced our taxi driver to squeeze six of us into a taxi meant for four.  While in the taxi, however, the two mentioned that we needed to stop at the woman’s house, to ask her mom permission before we went to the club.  Although we were slightly put off, we agreed to take the stop.  In retrospect, this was a little sketchy on our part, but we got out of the taxi, and followed the couple to the woman’s house, and talked to her mom in Wolof, when she agreed that her daughter could go out with us (note: the man and woman we were with were each about 25 years old).  We got back to the main road to catch another taxi (which in this region are just unmarked cars that happen to stop) and head over to the club.  We asked the couple if there would be a cover charge, and found out that it would be anywhere from $4-$10 to get in.  This took us by surprise, since most clubs in Dakar are free for girls.  We told them we were looking for the cheapest one, so when the taxi dropped us off in downtown M’Bour, we did a small tour to see how much each club cost.  Each time we got to a club the man would go ask how much the cover was, and then come report to us five girls.  At a third club, however, my friend Angie decided to go ask with him, it seemed like the clubs were more expensive than they should be.  The bouncer told Angie it would cost us $2 to get in, but our man came back to tell us $4.  Hmmm…We told him we wanted to stay at the club we were outside of, and he said, “no problem, just give me the money, and I will pay all at once for us to get in.”  Deedeet (no in Wolof) we told him, we can pay for ourselves, and besides, the price is half what you told us!  The four from our group paid the bouncer to get in, and the man we were with started to get angry (he obviously was hoping to pocket the extra money, but didn’t think we wouldn’t believe him).  At this point, he began to yell at us saying that we needed to pay for him and his girlfriend to get in since he paid for the taxi.  But he had offered to pay for the taxi, even after we asked several times if he was sure.  After a few minutes of arguing back, insisting that we weren’t going to pay for him to get in, we squeezed past the bouncer and into the club, where he couldn’t follow us.  After a few minutes, we had calmed back down, agreeing to forget about the jerk that tried to scam us, until he approached us on the dance floor!  Continuing to ask us why we didn’t pay for him, (and in case you don’t already think this guy is a jerk, he left his girlfriend outside to do this).  The four of us decided we had “to go to the bathroom,” so went and hid there for several minutes, until we heard the man getting kicked out of the club—very satisfying.  Another note on how much of a scum bag this man was, before the fiasco started, as we were walking to find taxis, the woman introduced herself to me, and said the man was her boyfriend, I asked her if they would get married, and she answered, yes, very soon.  The man, when introducing himself to me a few minutes later (he hadn’t heard what she had said) he told me the woman was his sister… liar!  thankfully, we had a four to one ratio on him, which made us feel much more comfortable; I am also glad, we were able to shake him off and enjoy the rest of our night!

New Friends: Neighbor?

One day while walking home from school my friend Hannah and I were approached by an older man (he was maybe 50).  He singled me out, however, and said (in French) “hi! I see you everyday walking to and from school, I own the boutique right next to your house.  How are you?” I didn’t recognize him, but I had never been into the boutique by my house, and I stand out a bit in Dakar, so I told him I was doing well.  He continued to walk with us, talking about his store, and how he was good friends with my maid’s family.  I mostly ignored him, because he was getting annoying, but was still listening enough to tell what he was talking about.  (Background cultural info: In Senegal it can be frustrating to have big bills because even the large, well-established shops they don’t have, or are unwilling to give out, change).  The man started talking about change, so I figured he, just like most Senegalese, was complaining about never having enough change.  Turns out, he was telling me he had way too much change, and not enough big bills.  That’s weird, I thought, but whatever, as we kept walking he asked me if I had any large bills I would like to exchange for smaller coins.  I didn’t, so apologized, but thought the conversation would be over.  The man kept pressing the issue, however, and I started to doubt his honesty.  He asked me if I had a credit card, and what kind it was, so I could go to the ATM and take change off his hands.  At this point he was skeezing me out a bit, but Hannah and I weren’t in trouble yet, and it was a situation we could easily get out of.  I told him I didn’t have my credit card with me, it was at home, to which he answered, “don’t worry, I’ll walk you home, you can get your credit card, we can go to the ATM, and then I will give you change.”  Needless to say, he was very eager to get my money.  I told him, my family was waiting for me, and I had to go home, it was too late in the day, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer,  it got to the point where he was physically blocking Hannah and I from crossing the street to get to our neighborhood.  After getting increasingly assertive, and then just plain arguing with him, Hannah and I push past him, and continue our walk (at a much brisker pace).  Thankfully, he didn’t follow us, I’m not sure what I would have done if he had, but we arrived home safely, and with nothing stolen.

New Friends: Street Attaya

I was going on a walk with my brother Khadim, about the second week here.  In Senegal it is very important to greet people, even those you don’t know, so when Khadim and I walk together I can never tell who his friends are, and who is a stranger that we just met.  A group of 5 or so men each younger than 30 was hanging out by a boutique that sells cold drinks, and Khadim greeted them and shook each of their hands.  The formal introduction showed me that he didn’t know these men, but I shook hands with them and the group of us ended up chatting.  They pulled out a few chairs from the back of the shop, and Khadim, I, and two of the other guys sat down.  Then they offered us attaya (tea, a Senegalese tradition) and Khadim accepted.  The guys brought out three glasses of attaya (attaya glasses are about the size of shot glasses).  I couldn’t help but laugh to myself about how sketchy the entire situation would be were I not in Senegal.  “Hey strange men, I don’t know, sure I will hang out with you! You have a drink, I would love to have some, oh look it comes in a shot glass, isn’t that the cutest thing…” that would be the last I was ever heard of.  Thankfully, I am in the land of teranga (Senegalese hospitality), and this type of thing is normal.

New Friends

I have decided to post some quick stories of some of the memorable people I have run into on the streets of Senegal.  Note: this is only accounts of the lengthy conversations, and does not include the many marriage proposals, and other hilarious comments I receive regularly in passing.

Fall Break!

My apologies for being bad at blogging, but fall break happened 2 weeks ago, so here is the low-down on what happened!

A group of 12 students from my program (including me) got together and rented a house by the beach in M’Bour for the week. M’Bour is about 2 hours south of Dakar, along the coast. I was a little worried that the week would turn into “The Real World: Senegal” but turns out we all got along great even at the end of a week in a house together!

Since I could go on for pages and pages about the week, and I am clearly already behind on my blogging, here are some highlights!

The house had beds for 11 (5 bedrooms with a variety of twin bed and double bed combinations), but my friends Alyssa, Angie and I slept 3 to a double bed (which is trickier with a mosquito net) but it worked out perfectly! The backyard was sand and palm trees, with a gate to the real beach, and OCEAN! The only negative of this was that pretty soon, everyone knew the house where the toubabs lived, and every day we would have a different group of people waiting for us there. It could be anyone from young boys asking us for drinking water, women selling us necklaces, men wanting to hang out with us (slash get a green card), but all that was a small price to pay for a fabulous week.  We spent time on the beach participating in drumming/dancing circles, bonfires, drinking tea (attaya), playing soccer, and various other beach activities. 

The house is owned by a French man, and a local family lives on the property. The mom, Fatou, was incredibly sweet, and brought us bread for breakfast and cooked us lunch every day. The dad, Felix was hilarious, and made everyone feel at ease, taking care of things like broken air conditioners, or questions about where to find things. They had several kids all around three to nine years old, but they mostly kept their distance, except Amanita. She was by far the coolest kid I have ever met (and if you are lucky enough to facebook stalk me, she is in my profile picture). At age 5 she would just walk around the house to the back porch and sit with us. We would spend hours making animal noises to each other, chasing each other around the yard, modeling (she absolutely loved taking and being in pictures), going swimming, having fake phone conversations (always in Wolof), and many other games.

For dinners we were on our own, most nights we cooked. You might think this would be simple, but there was a gas shortage in Senegal that week (that combined with the frequent power cuts, and the full day without water made for a more rustic week than we had planned for), and so we had to cook outside over coals, we also had to improvise on pots and pans. All ended up delicious, however, and we were pretty proud that we had succeeded. Several times when cooking dinner Fatou would come over and laugh. She kept telling us how she’d never seen toubabs cook like that before, and asking if we were sure we knew what we were doing. It was very endearing!

Although we did spend a fair share of time lounging at the beach we had adventures as well. One of the days we went to downtown M’Bour, where we got to see l’arrivé des pêcheurs (the arrival of the fisherman). The week we were in M’Bour happened to fall exactly when the fishermen came back to shore, after having been out to see in their tiny pirogues (fishing boats) for anywhere between fifteen and thirty days. The beach was bustling with people bringing in the pirogues, carrying fish to shore, cleaning out various sea creatures, and of course, selling things. A man approached our group and became our impromptu guide, explaining to us what each of the fish were, where they would go, or what they would be used for.

Another day took us further south to the Sine-Saloum river delta area. We took a van and what we expected to be an hour drive took over 3 hours because our driver had to make several stops on the way. Our group didn’t mind because it gave us even more time to have sing and dance alongs with our driver and our guide. At Sine-Saloum we visited several villages got to see lives completely different from those in Dakar; it was extremely eye-opening. In of the villages we saw a small hut with a huge drum outside, and in the village if anyone was sick, if someone died, got married, or needed a blessing they go into the hut while another member of the village would drum outside. In another village there were two baobab trees that were next to each other, and as they had grown had combined to look like one huge tree, this is where the villagers would make sacrifices or ask for blessings. There were also the most poverty stricken villages I have ever seen. At points I felt incredibly uncomfortable as a group of twelve Americans, with cameras, walked through people’s communities, and listened to our guide (from M'Bour, not Sine-Saloum) tell us about life there. After a little while, I went back to our van with a small group who felt similarly. Our guide had asked us to hand out cookies to the children in the villages, and at that point I felt like I was only prolonging stereotypes that rich Americans came to visit, give hand-outs, and leave not caring. I was sad not to see other parts of the river deltas, but it was too uncomfortable, I think a smaller group without a guide would have been more ideal.

Overall, the week was wonderful, and it was great to see parts of Senegal that aren’t Dakar, as well as grow closer to the other 11 on the trip. I wish I could tell more, but I’m afraid I’ve already rambled too long. I promise my next post will not be so overdue!

No big deal, but this is the view of our backyard from the porch.

L’arrivé des pêcheurs.

Mystery Solved

The other day, I came home from school to find the door to my house locked (side note, this was the 4th of 5 doors I have to go through to get from the street to inside the main house), I don’t have a house key but I knocked on the door, figuring someone would be home, as they had always been before. A few moments passed, and no one came to the door, so I knocked again, minutes went by, still nothing, but I could hear voices coming from the living room. A third time, fourth time, fifth time, I knocked harder, waiting shorter periods of time between each one. Finally a man, who I had never seen before, came to the door and just looked at me appearing angry to be bothered. I greeted him in Wolof as politely and formally as I could manage given my limited training, but he soon cut me off anyway, to ask (in French thankfully) “what do you want?” so I started to explain that I was a student living in the house, and the man again interrupts me to ask, “so what are you looking for?” starting to get nervous, I continued my explanation that I am an American exchange student studying at a university in Dakar, and I live with the Tall family. It was only after I started naming the family members that he opened the door, not looking any happier about life, but I was satisfied to at least be inside. I walked the few steps down the hall to my room, not escaping his glare, and opening my door, I told the man: "this is my room; I have lived here for about a month, and will be here until December." It was only at this point that he believed me. It was still incredibly awkward, as no one in the family was home for another few hours.

I passed this event off as just another cultural quirk and didn’t think anything else of it, or why no one in my family had been home. A few days later, however, my host mom asked me if I had seen Khadim lately. I hadn’t, but he usually sleeps until 2 or 3 in the afternoon, leaves the house fairly often to hang out with his friends, and depending on the night, won’t eat dinner with us (if there are other men at the house for dinner they will eat separately from the women). Needless to say, it was not unusual for me to not have seen Khadim for a few days. My host mom told me that I should go see him soon, and I said ok, still confused as to why it was a big deal, but not wanting to make a fuss I agreed to see him “soon” which in Senegal time essentially meant whenever my host mom wanted me too. Nothing else was said about it that night, and I went to bed as usual. The next day, my host mom again asked me if I had seen Khadim, I said no, but this time was more concrete, and promised to see him that night. She looked pleased, and then said nonchalantly, “good; he was in a motorcycle accident the other day. He isn’t feeling too well, and he had to spend a day and night in the hospital. It’s hard to have him home because he can’t eat anything”. WOAH! I was shell-shocked. That is why no one was home a few nights prior, and that is why I hadn’t seen Khadim. Not sure what to expect, because my host mom had given no hints as to what had happened, or what state he was in, I went to Khadim’s room after dinner that night.

Khadim, although in relatively good shape considering the severity of some motorcycle accidents, looked like a character from a horror movie. Lying in his bed, he was wearing only shorts, and his skin on the right side of his body, from his cheek, down his arm and ribcage, to his knee, calf, and ankle, had been completely scraped off, and completely exposed were wounds, bright pink and all fairly deep. It doesn’t appear that he broke any bones except maybe his jaw or ribs, but there are a few teeth missing. He and I talked for a little while, but the conversation didn’t go very far since he couldn’t move his mouth and I had a hard time understanding him. He told me he had to eat all his meals through a straw, and couldn’t really move the entire right side of his body. Leaving his room, I felt guilty for not staying and talking longer, but it really was difficult to understand his French/Wolof blend (which I am getting used to struggling with) and also his mumbles and murmurs through closed lips. As I was walking down the hall, however, one of his friends stopped me to tell me how brave I was. “What do you mean?” I asked him, and he explained to me that I was the only woman who was able to even look at Khadim, much less talk to him. His friend told me that every other woman who has gone to visit Khadim has had to cover her eyes, and turn away her head. I thanked him, and breathed a sigh of relief. I was glad to know that I wasn’t so rude after all, and my efforts were appreciated.  Not to mention the fact that I finally had figured out what was going on with my host family!

I found my identity!

This is a small side note, but I found out more about my Senegalese name! I am Mame Diarra. 
Turns out I am kind of a big deal, Mame Diarra Bousso is the mother of Ahmadou Bamba, the founder and first marabout (religious leader) of the Mouride brotherhood. In Senegal, the Mouride brotherhood is the largest sect of Islam, so Ahmadou Bamba was quite powerful, and is still highly respected. Feel free to google me if you would like more details!

Time for the Toubaab show

In Wolof, the word toubaab means foreigner, but is often used to refer to white people. I hear the word pretty often, with many different connotations. My favorite is every morning on our way to school, just outside the entrance to the campus, lives a girl about 5 years old. Every day we pass by her house she is standing outside, and will start chanting “Toubaab, Toubaab, Toubaab!” like how one would chant for chocolate or ice cream! She bends her knees to bounce up and down a bit with each yell, and also holds her hands above her head, opening and closing them like lobster claws. Pretty darn cute if you ask me. Other times, I hear it from men on the street trying to get my attention, “hello, toubaab!” not as cute. Or by street vendors trying to get me to stop and buy a necklace, some shoes, or some perfume (although to some of the guys in our group the vendors will yell, “hello pretty boy” “big boy” or “play boy” to get their attention). Anyway, we have started referring to those moments especially “toubaab” of us, or where we are even more clueless than normal, as “Toubaab Show”.

The Toubaab Show premiered after school the other day, when it was pouring down rain, and a group of four of us was trying to get home from school. Usually we walk the 25 or so minutes to our neighborhood, but the streets were almost completely flooded, the sides of the road incredibly muddy, and we had our school books with us, which we didn’t want to get wet. Thus, we decided to take a taxi for the first time. Taking a taxi in Senegal involves much more than it does in the States. Hailing one is easy for us, since we stand out just a little, but then you have to barter the cost with the driver in Wolof before getting in. Most of the time, the driver will ask for an inflated price since we are Toubaabs, but our group was told how much a taxi should cost from school to our neighborhood, so we felt all set to go! Stepping out to the street, we were already ankle deep in mud, but ready for our adventure, three cabs pull over to pick us up before we even raise an arm, and we lean in to talk to the first driver. We went through our Wolof greetings, and then asked for the price we were told was good, the cab driver laughed and started to pull away. No problem we thought, it isn’t as if another taxi won’t stop for us! We began to walk over to the second cab, when the first driver realized what we knew, which was that another taxi would easily take us where we were going. He went in reverse back to where we were standing, and agreed that the price we named was good; satisfied, but soaked, we climbed in.

We got to our neighborhood, and told the driver where he could drop us off. He pretended not to understand however, and stopped just where we were, in the middle of a busy street with 2 lanes in both directions, to let us out. We opened our doors to see another large puddle, but from the back seat it didn’t look very deep. Three of the four of us climbed out stepping gently on the puddle, and stepped to the side of the road. Our friend in the front seat, however, had a deeper pool of water waiting for her. The Toubaab Show had started. Hiking up her skirt, she stood up on the side of the car, and leaned forward to put the hand not holding her skirt on the roadblock a good 3 to 4 feet away. With her body almost completely stretched out, she realized that there was no way she could avoid the puddle, and what’s more, that she was a bit stuck. We alternated between offering her our arms, cheering her on, and laughing hysterically, before she finally jumped, landing right in the puddle, and hurried to join us on the side of the road. Looking back at the cab, we saw our drivers face almost in tears he was laughing so hard before he drove off. Thinking the battle was won, we began the walk to each of our houses about a block away, soon enough, however, we realized that we needed to cross the busy street, which was full of water, but only ankle deep. We waited for a lull in the traffic, and ran across at the shallowest point we saw.

We then had to cross another small street, which wasn’t as well paved, or drained. It was hard to tell that a street was even below the river that filled it. We walked along the “curb” standing on blocks varying distances apart, going along the street looking for a place to cross. After going back and forth three times, we found a place with a cement block in the middle of the street, and shallower water a bit past it, taking leaps and strides, we crossed one by one, all making it to the side of the road we needed to be on, shouting to each other and laughing the whole way. Exhilarated, we stopped to take a breath and realize what had just happened. It was in this moment that we looked around to see that not only had other pedestrians stopped in their tracks to watch us, but traffic had also stopped—each driver was looking over at us, and various workers, most notably the construction workers on the second floor of a nearby building, had stopped what they were doing, taken a seat and watched our ordeal of street crossing. Awesome. And we still had a block to go before we reached our houses. People began to go back to what they were doing, and we had caught our breath enough to keep going. Soaking wet, muddy, and still in a state of shock, we completed our walk without ordeal, but still managed to turn the head of everyone we passed by.

You might think that this is a river...

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but it's a street.

The Fam

I moved in with my host family a little over a week ago, and what an experience it has proven to be thus far! To start out with, I have a host mother, sister, and brother, for sure, and then there are about 8 other people that are at the house pretty often, but I don’t know who they are, if they live there, or what… But I will start by describing what I know, more details will follow on who else is in my family. My host mom is welcoming and warm, but still very much a powerful matriarch. Everyone calls her Mère Tall (my host family’s last name is Tall, and they are all coincidentally lanky). Mere Tall is constantly yelling at me for not eating enough, even though I am pretty sure I eat just as much, if not more, than everyone else in the house.

My older brother is Khadim and he is 23. Although he is observing Ramadan this month, he is continually talking about wanting to go out to a club or a bar, and how he can’t wait until Ramadan is over! He is fun to hang out with, even though we are pretty much completely different. I have been super tired here, since I get up for class every morning at 7 (definitely NOT a natural occurrence) so I go to bed by 11 or midnight, while Khadim will stay up until about 5 or 6 am every night. I haven’t exactly figured out when he sleeps or what he does yet. Saturday night he was on my case for being lame and sleeping so much, so I decided to hang out with him. Although he can’t go out since it is still Ramadan, we walked around the neighborhood, I got to meet some of his friends, and then we went back to the house to watch some movie(s). A movie was on tv, I have no idea what it is called, but Jessica Alba was in it, and it was dubbed in French so I understood most of what happened. We ordered a pizza around 1:30, and It was a delicious reminder of home. It wasn’t exactly what I had eaten before; the pizza came with mayonnaise and ketchup on the side, which Khadim put on his pieces, and told me to do the same. I admit, I was pleasantly surprised, but it probably won’t be a habit I repeat often. The movie finished at about 3:30, at which point I was absolutely exhausted and ready for sleep. I told my brother goodnight and I would see him tomorrow, but he thought I was joking. He was planning on watching another movie before going to bed; I am not sure how that sleep cycle will work out with morning classes all semester.


My younger sister is named Mbayang, and is 13, she is very sweet, but quiet, and it is harder than I thought to figure out what to talk to a thirteen year old about. Sometimes we have great conversations or be having fun, but she can keep them going for much longer than I thought would be necessary. Wow that sounds incredibly rude, and I absolutely love hanging out with her, so here’s an example: she had come with me to buy some notebooks for school, and when we got back to the house’s entryway she climbed onto one of the three motorcycles sitting there, and pretended to drive it, making plenty of sound effects and movements, which I agreed was fun, funny, cute, and many other positive things, so I laughed with her, and played along, but Mbayang didn’t stop for a good twenty minutes. It got to the point when I didn’t really know how to react, or what to do, so I just walked upstairs to my room after a while, but she wasn’t fazed and just kept on driving. Mbayang is very lovable, and fun to have around, we talked about boys the other day and she now wants to find me a Senegalese boyfriend (and/or husband), this probably won’t end well, and I understood part of why in our “Survival Wolof” course during orientation we learned how to say “I already have a husband” a phrase that will be necessary.


I already have a long list of misunderstandings and cultural gaps, and so will only share a few. I have pictures of my room below (before I unpacked) and you can see how they fit the room which I was explained would have “an armoire or a closet, and a desk for school work” I am just happy I have a fan! Also, I was asked by my sister almost as soon as I arrived, “so, are you from Washington or Missouri?” Answering, that I was from neither, but I was from Connecticut, she insisted, “yes, but is that in Washington or Missouri?” You could say my map of the United States has been plenty useful already. And finally, I learned my name yesterday! After several days of hearing a word I didn’t know repeated over and over. I kept wondering what it could mean, and what they were constantly chatting about. Then, I noticed that after using the word they would sometimes change to French to talk to me. Connecting clues, I found out that it is the Senegalese name my family gave me, but didn’t tell me about, I still don’t know if this was on purpose, and they are telling secrets/mocking me, or if they thought I knew my name wasn’t Sarah but actually Mamdiara (although I am still not sure exactly how it is spelled or pronounced). Time will tell, hopefully.

My bed and armoire (If you can see, my pillowcase is Tinkerbell) 

My desk, disney curtains and window.

New friends, new culture, new family, new habits, new classes, new home, new, new, new!

So much to tell! I’ve started Wolof classes, they are pretty incredible, our teacher is extremely charismatic, and has us act out scenarios with him. It can be hard to get the Wolof out through our giggles at his pantomimes! To make it harder keeping a straight face, he is constantly switching between Wolof, French, and English, often translating new Wolof phrases like “Comment are tu doing?” which took getting used to, but makes the class all the more exciting!


Yesterday was filled with orientation, especially to Senegalese culture and society. I worked in small groups with Senegalese volunteers to discuss various values, beliefs, and assumptions. It was a great way to learn new Wolof phrases, and understand the how and why behind the structure of Senegalese society, and their unique religion. We had about an hour lecture, with diagrams, handouts, demonstrations, and some required participation, teaching us how to “eat around the bowl” the traditional way of eating meals in Senegal. It is definitely not what I am used to, and will take some practice to remember how it's done! Additionally, I learned that some things that seem to be reflexes of mine turned out to be incredibly rude, for example, commenting on how beautiful someone’s eyes/face/children/clothes are. Apparently, this is bad luck because the Jinne (spirits) will become jealous, and curse what was complimented, oops.


We finished our French placement exam, *HUGE sigh of relief!* I placed into Advanced French 2, the highest of 4 levels; it was definitely a surprise outcome, haha. That also means I can take all my classes in French! I signed up for classes today, and DRUMROLLLLLL please………I am taking Introductory Wolof, Advanced French 2, Senegalese Culture and Society, History of Islam, and Crisis Management, all in French! It will be crazy to be doing everything for my classes in French, not just grammar and basic reading and writing, but I think I’m up to the challenge…?


In t-2 hours I will be picked up by one of my host brothers, who will bring me home! I haven’t met any of my family yet, but I know I am living with a single mom, either widowed or separated, not sure yet. I will have “lots of brothers and sisters around my age” but who knows what that means. The family is Muslim, and they all speak French well, which is very comforting! I can’t wait to meet them, but I have to pack up my bags to move out of the dorms first, off I go!

I wonder if anyone can tell that we aren't Senegalese?

DAKAR! I finally made it! I am exhausted, but thrilled to be here! The flight was long, and of questionable safety—as much as I love roller coasters, I like them better in amusement parks than over the Atlantic Ocean. I did make a friend on the flight, a Senegalese man whose wife and family live in Dakar, but he has been working in Columbus, Ohio, and hasn’t been home in over a year. He proudly showed me pictures of his beautiful wife, sisters, brothers, and mother, and after giving me 4 of his phone numbers and his email address, he told me I was invited to dinner at his wife’s house any time, and he would love to show me and some of the other students on the program around Dakar. So far so good, but unfortunately, I have yet to contact him.



We arrived in Dakar around 5am, and after going through customs and finding our group’s bus to the study center, we were just in time to hear the call to prayer. We got to the dorms in which we will be staying for our first week, dropped our stuff, and got straight to exploring the campus; we were able to watch the sun rise, and see the whole school before breakfast. I was pretty amazed considering the only thing I usually do before breakfast is wake up, which is not even the case for me every morning.


I walked to the beach, about a block away, with a group of girls, and we watched as the Senegalese swam, rode the waves, splashed each other, and of course, washed their goats one at a time, which bleated very loudly. There will be lots of new noises to get used to here! After lunch, a group of us took another walk, this time with a Senegalese man who lives at the university; it was incredible to hear him tell us all about Senegalese culture, politics, religion, and humor. He asked us about Rhianna, Kobe Bryant, Obama, and Akon, some of his favorite celebrities. We walked to the nearby mosque, which was beautiful! It looked huge to me, but our friend/guide explained that was one of the smallest mosques in Senegal, and besides that, each neighborhood had at least one mosque! It was so neat to hear how the Senegalese didn’t like President Wade’s inconsistency, or why they supported Obama wholeheartedly, as well as our guide’s explanation of the differences between Senegalese Islam and Arab Islam. He and I got to talk about math some, which made me feel closer to home, he is studying electricity and chemistry at the university, but loved math (almost as much as me). He told our group that he would take us to his favorite night club, which I only hope we will be able to take him up on, just not tonight, bedtime will come very early!