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!
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