Ñewuleen por dëkk. Ñew ngeen por ligee. – You didn’t come [here] to live. You came to work.

OR:
Parfois, gayne yi… Dangay ree ba tas. – Sometimes, [dealing with] these guys… You’ll laugh yourself to pieces.

Both of the above quotes come from Sadio Diallo. He’s the friend I’ve spent most time with here. And sometimes I feel like I can’t accomplish anything without him.

The past few days I’ve been working on a research grant application and I’ve realized I haven’t written anything directly related to my ‘work’ in over a month. Instead of dealing with the nebulous long-term goals of Fulbright and grad school, I’ve been checking off small tasks on an endless list of things we need to set up the house we’re renting. ‘Small’ is such a relative term in Senegal. I’m bad at knowing how long things take me in the U.S. Here, my rule of thumb for small tasks is: quintuple how much time you think it will take, then add a couple days for good measure.

Here’s an example of my mental process on a given day:

- Get money at ATM to pay deposit on house
- Call property manager about starting the electricity
- Pay Amy’s dance and drumming teachers
- Find out where to buy a used fridge and some chairs

My brain cycles through these lists of tasks, trying to find the best angle of attack. I try to come up with a logical order in which to start. Then reality intervenes:

Task 1 The first ATM froze in the middle of the transaction. We spent fifteen minutes trying two other ATMs, then realized we needed to use both of our cards to take out enough to put down a deposit for the house we’re renting. Still only a trifling inconvenience. In my first stay in Senegal, I arrived in Tambacounda (a city in the southeast) and couldn’t find the one ATM that was supposed to be in town. Each time I asked someone, I got directed to the same pile of rubble. It took me an hour to put two and two together and realize the bank had been demolished.

Task 2 We asked the property manager (via my Fulbright contact who owns the house) to do everything to get the electricity on before we moved in. He achieved this by having somebody hot-wire the lines together. He also agreed to start the electricity bill in his own name because, to paraphrase, when the people at Senelec (the national electricty company) see a foreign name, your application goes on the slow pile until you chip in a little something. Which probably stems from employees' understandable desire for security in an office where the State can’t always afford to pay your salary. Anyway, the problem with the property manager’s approach to electricity was that when the Senelec guy showed up (on time and very professionally) to remove the old meter, he had to let me know taping the lines together constitutes stealing and is illegal. The next step was to call our manager’s friend at Senelec, Monsieur Sané. He told the workmen that it was okay to come by and install the meter, and never mind the electrical tape. That added a couple more little tasks to the list.

Task 3 Amy’s teachers are fabulous and unbelievably talented instructors. But Amy and I have different instincts with how to deal with them. To oversimplify, she’s both deeply grateful to them and concerned about inconveniencing them; I am a bit weary of promises and less concerned about things happening on time. My attitude comes from feeling like I “know how things work here.” What that really just means is I have no idea how the line between friendship and paying transactions is drawn, but it seems totally different from what I expect in the U.S.

Negotiating a deposit with Amy's teachers made for an interesting scene. I asked Sadio to come over and talk it through beforehand to get a local opinion. He couldn’t fathom how much Amy was paying (of course, compared to what it would cost to work individually with a world-class dancer AND a world class musician in the U.S., Amy has an incredible deal). My position was that it was better for Amy to pay week-by-week, just in case there were any misunderstandings. The teachers had asked for a month-and-a-half in advance. Sadio’s guessed they must have a project in mind on which they want to put a down-payment. (Perhaps adding an extra room to the house or applying for a travel visa.) The negotiations were held in our front courtyard, sitting on our haunches and speaking in low voices, looking at the ground in front of us, rather than each other's eyes. The drum teacher, the oldest among us, sat on our rusted, child-sized chair frame with no seat or back. Each side of the 'table' offered our explanation and counter explanation for why things had to be the way we wanted. Sadio served as  intermediary – a role well recognized in West Africa – helping to elaborate my points when I couldn’t quite get them across in Wolof. Amy sat on the front step watching. I think she was bemused by it all. I didn't realize until half-way through that I should have been translating for her! In all the negotiations lasted one hour, including imbedded jokes and pleasantries. In the end we settled for one month’s advance. The pressure of it left me feeling so giddy I had to hold in laughter.

Task 4 Finally, the furniture. This is where the second quote in the title comes in; it refers to the men who run used furniture 'shops,' selling sand-embedded 1980’s items bought at garage sales in Europe and shipped down. I’ve spent two full days with Sadio, and another couple by myself, finding, ordering, haggling over, transporting, and repairing various items for the house. When we first got the place, it constituted a dusty concrete floor, smudged black walls, and a swarm of hungry mosquitoes (unfortunately we forgot to take “before” pictures). Since then we’ve augmented it with classy linoleum flooring, cushioned porch furniture, a hand-made wooden bed with foam mattress, a mini-fridge, a battered stove, and a built-to-fit kitchen table, among other things. For a while, I was discouraged – I didn’t know how many more hour-long haggling sessions I’d have to endure. I was sick of the old salesmen who lounge around their sandy junkyards. And half the time we had to abort the whole thing (and send Sadio back later under cover) since the salesmen wouldn’t come down to a reasonable price for a toubab. But finally, after a long week, our little place is starting to look nice!

Now the other quote in the title. All that effort spent on little tasks and, as Sadio reminds me, I haven’t got to the real work yet. I knew that would be one of my biggest challenges: I can live here, make friends, and enjoy it. But can I do some useful work?

firebirds in the front garden

Adjusting...

Adjusting to life in Senegal has been easy in some ways, but difficult at times. I’ve gone through wide ranges of physical comfort. Yesterday I woke up feeling exhausted, I couldn’t focus in French class, and came home completely drained of energy, my entire body aching, and spent the rest of the day in bed with a fever. The day before that though, as I finished a dance lesson on the beach followed by a swim in the ocean, I caught myself thinking that I had never felt so good in my life.

Adjusting to food here might be the trickiest part for me. It’s just different. It seems that everything is either full of sugar or extremely oily. Simple things like yogurt are extremely sweet, and it’s hard to find a cup of coffee without sugar already mixed in at about a 1:1 ratio with the coffee. It’s nearly impossible to get a meal without meat or fish which I very rarely eat at home. I haven’t yet figured out what times certain foods are available, as street vendors and stores will close for a few hours in the middle of the day or will only sell during a particular time of day. I’m slowly learning what kinds of local foods I like and which I don’t like. The other day I was extremely hungry and the idea of anything sweet sounded horrible to me. We found a local restaurant and had what they served that day, ceebu ñeebe, only to discover that I hated it. I forced myself to eat it hoping it would taste better as I got used to it but it only got worse and I hardly made it through a third of my portion when I had to hand it over to Ewan who seems to love anything and everything here. However, I’ve also been to restaurants where I’ve liked the food, and I loved the meals I ate with Bassilo’s family. Apparently home-cooking is always better than restaurant food here.

We moved into our house at the beginning of this week and are working on getting it set up. Very soon we should have a working kitchen, and I think it will be easier to eat well when we can cook for ourselves and keep food in our mini-refrigerator.

Another interesting aspect of life here: the sense of time. When figuring out how to spend my time, I thought I’d have too much free time, taking a French class in the morning and then a dance lesson in the afternoon. It turns out that when I leave for a two hour dance lesson, I don’t return home for at least 6 hours, and that’s if I rush home. This is in part due to how long it takes to get around Dakar, considering that I’m still figuring out which buses to take, where to get off, etc. But it is largely due to a lack of regimented, precisely scheduled lifestyle as I’m used to in the U.S. The lesson typically means I’ll arrive at Bassilo’s house and we’ll hang out there for about an hour. Someone will immediately give up his or her chair for me and we’ll watch T.V., have a cup of café touba, or wait for someone (my teacher or a drummer) to show up. Then we’ll make our way to our practice location for the day, which often means long walks including running across highways and jumping over boulders separating the two directions of traffic to find the correct bus. The lesson itself is never timed, we basically dance and drum until we’re all thoroughly exhausted. If we’re practicing on the beach, which is becoming our regular rehearsal space, we’ll then swim in the ocean, hang out with people there, and eventually make our way back. It is then expected that I go back to Bassilo’s house to have lunch or to watch T.V. before heading home.

I have no complaints about this lifestyle. In fact I think it is much more human than planning every event to the minute. It’s very conducive to forming relationships and relishing in the things you want to be doing rather than rushing to finish “on time.”



Here is my little friend Angie who loves to watch my dance lessons.

Fëcckat bu magg - Great dancer

Amy's first lesson with Ablaye Keita Soumah, at the home of djembefola Bassilo Camara, in Grand Yoff.

Petit à Petit – Ndank Ndank

That’s a phrase I learned my second day here and I realized this is the description of my life while here. Little by little. Everything I learn, everything I do will happen little by little, and there is SO much to learn and do. It’s not just important to learn one language here, but you need to know two, and if you learn both French and Wolof, then people will still ask why you don’t speak Pular. What I’ve learned is that languages are hard to learn (and people speak so fast, even when someone says something I know, it takes me a while to realize that I know what they said and to come up with a response!). But I will learn, I am learning, petit à petit. I’m currently taking a French class at L’Institute Francais, a very nice place in downtown Dakar with a wonderful restaurant, and yesterday I had my first Wolof lesson while sitting with Ewan’s friend Sadio while he worked. He insisted that I learn Wolof here and had me sit down, get a notebook and start learning! People are always shocked and awed when they hear Ewan speaking Wolof, and immediately ask if I speak Wolof. When they learn that I do not, they ask why. This happens many, many times a day with nearly every interaction we have. It’s made me very determined to learn the language.

Besides languages, there is so much else to learn. How to greet people, buy food, bargain with taxi drivers and salespeople, take buses…. I’m slowly doing these things more independently but it’s hard. For instance, today on a very crowded bus, a man handed me money to hand back to the ticketer. I thought, “this is easy, I just hand it to the next person and eventually it’ll reach who it needs to.” But no one would take it from me as I tried handing it back. Not being able to ask why, I tried motioning whose it was and who it was for. Eventually I realized that they just needed to know where the man was going to determine how much change he should get. I thought I understood the system but misunderstanding one small part of it and then not being able to speak with people turns a little thing into a long and confusing process.

Since I first learned “petit à petit,” things truly have been happening little by little. Yesterday, we signed a contract and paid a deposit for our house, which we may be able to move into this weekend or early next week! It’s a very cute house and happens to be right in the middle of the two locations I will likely be dancing at, with a bus running through to all three of these! Today we decided to call Bassilo, a drummer and good friend, or "bruddah" of Djibi’s. Djibi told us to call him as he would be a great person to take drumming lessons from, and a wonderful friend of theirs and excellent dancer was staying with him and was excited to teach me. We had Bassilo’s son’s and wife’s numbers, so eventually got a hold of his wife, Koumba, and she immediately knew who we were, knew we were connected to Djibi, and told us to come to Grand Yoff Marche where lots of chickens are sold.

We arrived at the chicken stands and soon a few kids came over to us and led us to Koumba’s house. From there, everything that I could have hoped for happened. Bassilo wasn’t there but soon two young men came in with djembes. One of them was Bassilo’s son. Then a man poked his head in, saw us and said “Amy?” It was the dancer Djibi recommended, Ablaye. Soon Koumba arrived with a communal dish of ceebu jën, and, amongst dancers and drummers I enjoyed my first communal family style meal here. Delicious! To simplify what happened next, we spent the next few hours with Ablaye, he showed me where I’d have lessons in Grand Yoff (a nice, spacious room) and then we went to Centre Cultural Blaise Senghor, a place I’d heard so much about. There we met Bassilo who was thrilled to meet us, said Djibi had been talking about us for months and that he would have picked us up at the airport and if his cousins weren’t visiting now we could have stayed at his house. I briefly met another dance teacher who was very highly recommended, watched two incredible dance companies practicing, and set up my first lesson for tomorrow. Blaise Senghor was all I had dreamed of and more. The groups practicing there were thrilling to watch. Such energetic dancers and incredible drummers, including two kids aged maybe 2 and 4! The place was full of such kind people, there’s a café, and a huge courtyard. I wouldn’t mind hanging out there all the time, and it happens to be only about a mile from our house.

It’s hard to simplify everything that is happening and my thoughts into a blog entry. Simply put, I’m very happy to be here and so excited to start dancing tomorrow. My first impressions of Ablaye and Bassilo were very positive and erased any concern I’d had about finding good instructors here. I can’t wait to get moving to the rhythms of Senegal and Guinea right here in Dakar!

Moonte géj naa fii yagg – You know, I haven’t stuck around here in a long time…

OR:

Man maa jëkk ñëw wante moom moo jëkk jottali xibaar yi – I was the first to arrive, but she was the first to report the news

Amy beat me to writing a first entry, even though I arrived here almost a week before she did. Since I needed a little bit of inspiration, I thought I might as well write about why it is that I’m struggling to put down words about what it feels like for me to be back in Senegal for ten months after having been mostly away for five years.

I’ll start with the obvious details: in the six days before Amy got here, I stayed with Sadio Diallo [pronounced “Saa-joe Jaal-loe”], my closest friend here. Sadio doesn’t have a lot of money. (One thing I’ve been reminded of is how different that definition of ‘a lot of money’ can be here compared to in the U.S., and not just in the sense that most people here are much poorer – but more on that in another post.) He and I shared a single room he just rented in a compound in Ouakam, a diverse and busy neighborhood north of Dakar. The house was basic, and probably squarely in the middle of the range of housing conditions in Dakar. The toilet involved squatting, the shower involved a bucket and a little dance to chase away the cockroaches, and we needed a key to unlock the shared water faucet outside the house. Still there was reliable electricity, water, and plumbing, a very safe neighborhood, and a tiled courtyard that the women renting the neighboring rooms swept sparkling clean every morning.

I was reminded how much longer basic tasks take without many modern conveniences. I was also taken aback by how strongly I reacted to ‘going back to basics.’ I thought: “I’ve done this before. This is supposed to be the easy part. If I’m freaked out by this how am I going to spend time in villages?” I thought: “What kind of place are we going to stay in when Amy gets here?”

And these worries reminded me of another fact of my life here: So much of how you perceive the world comes from your attitude and how comfortable you feel at a very basic, physical level. One of my best friends says that nearly every time he feels pissed off or depressed, it can be linked to being hungry or needing to find a bathroom. Here, I totally agree with my friend. If my stomach is feeling a little weird after taking a malaria pill, a set of simple tasks can seem utterly overwhelming. The to-be-determined storyline of ten months can seem like a depressingly foregone conclusion. Forty minutes later, after a refreshing bucket shower and a spicy bean sandwich, the possibilities can feel thrilling.

So it’s been hard to write because it’s hard to figure out how I really feel about things.

Worries aside, I think my first week here has been successful. One of my professors from Illinois was in Dakar, and he introduced me to two Senegalese researchers who work on forestry issues. They both seem like they will be kind and supportive contacts, although both are incredibly busy. (That's a very consistent element of life!) One of these researchers is my professor's best friend, and has a small house that he offered to rent to us. Two simple rooms, the house needs a little work to get it up to scratch. But we'd have a lovely space to ourselves, a reliable landlord, and very affordable rent. The house appears to be the best deal we could have hoped for! (More on housing as it unfolds) This goes to show how in Senegal, it always helps to know someone.

In the meantime, Amy and I are staying in Village Ngor, a seaside neighborhood and fishing village in the far north of the city. We connected through couchsurfing with an American who teaches at an English-language school in Dakar and are staying in her beautiful apartment – with internet! Couchsurfing is apparently thriving in Dakar, although for some people it’s more of a dating service than a housing search.

It's amazing how much brighter things seem with Amy here! She showed me another reason I make it hard to write about Senegal: I try too hard to find something 'interesting' enough to write about, while taking too many details for granted. On Amy's first morning in Dakar, we strolled out of our host's apartment for a walk. We were stopped by flock of dusty sheep hustling across our path. Right away, Amy looked at me and started laughing giddily. It's so refreshing to be here with someone who sees Senegal as totally new.

A few pictures

Typical pile of sheep outside our apartment.




Ngor beach!









Yup, we're both here.










Desolate area where people dump their garbage for the goats and sheep to pick through.






Courtyard and front door of our couchsurfer's apartment.











Ngor from our couchsurfer's apartment.

Agsee nanu ci jamm! We've arrived safely!

Ewan and I are currently sitting in a beautiful apartment in the village of Ngor, in northern Dakar! We're couchsurfing here until we find a permanent place for ourselves.

I don't think I've stopped smiling since my plane landed in Dakar. I've been preparing for this trip for so long, it's quite exciting to finally be here! I was a little nervous about my short connection time at Washington Dulles Airport, but was comforted when I found my correct gate quickly and smelled a familiar scent, which I can't put a name to. It's the smell of beignets I bought a few weeks ago at an African market in Chicago, and reminds me of my African dance teacher in Urbana, Djibi. In any case, it made me comfortable and excited. It was also reassuring that I immediately recognized people speaking in Wolof. To know that some sounds and smells are familiar to me, even though I've never been to Africa before, was comforting on some sensory level.

Since landing, I've had my share of hassling from Senegalese men, wanting me to pay them big bucks for moving my suitcase about 3 feet and trying to get me a taxi as I tried to tell them I was waiting for my friend. Needless to say, with my inexperience I lost some money while waiting for Ewan at the airport. But, I was smiling the whole time. When Ewan came, he seemed like a different person as he argued fiercely with all of these men in Wolof... but surely I'll get used to Wolof Ewan soon. Maybe eventually I'll be Wolof Amy.

We found this apartment, walked around, ate some food, and found the beautiful beach just a few blocks away. I can't help pointing out everything I see, it's all so new to me! Sheep, goats, dogs, cats, garbage, boats, everything is different here! Beautiful mansions across the street from shacks, the sandy road in between littered in trash.... the list goes on. I took a few pictures so maybe will post some later. For now, au revoir!