Photo albums here confuse and bother me. These albums are almost always owned by women and are a compilation of photographs of them. They are the most vain things I have ever encountered. In addition, they freely hand the albums out to their friends and family who look at and comment on the photos. The albums almost solely contain pictures of the owner but sometime a friend or family member appears in the picture. You have to see these albums to believe it.
These women are usually very modest; so modest that they cover their head when they leave the house, much to my dismay. The modesty is there until a camera gets pulled out of a bag and then these women turn into supermodels- posing like pros. I was looking at my host aunt’s album of her wedding and it was picture after picture of her posing in different positions – the smile-over-the-shoulder, the I’m-fixing-my earring, the menacing smile, the surprised look, etc. Her pictures included her bridal party who also posed like she did. My host mother’s albums contained the same sorts of poses except she seemed more fond to show off her gold baubles. Sometimes a picture of my host father and her would creep onto a page. He was always sitting stoically next to her, without a smile on his face but his eyes wide open. With the turn of the page he would disappear and she would pop back up in a different dress.
Don’t be fooled these books are not just endemic in my Yoff household. I have seen similar ones from the maid in my Dakar house. Her pictures were of her wearing different outfits. One of those outfits stuck in my head because it was so hideous- a jean ensemble with the American flag painted everywhere and a bit of bizarre leatheresque material. It seems that most women have these albums and are very willing to share them with you whether you ask to see them or not.
A disturbing thing about these pictures was that I got a window into what women do for a wedding. I was shocked to see that my host mother lightened her very dark brown skin to a caramel color. The lighter shade did not support her features and she looked washed out. My host aunt did the same thing. I cannot comprehend changing your skin color or lightening it and I don’t think I ever will.
Moreover, we are told as visitors to the country that Senegalese people do not like getting their picture taken or they will demand money if you take their picture. I have encountered the exact opposite situations. As soon as I pull out my camera people beg me to take their picture and then show it to them. I have taken (and then deleted) pictures of random people in the street or friends of my host family. When I took pictures of my host family last night they had to be taken in the nice new bedroom and my subject would pose on the bed in some ridiculous pose or another. The most religious of the family, a niece who lives with us, had me taken her picture only if her head was covered. Yet, she still sprawled out on the bed as if she was posing for the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
bonnes
I have been taking a sustainable development class at an non-government organization called CRESP. At CRESP we had two weeks of lectures and then we split up into groups to work on projects. My group consisted of four people another American and two Senegalese students. Our group interviewed twelve maids who work in Yoff and are enrolled in a French literacy program at CRESP. We attempted to find out why they came to Dakar to work, if they’ve been to school, if they ever had housing or money troubles, if they had advice for girls in their position, etc. We transcribed the information we received into a learn-how-to-read book for them to use in their class. We tried to incorporate as much as they told us into their book. The book was finished last week and we will do a presentation on it this week. It was a very wholesome and exciting project.
Friday, October 20, 2006
laye laye layen
In Senegal Muslims can join one of the four brotherhoods and almost everyone is a member of a brotherhood. Each brotherhood has a particular idea about Islam. They have a Marabout who is seen as a leader. I will not delve into too much detail about the brotherhoods yet. What I will say is that the most visible on in Dakar is the Mourids brotherhood. Their holy land is Touba, Senegal. All around town buildings, buses, stores, etc bear the name Touba or Mourid pledging their alliance to their brotherhood. The smallest brotherhood is the Layen (pronounced like lion). Yoff is made up almost exclusively of Layens. My host family in here is Layen.
The Layens believe that Muhammed had his second coming about 100 years ago. He also had a son who was the reincarnate of Jesus (a interesting mix of Christianity and Islam). There are pictures of these men painted everywhere. It is easy to decipher who is the Jesus reincarnate because he is always painted with a cross on his head. At first I thought the man was very sweaty because he is painted as if there is a glare across the bridge of his nose and brow. I found out that the glare is actually a cross. now I am able to pick him out of the crowd the easiest. The Layens believe the end of the world is coming any day now. Overall, Layens enforce stricter codes when it comes to dressing and religious practices.
The founder of the Layen brotherhood wanted to eliminate all caste distinctions. One used to be able to tell what caste people were in based on their last name. Certain last names note a certain job or role that the family can have. It’s a very coded system. There is still a little of the caste system leftover, meaning, if someone wants to get married their family does research on the suitor to determine whether he or she come from a compatible caste. In any case, the founder of the Layen brotherhood had everyone take the last name Laye so that everyone could be treated equally. It sort of worked because Laye is incorporated into everyone’s name but the “coded” last names are still present. For example, my name is technically Soufi Laye Samb. When two Layens meet each other on the street there is a very particular way for them to greet each other repeating the word Laye. The Layens also have a particular way of praying that incorporates song into their daily prayers. It is beautiful and very unique. That is the history of Islam in Senegal lesson of the day.
The Layens believe that Muhammed had his second coming about 100 years ago. He also had a son who was the reincarnate of Jesus (a interesting mix of Christianity and Islam). There are pictures of these men painted everywhere. It is easy to decipher who is the Jesus reincarnate because he is always painted with a cross on his head. At first I thought the man was very sweaty because he is painted as if there is a glare across the bridge of his nose and brow. I found out that the glare is actually a cross. now I am able to pick him out of the crowd the easiest. The Layens believe the end of the world is coming any day now. Overall, Layens enforce stricter codes when it comes to dressing and religious practices.
The founder of the Layen brotherhood wanted to eliminate all caste distinctions. One used to be able to tell what caste people were in based on their last name. Certain last names note a certain job or role that the family can have. It’s a very coded system. There is still a little of the caste system leftover, meaning, if someone wants to get married their family does research on the suitor to determine whether he or she come from a compatible caste. In any case, the founder of the Layen brotherhood had everyone take the last name Laye so that everyone could be treated equally. It sort of worked because Laye is incorporated into everyone’s name but the “coded” last names are still present. For example, my name is technically Soufi Laye Samb. When two Layens meet each other on the street there is a very particular way for them to greet each other repeating the word Laye. The Layens also have a particular way of praying that incorporates song into their daily prayers. It is beautiful and very unique. That is the history of Islam in Senegal lesson of the day.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
purple brows
I’ve noticed a trend in women’s fashion here pertaining to eyebrows. It is all the rage to tweeze or shave off most of your eyebrows leaving little tiny short lines near the middle of where eyebrows should be. When you leave the house you draw thicker purple lines where eyebrows should be. Some people pencil in the surprised look, others do long and elegant, but most are just prominent purple lines. On the bus downtown I saw the most comical set of eyebrows. The woman had not bothered to get rid of her old ones but instead drew heavy purple lines above and through her original eyebrows. Her old eyebrows were very visible. I do not think I will adopt this trend into my lifestyle as purple wouldn’t really work well with my complexion.
man hater
A translated conversation of what really took place today:
Babacar: You are too feminist. It’s obvious.
Stephanie: I guess I am but there is nothing wrong with that.
Babacar: I don’t know what a man did to you to make you the way you are but it must have been grave.
Stephanie: Nobody did anything to me. This is just the way I am.
Babacar: You are not normal.
Stephanie: Thank you.
Babacar: You are too feminist. It’s obvious.
Stephanie: I guess I am but there is nothing wrong with that.
Babacar: I don’t know what a man did to you to make you the way you are but it must have been grave.
Stephanie: Nobody did anything to me. This is just the way I am.
Babacar: You are not normal.
Stephanie: Thank you.
Monday, October 16, 2006
it's raining men
While this on the surface may seem like a vain post it is meant to represent a larger issue. I asked Mari who was in Senegal last semester what she liked the most and liked the least about Senegal. Her response was that she loved being a part of a Senegalese family. They completely include you in their family and you become their daughter. I have found this to be absolutely true. What she liked the least is something I also encounter all the time, Mari said that she disliked the men. Yes, Mari is a Mount Holyoke student and while that may merit a little skepticism in her comments, I can attest that it is very difficult to be a female in Senegal and even harder if you’re white.
One of my professors once told us that he thinks Senegalese men are the most macho in the world. I can see his point, it is as if men think they are entitled to interrupting whatever a woman is doing to convince her to marry him, buy his goods, call him, give him money, etc. And when that woman says no, he doesn’t stop but follows her, continues to talk, or hands her his number. On the surface this may seem like a minor problem in my life here but when I encounter stares everywhere I go, get harassed the moment I step outside of the house, or are followed when I walk, the frustration builds up. I have yet to explode; instead, I am trying the joking method. This method is simple, when a man approaches me and asks me questions I answer them very directly and then when he goes in for the kill, “ are you married?” I say I have 10 husbands in the US. This usually stops the conversation and he gets the point and walks away. Sometimes my joking backfires like when a man downtown tried to sell me a necklace. I told him I didn’t have any money but I would trade him the necklace for the five oranges I was carrying. He was not pleased with that snide remark at all and continued to go on and on about the beauty of the necklace. This continued even while I walked away, he followed me until I went into a bakery. What’s difficult is that I don’t have the Wolof language skills to fight off most of these men nor is it acceptable for me to curse them out. The situation is delicate. It’s also hard because I want to trust people and feel like people are being nice just to be nice instead of trying to escape from their miserable conditions. I think both sides are understandable. I want to be left alone and they want to escape poverty and underdevelopment. White women are valued as a source of escape. I am seen as a way out, it doesn’t matter where I am from, what I look like, or if I am kind. All that matters is my skin color and the fact that I have a passport. There are also many instances of colonial backlash, which for hundreds of years disvalued Africans, and jammed into their heads that white equals superior and beautiful. From talking to many Senegalese students in my class, these thoughts still linger in the psyche of many Africans. It’s one of the many horrible consequences of colonialism.
To give another example of what recently happened and made me feel powerless and violated was the following. I was visiting a friend in downtown Dakar. We were sitting around the house and in typical Senegalses fashion a constant stream of people came in and out the houses to hang out or just say hello (it’s really nice). In Senegalese culture when you enter a room you must greet and shake everyone’s hand. This man entered the room and greeted everyone. When he got to me he gave me a “hand tickle”. While this sounds benign, it is actually quite disgusting and has many sexual connotations. A hand tickle is a light scratch on the inside of the palm. It is used to indicate that you have a strong interest in the person and you want to be alone with them. It is usually just done between couples and is looked at as very forward if done with someone you don’t know. To me it was as if he was trying to intimidate me. I felt quite vulnerable and violated. I told my friend who promptly asked the man to leave.
To put a humorous spin on this uncomfortable situation I have decided to keep all the numbers I am given from the random men in the street. I started this initiative a week ago and so far I have four numbers in my collection.
One of my professors once told us that he thinks Senegalese men are the most macho in the world. I can see his point, it is as if men think they are entitled to interrupting whatever a woman is doing to convince her to marry him, buy his goods, call him, give him money, etc. And when that woman says no, he doesn’t stop but follows her, continues to talk, or hands her his number. On the surface this may seem like a minor problem in my life here but when I encounter stares everywhere I go, get harassed the moment I step outside of the house, or are followed when I walk, the frustration builds up. I have yet to explode; instead, I am trying the joking method. This method is simple, when a man approaches me and asks me questions I answer them very directly and then when he goes in for the kill, “ are you married?” I say I have 10 husbands in the US. This usually stops the conversation and he gets the point and walks away. Sometimes my joking backfires like when a man downtown tried to sell me a necklace. I told him I didn’t have any money but I would trade him the necklace for the five oranges I was carrying. He was not pleased with that snide remark at all and continued to go on and on about the beauty of the necklace. This continued even while I walked away, he followed me until I went into a bakery. What’s difficult is that I don’t have the Wolof language skills to fight off most of these men nor is it acceptable for me to curse them out. The situation is delicate. It’s also hard because I want to trust people and feel like people are being nice just to be nice instead of trying to escape from their miserable conditions. I think both sides are understandable. I want to be left alone and they want to escape poverty and underdevelopment. White women are valued as a source of escape. I am seen as a way out, it doesn’t matter where I am from, what I look like, or if I am kind. All that matters is my skin color and the fact that I have a passport. There are also many instances of colonial backlash, which for hundreds of years disvalued Africans, and jammed into their heads that white equals superior and beautiful. From talking to many Senegalese students in my class, these thoughts still linger in the psyche of many Africans. It’s one of the many horrible consequences of colonialism.
To give another example of what recently happened and made me feel powerless and violated was the following. I was visiting a friend in downtown Dakar. We were sitting around the house and in typical Senegalses fashion a constant stream of people came in and out the houses to hang out or just say hello (it’s really nice). In Senegalese culture when you enter a room you must greet and shake everyone’s hand. This man entered the room and greeted everyone. When he got to me he gave me a “hand tickle”. While this sounds benign, it is actually quite disgusting and has many sexual connotations. A hand tickle is a light scratch on the inside of the palm. It is used to indicate that you have a strong interest in the person and you want to be alone with them. It is usually just done between couples and is looked at as very forward if done with someone you don’t know. To me it was as if he was trying to intimidate me. I felt quite vulnerable and violated. I told my friend who promptly asked the man to leave.
To put a humorous spin on this uncomfortable situation I have decided to keep all the numbers I am given from the random men in the street. I started this initiative a week ago and so far I have four numbers in my collection.
boroom taxi
It’s time to talk about the taxis in and around Dakar because they are one of a kind. They are yellow and black automobiles that are usually missing a majority of the interior and sometimes the exterior. In Senegal you tell the taxi driver where you’re going before you enter the car. Then you and the driver proceed to bargain a price for the ride. When they see me approaching the price usually gets doubled. I always have a hard time figuring out how much I should pay so I ask a Senegalese person. It’s usually very hard to get comparable prices but I am beginning to get the hang of it. I am not quite sure how taxi drivers become licensed or if there is such a thing. It seems like there is a taxi for every five people. The drivers drive all around the town, honking their horns, and spraying sand all over the place. There have only been a few times when I did not have to give the taxi driver directions or have the driver stop to ask a person on the street directions. I wonder if they have to take a test to find out whether they know where major places in Dakar are located. I have to say that a reason why I have major problems finding my location is the fact that I can’t fully communicate in Wolof and only about 10% of taxi drivers understand French. All that to say the taxi experience is a unique one.
It is impossible to describe what Dakar taxis look like. Most of them are in a state of utter disrepair but are still tooling around town. I have been in taxis that don’t have door handles, back windshields, or apparatuses for keeping the door shut tightly. In the inside it is common to get into a taxi that is missing locks, door handles, window cranks, the inside of a door, or has huge cracks in the windshield. I love when I get a taxi that has velour interior and the windows don’t open. This morning I took a taxi that had blue velour seats, no window crank, and no place in the steering column for the ignition. The taxi driver started the car by putting two wires together. This is a pretty common practice. The fun does not stop there; taxis, en route to places pull into gas stations and fill their tanks with passengers sitting in the car. This has happened to me three times now. Taxi drivers also feel that is it perfectly fine to cut through gas stations to avoid traffic or drive on the sandy shoulder beeping and shaking their fists at the law-abiding citizens. My second week here I was in a taxi that rear-ended a car rapid. The people in the car rapid spit on the taxi and shook their fists at the driver. I just sat petrified in my red velvet seat hoping that he would just drive away, which is precisely what he did. He later ran over my notebook when he dropped me off. Basically taxis here are out of control.
It is impossible to describe what Dakar taxis look like. Most of them are in a state of utter disrepair but are still tooling around town. I have been in taxis that don’t have door handles, back windshields, or apparatuses for keeping the door shut tightly. In the inside it is common to get into a taxi that is missing locks, door handles, window cranks, the inside of a door, or has huge cracks in the windshield. I love when I get a taxi that has velour interior and the windows don’t open. This morning I took a taxi that had blue velour seats, no window crank, and no place in the steering column for the ignition. The taxi driver started the car by putting two wires together. This is a pretty common practice. The fun does not stop there; taxis, en route to places pull into gas stations and fill their tanks with passengers sitting in the car. This has happened to me three times now. Taxi drivers also feel that is it perfectly fine to cut through gas stations to avoid traffic or drive on the sandy shoulder beeping and shaking their fists at the law-abiding citizens. My second week here I was in a taxi that rear-ended a car rapid. The people in the car rapid spit on the taxi and shook their fists at the driver. I just sat petrified in my red velvet seat hoping that he would just drive away, which is precisely what he did. He later ran over my notebook when he dropped me off. Basically taxis here are out of control.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
How to know you're at a soccer game in Senegal
For the past two nights in a row I’ve gone to the big stadium in Dakar to watch soccer games. I have complied a list of events that indicate that you are at a typical soccer game in Dakar:
1. The lights go out mid-match.
2. Women are selling plastic baggies filled with water or ice cream. To consume the contents of the bag you have to bite the end off to the bag and suck on the plastic.
3. Teams do not necessarily have water bottles, those without use above mentioned bags and litter than on the field. I am pretty sure a player slipped on a plastic bag during the game.
4. A fight breaks out in the stadium because of a spiritual fetish. The goal-keeper of one team had a gris-gris or amulet to protect the goal and insure that noone scored. When the lights went out people in the stadium rush the field and try to steal the gris-gris. A big fight erupts on the field and the gendarmes, who are present to keep the peace, run to break it up. They unabashedly beat people with their batons and escort whomever they can catch off the field.
5. A player gets hurt on the field and medics wait to see the seriousness of it then out they run with a backboard to take the player off the field. After the player is off the field he, without fail, rolls off the backboard and sits up.
6. There is a male to female ratio of 50:1.
7. There are fans playing the drums throughout the entire match keeping the mood up and rowdy.
8. Brothers who live in the same house are on different teams even though the teams are split up by where you live. It just doesn’t make sense.
9. When you go with your host brother he introduces you as his wife and says your name is Ruby.
1. The lights go out mid-match.
2. Women are selling plastic baggies filled with water or ice cream. To consume the contents of the bag you have to bite the end off to the bag and suck on the plastic.
3. Teams do not necessarily have water bottles, those without use above mentioned bags and litter than on the field. I am pretty sure a player slipped on a plastic bag during the game.
4. A fight breaks out in the stadium because of a spiritual fetish. The goal-keeper of one team had a gris-gris or amulet to protect the goal and insure that noone scored. When the lights went out people in the stadium rush the field and try to steal the gris-gris. A big fight erupts on the field and the gendarmes, who are present to keep the peace, run to break it up. They unabashedly beat people with their batons and escort whomever they can catch off the field.
5. A player gets hurt on the field and medics wait to see the seriousness of it then out they run with a backboard to take the player off the field. After the player is off the field he, without fail, rolls off the backboard and sits up.
6. There is a male to female ratio of 50:1.
7. There are fans playing the drums throughout the entire match keeping the mood up and rowdy.
8. Brothers who live in the same house are on different teams even though the teams are split up by where you live. It just doesn’t make sense.
9. When you go with your host brother he introduces you as his wife and says your name is Ruby.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
did you know white women glow in the dark?
Funny things that have happened here:
Amelia coined a term for a group of four or more women wearing traditional boubous who congregate. She calls them the boubou brigade. We saw such a brigade on our walk to the beach where about 25 women piled into a car rapid and all you saw was a sea of colorful head wraps, tree branch toothbrushes, and flailing arms.
Oumar, a Senegalese student in our sustainable development class, said he wants to marry a white woman so that he can still see her if the electricity goes out.
Emily and Julie described our experience in Senegal by parodying a cliché, “Life is usually take it or leave it. Here it is take it! Take it! Take it!”
My family can tell if I am approaching the house because the little kids who play outside scream “toubab toubab” (white person or European) when I walk by them. This has happened everyday without fail. You would think the novelty would wear off by now but it hasn't.
There are 2 goats living in my kitchen and every time I use the sink above their living area they “bah” uncontrollably.
My computer literally has bugs. There are ant-like creatures living under the keyboard that crawl around as I type.
Amelia coined a term for a group of four or more women wearing traditional boubous who congregate. She calls them the boubou brigade. We saw such a brigade on our walk to the beach where about 25 women piled into a car rapid and all you saw was a sea of colorful head wraps, tree branch toothbrushes, and flailing arms.
Oumar, a Senegalese student in our sustainable development class, said he wants to marry a white woman so that he can still see her if the electricity goes out.
Emily and Julie described our experience in Senegal by parodying a cliché, “Life is usually take it or leave it. Here it is take it! Take it! Take it!”
My family can tell if I am approaching the house because the little kids who play outside scream “toubab toubab” (white person or European) when I walk by them. This has happened everyday without fail. You would think the novelty would wear off by now but it hasn't.
There are 2 goats living in my kitchen and every time I use the sink above their living area they “bah” uncontrollably.
My computer literally has bugs. There are ant-like creatures living under the keyboard that crawl around as I type.
No more rice!
In true American fashion I am going to dedicate a post to food. Food is the main topic of conversation we have while abroad because the differences in food are so pronounced. I just had the best meal since I’ve been in Senegal and it was a salad. As the resident lettuce hater I gobbled down the lettuce faster than ever before. The salad was Senegalese style- lettuce, tomato, cucumber, and cooked potato with a oil, vinegar and a pepper dressing. It was amazingly good. So good that I will probably get sick and spend the rest of the week in the bathroom.
This meal represents the overwhelming problem in Senegal of malnutrition. I was so ecstatic to eat lettuce, even though I am a lettuce hater, because I have yet to eat raw vegetables since my arrival. Normal Senegalese meals lack nutrients and vitamins, which is probably a large factor in the high-infant mortality rate as well as susceptibility toward illness. For breakfast people eat baguettes with chocolate or butter, if you live in my house you eat it with chocolate-butter. Coffee or Senegalese tea is a common breakfast beverage and so is powdered milk. You are hard-pressed to find liquid milk. For lunch people eat either meat swimming in oil with rice or French fries. For the past few weeks I have been eating rice and fish every night for dinner. In that dish, cebbujen, there are a few standard vegetables that have been cooked to death. My host family in Dakar calls me “Madame Chou” because I always go for the vegetables especially the cabbage, which is chou in French. While families eat a lot of fish because Dakar is on the water, they do not eat enough poultry or beef because it’s too expensive. Vegetables are available when in season but Senegalese dishes do not use many of them and they are always cooked so that they are mushy enough to ball up in your hand. Many traditional families eat around a bowl using their hands to eat, the oldest women breaks up the vegetables and meat to distribute them to the rest of the people eating. It’s an unsanitary but egalitarian gesture. Fruits are everywhere but are not seen as a standard foodstuff kept around the house because it is seen as a snack you buy in between meals. All that to say I have been making a concerted effort to eat well despite the overwhelming barriers, namely ten tons of rice.
This meal represents the overwhelming problem in Senegal of malnutrition. I was so ecstatic to eat lettuce, even though I am a lettuce hater, because I have yet to eat raw vegetables since my arrival. Normal Senegalese meals lack nutrients and vitamins, which is probably a large factor in the high-infant mortality rate as well as susceptibility toward illness. For breakfast people eat baguettes with chocolate or butter, if you live in my house you eat it with chocolate-butter. Coffee or Senegalese tea is a common breakfast beverage and so is powdered milk. You are hard-pressed to find liquid milk. For lunch people eat either meat swimming in oil with rice or French fries. For the past few weeks I have been eating rice and fish every night for dinner. In that dish, cebbujen, there are a few standard vegetables that have been cooked to death. My host family in Dakar calls me “Madame Chou” because I always go for the vegetables especially the cabbage, which is chou in French. While families eat a lot of fish because Dakar is on the water, they do not eat enough poultry or beef because it’s too expensive. Vegetables are available when in season but Senegalese dishes do not use many of them and they are always cooked so that they are mushy enough to ball up in your hand. Many traditional families eat around a bowl using their hands to eat, the oldest women breaks up the vegetables and meat to distribute them to the rest of the people eating. It’s an unsanitary but egalitarian gesture. Fruits are everywhere but are not seen as a standard foodstuff kept around the house because it is seen as a snack you buy in between meals. All that to say I have been making a concerted effort to eat well despite the overwhelming barriers, namely ten tons of rice.
Sad about the beach
Our group of students, 9 Americans and 10 Senegalese, went to the Yoff beach to look at the sanitation problems. The beaches could be the most beautiful in Dakar if it wasn’t for the fact that the beach is used as a garbage dumping ground. The sand is covered in things as egg shells, aluminum containers, clothing, large plastic rice sacks, tires, little plastic baggies, pieces of blue plastic, animal waste, and dead fish. The sand is literally covered in this garbage and some of the garbage is floating around in the water. Sections of the beach are used as the launching dock for fisherman who dump their garbage everywhere and keep goats on the beach. They defecate everywhere as do the wild dogs and cats who roam the sand in search for food. Another problem is that households not only dump their trash on the beach but they also dump the water they use for washing clothing and dishes. This “gray water” is a contaminator and is bad for the ocean and the sand.
The reason why people use the beach as a landfill is complicated. One reason is that Yoff is completely overcrowded. It is set up like a village but is really the size of a small city. People come here and work for a small time in Dakar and live in Yoff then leave. They, of course, don’t care about what happens to Yoff and don’t help to clean it up. The streets are narrow making it difficult for garbage trucks to pass. The garbage trucks have to go very far to drop the garbage off and there is limited infrastructure so they come wherever and as infrequently as they can. Another reason why people dirty up the beach is because they know that some organization will come and clean it up if it gets too out of control. Instead of educating people why throwing garbage on the beach is terrible, these organizations rally people and host weekends dedicated to beach clean-up. It is a Band-Aid to a larger graver problem.
The reason why people use the beach as a landfill is complicated. One reason is that Yoff is completely overcrowded. It is set up like a village but is really the size of a small city. People come here and work for a small time in Dakar and live in Yoff then leave. They, of course, don’t care about what happens to Yoff and don’t help to clean it up. The streets are narrow making it difficult for garbage trucks to pass. The garbage trucks have to go very far to drop the garbage off and there is limited infrastructure so they come wherever and as infrequently as they can. Another reason why people dirty up the beach is because they know that some organization will come and clean it up if it gets too out of control. Instead of educating people why throwing garbage on the beach is terrible, these organizations rally people and host weekends dedicated to beach clean-up. It is a Band-Aid to a larger graver problem.
Sunday, October 08, 2006
Ramadan Inn
During this month a group of people camp out near my house in Yoff in an open field. A large tent has been erected with chairs for about 200 people nestled close together. There are two huge screens hung from two large buildings and a projector to cast images of praying people and people giving speeches. They have a sound system loud enough for people a mile away to hear the goings on. During the day about 100 women sit around and talk. They wear white and are most veiled. These women come to Yoff only for the month of Ramadan. I don’t know where they sleep but I do know where they use the facilities. Every night after people break the fast more women and some men stream to this tent. One night I would estimate about 400 people came spilling out onto the nearby sandy field. They pray together and listen to speeches in Arabic and French.
Since a bunch of the women stay in Yoff for Ramadan they need a place to use the bathroom, take showers, get water, and change clothes. That is where my house plays a part. About 30 women a night come into the house, one after the other greeting us then proceed to use the facilities. Sometimes they stick around and watch television or pray in the living room. It is very kind of my family to allow all these women to use our house as a hostel. The women seem to appreciate it immensely. I am pretty sure my host mother gives them food if there is some left over. I have coined our house the Ramadan Inn.
Since a bunch of the women stay in Yoff for Ramadan they need a place to use the bathroom, take showers, get water, and change clothes. That is where my house plays a part. About 30 women a night come into the house, one after the other greeting us then proceed to use the facilities. Sometimes they stick around and watch television or pray in the living room. It is very kind of my family to allow all these women to use our house as a hostel. The women seem to appreciate it immensely. I am pretty sure my host mother gives them food if there is some left over. I have coined our house the Ramadan Inn.
Saturday, October 07, 2006
The beginning/ Yoff
I have been meaning to create a blog about Senegal since I arrived but I never had the time to do so. This should serve as a medium to gain information about life in Dakar.
I am currently in Yoff; a fishing village about 20 minutes North of Dakar. People have said it is a "magical place" but I have yet to feel any magic. There is a lot of mysticism surrounding the creation of the village. The Yoffoise believe that genies look after them and the keep them in good health. If you do not pay homage to the genie as often as necessary bad things will happen. This mysticism sharply conflicts with the prevalence of Islam, which is omnipresent. There are faces of Islamic leaders painted everywhere. I find the village to be far more traditional than Dakar. Women rarely leave the house and when they do they cover their heads. Many young men sit outside drinking tea and talking all day long. There is a lot of unemployment.
My Yoff host family is very nice. They gave me a Wolof name, Sufi Samba. No one calls me Stephanie is the house, I do not think many of the family know my real name. There are 11 people living in the house. There are three little girls who are sweet; one of the girls is 10 years old wears a hearing aid. I wonder how she is treated outside of the house. I also wonder if she goes to school because she did not really know the colors in French. She is a very kind and gentle child. My family speaks much less French than my Dakar family. My host mother in Yoff is an Arabic teacher and her niece who lives with us takes her classes in Arabic.
I am trying to learn Wolof but I am having trouble learning it outside of the classroom. My host family asks me simple questions and I learn that way. I think I progressed much faster when I was taking Wolof at the Baobab Center.
In this Yoff house, there are 2 goats living in my kitchen. I am pretty sure that they will be sacrificed for the end of Ramadan. I do not know if I will be able to handle that. They do smell very badly and their smell permeates the house from time to time.
I am currently in Yoff; a fishing village about 20 minutes North of Dakar. People have said it is a "magical place" but I have yet to feel any magic. There is a lot of mysticism surrounding the creation of the village. The Yoffoise believe that genies look after them and the keep them in good health. If you do not pay homage to the genie as often as necessary bad things will happen. This mysticism sharply conflicts with the prevalence of Islam, which is omnipresent. There are faces of Islamic leaders painted everywhere. I find the village to be far more traditional than Dakar. Women rarely leave the house and when they do they cover their heads. Many young men sit outside drinking tea and talking all day long. There is a lot of unemployment.
My Yoff host family is very nice. They gave me a Wolof name, Sufi Samba. No one calls me Stephanie is the house, I do not think many of the family know my real name. There are 11 people living in the house. There are three little girls who are sweet; one of the girls is 10 years old wears a hearing aid. I wonder how she is treated outside of the house. I also wonder if she goes to school because she did not really know the colors in French. She is a very kind and gentle child. My family speaks much less French than my Dakar family. My host mother in Yoff is an Arabic teacher and her niece who lives with us takes her classes in Arabic.
I am trying to learn Wolof but I am having trouble learning it outside of the classroom. My host family asks me simple questions and I learn that way. I think I progressed much faster when I was taking Wolof at the Baobab Center.
In this Yoff house, there are 2 goats living in my kitchen. I am pretty sure that they will be sacrificed for the end of Ramadan. I do not know if I will be able to handle that. They do smell very badly and their smell permeates the house from time to time.
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