Senegalese people seem to have a knack for remembering names. I have been introduced to people once or twice and in passing they will call out to me by name. I usually have no idea who they are or how I know them. It’s pitiful. In Senegal, I seem to have a mental block on Senegalese names. No matter how many times I am told names I seem to forget them quickly. Perhaps it can be attributed to my unfamiliarity with the pronunciation. It would be a faux pas to call Boubacar, Babacar or Halib, Habib. My name retention problem is especially embarrassing with the people in my class with whom I chat with on a daily basis. In order to remember people in my head Alisa and I, (we have all of our classes together), have begun to refer to people by nicknames. I can remember the nicknames but never their names. So far we have Versace whom we call Versach because the first time we bonded with him he was wearing a brown bootleg Versace tee shirt (and a faux Dolce and Gabana belt). This guy has invited us to tea and a sociological discussion yet we have no idea what his name is. Then there is “rasta hat man” who is a bit of a rubble rouser and once argued with students who interrupted our class to announce a strike. There is the woman who looks like a “Fatou Gaye” offspring. Fatou Gaye was Mari’s host mom and most recently Julie’s host mother in Yoff. All of her children have very similar looking faces. We have succeeded in remembering one student’s name because he is a god-sent. His name is Vieux, which in French means “old” (it’s helpful to note quirks). He also gave Alisa his phone number which helps. There is a student in about four of my six classes who knows my name, where I live, the classes I take and probably my social security number and I for the life of me cannot pronounce his name. I tried to play the trick of having someone in our group ask him his name while being introduced to him but nobody could not understand what he said.
The reason that this is such a big deal is that names in Senegal are very important. Firstly, children are usually named after a close relative or even a co-spouse. Naming someone after another person demonstrates the respect you have for them. This means that there are about five people per extended family with the same name. In my host mom’s family there are about four Abys, which is the name of her mother.
Secondly, when you are introduced to someone in Wolof you, as part of the greeting, are supposed to repeat their name. Sometimes the repetition gets so intense that one person is saying the other’ name while the other is trying to talk to them. My host dad has a habit of repeating the persons name as they are talking. It makes my listening comprehension impossible.
Thirdly, culturally it is important that when you know someone’s name or in my case should know someone’s name that you throw it into conversation as often as possible. You can state someone’s name a several times in a simple greeting conversation. It is as if saying the word for “you“ is impolite.
I have found that Senegalese with “Western” names, usually denoting that they are Catholic are easier to remember. I had no problem remembering Patrick’s, the man who sells English study guides outside of my Medical Anthropology class, name or Francois who is in several of my classes. This confirms my hypothesis that my horrible memory for Senegalese names is attributed to my unfamiliarity with the sounds of the words.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Fake Threads
As briefly mentioned in “What’s your name” inhabitants of Dakar have a penchant for counterfeit clothing. I would argue that bootleg goods are helping to kill the vibrant sense of fashion and people’s individuality in terms their dress. The popularity of “ready-to-wear” or “prêt-a-porter” clothing has taken a hold of Senegal. While many people still buy fabric and visit a local tailor, many people, especially young people, are beginning to turn to the easier and cheaper way to purchase clothing. With tailors you bring the fabric and any amenity you would like added to your piece, lace, piping, jewels, etc. The tailor, almost all of whom are men, takes your measurements and evaluates whether you have enough fabric for your design. Most of the time you provide the design of the desired clothing. It is a lot of fun and can be a nice creative outlet. If you are not the imaginative type the you can tell the tailor what you want (dress, pants, outfit) made from the fabric and he or she will design it for you or you can look at a book of photos the tailor has of his of her work. I personally take great pleasure in designing my own outfits or “borrowing” my friend’s ideas.
Anyway, prêt-a-porter is significantly cheaper both monetarily and in quality. It is also omnipresent in Dakar. Vendors selling fake Channel tank tops or faux Lacoste belts walk around the neighborhoods hawking their goods. The markets, even the market that sells fabric, has many counterfeit goods from fake Louis V wallets to Prada shoes (that say Gucci on the inside, I swear) to fake Diesel jeans. Counterfeit is ubiquitous. This not just a Senegalese thing, at the clubs Arab men sporting faux Polo shirts sip their Cokes and talk to their girlfriends who have the faux Longchamp bags. At university every other person is wearing at least one item of prêt-a-porter. Caitlin bought “real Gucci sunglasses” for a very small price. Gucci is written across the bridge and is on crooked. On one side the silver medallion that should say Gucci is missing. They are the most ridiculous sunglasses but emblematic of “prêt-a-porter” and the new wave of Senegalese fashion.
I don’t think many people believe their knock-off goods are real. Otman, who I think has amassed a huge quantity of bootleg clothing, says he picks it out because it because it is accessible or he likes the way it looks. I don’t think he has any idea the price or the reputation of the real goods. He wears it because it was a gift from someone or he likes the color. I have noticed that friends oftentimes buy their friends the knock-off clothing as presents. While we in the US would be offended to receive a fake bag or pair of jeans, here these gifts are welcomed.
Senegalese style clothing- boubous, batiks, taille-basses, etc do come in prêt-a-porter but usually in an enormous size made for big mamas or for little children. If they do come in a more fitted size, usually batik dresses, it is not acceptable to wear them out of the house since they are considered house dresses. “Traditional” wear is not supposed to be fitted so the size doesn’t matter. Men wear their clothing huge so that it hangs off of their bodies. It is all the rage to wear tight clothing so young women will rarely wear huge boubous. It is far more common to see her wearing a taille-basse, which consists of a top and long skirt that when made at the tailor is usually fitted. All of the prêt-a-porter taille-basses I have seen come with enormous tops and fitted skirts. Not cute. The hugeness of the clothing sometimes makes it inappropriate for young women to wear because the armpit holes expose their breasts. For older women it’s fine because they do what they want and you end up seeing their breasts on a daily basis through the armpit hole of their boubou (I kid you not). It is far more attractive and wise just to go to the tailor and get measured.
One of my favorite pastimes is checking out counterfeit shirts. I enjoy picking out all of the grammar and spelling errors. One of Otman’s favorite Diesel shirts has establishment spelled wrong. His friend’s mother just sent him a gift of bootleg jeans and a tee shirt. The Dolce and Gabana tee said, “The best place for avantre is here.” It doesn’t make sense that Italian brand would write on their clothing in English. It makes less sense that the clothing is counterfeited to begin with.
A shirt is a shirt, a belt just a belt so it shouldn’t matter that they are fake. I think it does since it says something about what is being dumped into Senegal. Senegalese society is not materialistic nor brand obsessed as we are in North American and Europe. People buy the prêt-a-porter because it’s cheap. Those Channel tank tops are sold everywhere in a variety of colors for about $3. The bootleg clothing gives off the appearance that Senegalese culture is turning into a consumer haven. It also demonstrates to the outside that Senegalese people do not care about quality or that they can be easily fooled. I think the connotations are bogus. Already tailors are feeling the effects. Some have closed up shop while others have to raise their prices in order to make money. It is another example of something being introduced from the outside that is messing up the culture and the country.
Anyway, prêt-a-porter is significantly cheaper both monetarily and in quality. It is also omnipresent in Dakar. Vendors selling fake Channel tank tops or faux Lacoste belts walk around the neighborhoods hawking their goods. The markets, even the market that sells fabric, has many counterfeit goods from fake Louis V wallets to Prada shoes (that say Gucci on the inside, I swear) to fake Diesel jeans. Counterfeit is ubiquitous. This not just a Senegalese thing, at the clubs Arab men sporting faux Polo shirts sip their Cokes and talk to their girlfriends who have the faux Longchamp bags. At university every other person is wearing at least one item of prêt-a-porter. Caitlin bought “real Gucci sunglasses” for a very small price. Gucci is written across the bridge and is on crooked. On one side the silver medallion that should say Gucci is missing. They are the most ridiculous sunglasses but emblematic of “prêt-a-porter” and the new wave of Senegalese fashion.
I don’t think many people believe their knock-off goods are real. Otman, who I think has amassed a huge quantity of bootleg clothing, says he picks it out because it because it is accessible or he likes the way it looks. I don’t think he has any idea the price or the reputation of the real goods. He wears it because it was a gift from someone or he likes the color. I have noticed that friends oftentimes buy their friends the knock-off clothing as presents. While we in the US would be offended to receive a fake bag or pair of jeans, here these gifts are welcomed.
Senegalese style clothing- boubous, batiks, taille-basses, etc do come in prêt-a-porter but usually in an enormous size made for big mamas or for little children. If they do come in a more fitted size, usually batik dresses, it is not acceptable to wear them out of the house since they are considered house dresses. “Traditional” wear is not supposed to be fitted so the size doesn’t matter. Men wear their clothing huge so that it hangs off of their bodies. It is all the rage to wear tight clothing so young women will rarely wear huge boubous. It is far more common to see her wearing a taille-basse, which consists of a top and long skirt that when made at the tailor is usually fitted. All of the prêt-a-porter taille-basses I have seen come with enormous tops and fitted skirts. Not cute. The hugeness of the clothing sometimes makes it inappropriate for young women to wear because the armpit holes expose their breasts. For older women it’s fine because they do what they want and you end up seeing their breasts on a daily basis through the armpit hole of their boubou (I kid you not). It is far more attractive and wise just to go to the tailor and get measured.
One of my favorite pastimes is checking out counterfeit shirts. I enjoy picking out all of the grammar and spelling errors. One of Otman’s favorite Diesel shirts has establishment spelled wrong. His friend’s mother just sent him a gift of bootleg jeans and a tee shirt. The Dolce and Gabana tee said, “The best place for avantre is here.” It doesn’t make sense that Italian brand would write on their clothing in English. It makes less sense that the clothing is counterfeited to begin with.
A shirt is a shirt, a belt just a belt so it shouldn’t matter that they are fake. I think it does since it says something about what is being dumped into Senegal. Senegalese society is not materialistic nor brand obsessed as we are in North American and Europe. People buy the prêt-a-porter because it’s cheap. Those Channel tank tops are sold everywhere in a variety of colors for about $3. The bootleg clothing gives off the appearance that Senegalese culture is turning into a consumer haven. It also demonstrates to the outside that Senegalese people do not care about quality or that they can be easily fooled. I think the connotations are bogus. Already tailors are feeling the effects. Some have closed up shop while others have to raise their prices in order to make money. It is another example of something being introduced from the outside that is messing up the culture and the country.
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Dakar versus DC
If I could compare Dakar to any city in the United States I would say it is most comparable to Washington DC. The fact that they are both the capital city does play a role in my comparison as does use of space.
First and foremost in both cities the president lives in a big white house. In the US it’s the white house in Senegal it is called the Palais Presidentiel. In Dakar one of the few places you can find grass is in front of the Palais.
One of my favorite activities is watching the presidential motorcade leave the Palais. It is by far the most absurd thing. First there are a few police officers on motorcycles that lead the way, followed by huge Ford Expeditions with tinted windows and flashing blue lights, the is the presidents Mercedes with hearse-like curtains in the backseat, usually there is another Mercedes or two near his car, then there is always a not-as-nice car, followed by more Expeditions, and the bringing-up-the-back police officers on motorcycles. As he and his crew pass the gendarmerie who are called in to block traffic salute him. What makes the whole motorcade such a charade is that guns barely exist in Senegal so for anyone to do harm to the President they would have to knife him probably with a machete, which means entering his ‘Benz.
Since it is a capital city it, like DC, it is overrun with administrative buildings. Dakar is home to more ministers’ offices than you can imagine. There are also legislative buildings, as well as many government run institutions. The United Nations has a large presence in Dakar. Similarly to DC, Dakar is host to many embassies and ambassadors houses. They tend to stick out among the regular folks houses, as they are typically quite large and well manicured. Many of them are in a “suburb” called Fann near the university. Fann reminds me of the area near American University except that one part of the suburb borders the Atlantic Ocean.
The proximity to water is another similarities between the two cities. Dakar is as cosmopolitan as it is because of the presence of a port. DC has a nice port for people to park their yachts. In both cities because of the water you can find good seafood. I must say that DC is missing out on the fisherman culture. Typically Dakar fisherman fish at night from 8pm to 7am in pirogues (the boats that are also used to bring Senegalese to the Canary Islands), Watching the fishermen come back to shore in the morning is one of the most impressive sights (and smells) around. But to be fair, DC has a one-up on Dakar since it has the Smithsonians, Dakar is host to one official museum that my mother would refer to as “dinky” if she ever visited.
The people who live in Dakar have a similar pace as the people who live in DC. It is not the face pace always on the move pace of New York while it is not as laid back as other cities. You understand that people are the move but are willing to stop and talk if you engage them in conversation. Also, like in DC not many people call Dakar their home. Most people live on the outskirts of the city and commute in to work.
The traffic is comparably horrible in both places. You can easily be stuck on a crowded bus for an hour and a half when the trip should only take about ten minutes. Dakar has a serious pollution and over population problem so the commute is far more unpleasant. There have been times where I have noticed that I have arrived at my destination faster than a bus that traveled the same route. Urban planning for Dakar was minimal outside of the fact that the French administrators wanted to house all of the Africans in Dakar in an a township called Medina. Most roads have three lanes: one going, one coming, and one passing. This is supposed to be sufficient for 4 million people.
How can I write about Dakar with writing about poverty? Dakar has rough neighborhoods like DC does but I think that Dakar has more. In Dakar these neighborhoods are prime examples of abject poverty. However, I think that the poor parts of Dakar are much safer than those in DC. On the other hand there are middle-class and upper-middle-class neighborhoods nearby but farther from the city comparable to Alexandria. I live in one such neighborhood. Farther away from the city is where the huge mansions and Club Med is located. Paradoxically, Yoff, the village I lived in during October is also near there. Dakar is a city of extremes which is why it is so fascinating. In order to get to the chic areas you have to pass by shack villages and hundreds of begging children. I do not know how people could morally live in such enormous houses while their domestic help can barely afford a sack of rice.
Now if only Dakar could construct a metro system many of the urban planning traffic problems would be alleviated and I wouldn’t die of black lung from car pollution.
First and foremost in both cities the president lives in a big white house. In the US it’s the white house in Senegal it is called the Palais Presidentiel. In Dakar one of the few places you can find grass is in front of the Palais.
One of my favorite activities is watching the presidential motorcade leave the Palais. It is by far the most absurd thing. First there are a few police officers on motorcycles that lead the way, followed by huge Ford Expeditions with tinted windows and flashing blue lights, the is the presidents Mercedes with hearse-like curtains in the backseat, usually there is another Mercedes or two near his car, then there is always a not-as-nice car, followed by more Expeditions, and the bringing-up-the-back police officers on motorcycles. As he and his crew pass the gendarmerie who are called in to block traffic salute him. What makes the whole motorcade such a charade is that guns barely exist in Senegal so for anyone to do harm to the President they would have to knife him probably with a machete, which means entering his ‘Benz.
Since it is a capital city it, like DC, it is overrun with administrative buildings. Dakar is home to more ministers’ offices than you can imagine. There are also legislative buildings, as well as many government run institutions. The United Nations has a large presence in Dakar. Similarly to DC, Dakar is host to many embassies and ambassadors houses. They tend to stick out among the regular folks houses, as they are typically quite large and well manicured. Many of them are in a “suburb” called Fann near the university. Fann reminds me of the area near American University except that one part of the suburb borders the Atlantic Ocean.
The proximity to water is another similarities between the two cities. Dakar is as cosmopolitan as it is because of the presence of a port. DC has a nice port for people to park their yachts. In both cities because of the water you can find good seafood. I must say that DC is missing out on the fisherman culture. Typically Dakar fisherman fish at night from 8pm to 7am in pirogues (the boats that are also used to bring Senegalese to the Canary Islands), Watching the fishermen come back to shore in the morning is one of the most impressive sights (and smells) around. But to be fair, DC has a one-up on Dakar since it has the Smithsonians, Dakar is host to one official museum that my mother would refer to as “dinky” if she ever visited.
The people who live in Dakar have a similar pace as the people who live in DC. It is not the face pace always on the move pace of New York while it is not as laid back as other cities. You understand that people are the move but are willing to stop and talk if you engage them in conversation. Also, like in DC not many people call Dakar their home. Most people live on the outskirts of the city and commute in to work.
The traffic is comparably horrible in both places. You can easily be stuck on a crowded bus for an hour and a half when the trip should only take about ten minutes. Dakar has a serious pollution and over population problem so the commute is far more unpleasant. There have been times where I have noticed that I have arrived at my destination faster than a bus that traveled the same route. Urban planning for Dakar was minimal outside of the fact that the French administrators wanted to house all of the Africans in Dakar in an a township called Medina. Most roads have three lanes: one going, one coming, and one passing. This is supposed to be sufficient for 4 million people.
How can I write about Dakar with writing about poverty? Dakar has rough neighborhoods like DC does but I think that Dakar has more. In Dakar these neighborhoods are prime examples of abject poverty. However, I think that the poor parts of Dakar are much safer than those in DC. On the other hand there are middle-class and upper-middle-class neighborhoods nearby but farther from the city comparable to Alexandria. I live in one such neighborhood. Farther away from the city is where the huge mansions and Club Med is located. Paradoxically, Yoff, the village I lived in during October is also near there. Dakar is a city of extremes which is why it is so fascinating. In order to get to the chic areas you have to pass by shack villages and hundreds of begging children. I do not know how people could morally live in such enormous houses while their domestic help can barely afford a sack of rice.
Now if only Dakar could construct a metro system many of the urban planning traffic problems would be alleviated and I wouldn’t die of black lung from car pollution.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
10,000 girls
I spent five days in Kaolack working at the NGO (non-governmental organization) 10,000 girls (www.10000girls.org). It is by far the best NGO or project I have visited in Senegal, bar none. It is the only NGO that I have visited that is run by Senegalese people. In addition, they are not getting stuck in the rut of micro-finance. It is also not being administered from a faraway European or American. It is the only place that I can confidently say helps people. In addition, their whole premise, helping girls stay in school and succeed is amazing. The project was started when a little nine or ten year old girl knocked on an American woman, Viola Vaughn’s, door. She begged Viola to help her stay in school. At first Viola was hesitant to immerse herself in such an undertaking but she relented. She was able to teach the girl and her two friends how to teach themselves the information they are given in school. Six years later there are 1,700 girls in the program. The project is hoping to increase the number to 2,400 this year. The project has several compartments. One is an after-school program in Kaolack as well in five other zones of villages. The project also supports in-school programs targeted to help girls. The project runs with the help of five businesses. These businesses are run by women who have been excluded from school. Some never went to school and are illiterate while other only went up until middle school. The businesses that they run exceptionally well are: a bakery that caters and makes pancakes and other American delights, a local rice and high-end cashew selling project, a trucking/ transit business for their cashews and for local farmers, a sewing shop that makes quilts, sheets, tablecloths, etc, and a guest house in Kaolack. All of these projects are completely overseen by the women with a little bit of organizational help from Viola. The proceeds are split in half one half goes to the women and the other half goes to the school.
My job while there was to help with organizing ways to thank people who donated to the project. I created a newsletter with updates about the project and the businesses. As well as other little organizational tasks did at the school and in the bakery. I accompanied Viola to a village south of Kaolack where they want to create an after-school program. The village is a bit dysfunctional because they have electricity but no hook-ups and noThe most rewarding experience I had, other than talking to Viola, was
My job while there was to help with organizing ways to thank people who donated to the project. I created a newsletter with updates about the project and the businesses. As well as other little organizational tasks did at the school and in the bakery. I accompanied Viola to a village south of Kaolack where they want to create an after-school program. The village is a bit dysfunctional because they have electricity but no hook-ups and noThe most rewarding experience I had, other than talking to Viola, was
my digs in Kaolack
I spent five days in Kaolack working at an NGO (non-governmental organization). Kaolack is a small dirty city Southeast of Dakar. It was incredibly hot and infested with tons mosquitoes (that is saying a lot for Senegal). In Kaolack I lived in a house with 30 or more people. We had running water only at certain times and the rest of the times we used water from a well on the compound. The well water was actually warmers than the running water so it was a treat for me. Some of the people who lived in the house were from nearby villages who came to Kaolack for their education. Other people who lived in the house were bakers who made thick country bread in a wood-burning stove. The actual members of the family were only about seven of the inhabitants. In addition, there were many women there who helped with the cooking and cleaning but who were clearly not maids, bakers, or students. I never figured out what they did and why they lived in the house. One of the mystery women taught me how to make fataayas, which are pockets of dough filled with tuna and spiced onions. Before learning how to make them I was convinced the filling was gross mystery meat. It was nice to know that I was wrong. In any case, I had the pleasure of sharing a bed with the woman I worked with at the NGO. Occasionally I would wake up to find that one of the toddlers in the house had nestled between us sleeping peacefully and deeply. I soon found out that my room also doubled as an armoire for about ten of the houses’ inhabitants. During all hours of the day and night people would enter and take what they needed out of the enormous armoire and leave. Some of the women would undress or get dressed in the room. I, on several occasions, walked in on half naked women getting their toiletries and bathrobe for the shower. I, as the resident awkward American, averted my eyes and grabbed what I needed and left. At night I frequently awoke to people shuffling in and out. To me this constant movement of people in what I considered to be my bedroom was incredibly mind-blowing for two reasons. One, in my house in Dakar my room is my own. I lock it when I leave and people only enter if invited. I leave my door open when I am present in the room but close it if I leave it. Two, as an American I have a very particular sense of space. I need a lot of it. Whether it manifests while talking to people, driving, or a physical space to go call my own. Americans tend to use their rooms as havens for places to go to be alone, to think, to escape, to pout, to read, etc. In Senegal this is not the case. People are more community based. Old men are the only ones given the freedom to retreat to their room whenever they like. Others stay in the living room or courtyard as a large group talking and eating. Senegalese tend to share the belongings freely and generously; therefore, my preoccupation with the security of my belongings was not far off except that this family understood that toubabs do not share like Senegalese share. My things were untouched and stayed near where the extra television and DVD player was stored. Regarding bedrooms, it is common for parents with a kid or two to share a room or several siblings to share a bed. Rooms are hangout spots for younger people but the door must be kept open. Most of the time they use their rooms as a place to listen to music and make tea. Kaolack was without a doubt a true cultural experience. I am thankful that I had it.
my digs in Kaolack
I spent five days in Kaolack working at an NGO (non-governmental organization). Kaolack is a small dirty city Southeast of Dakar. It was incredibly hot and infested with tons mosquitoes (that is saying a lot for Senegal). In Kaolack I lived in a house with 30 or more people. We had running water only at certain times and the rest of the times we used water from a well on the compound. The well water was actually warmers than the running water so it was a treat for me. Some of the people who lived in the house were from nearby villages who came to Kaolack for their education. Other people who lived in the house were bakers who made thick country bread in a wood-burning stove. The actual members of the family were only about seven of the inhabitants. In addition, there were many women there who helped with the cooking and cleaning but who were clearly not maids, bakers, or students. I never figured out what they did and why they lived in the house. One of the mystery women taught me how to make fataayas, which are pockets of dough filled with tuna and spiced onions. Before learning how to make them I was convinced the filling was gross mystery meat. It was nice to know that I was wrong. In any case, I had the pleasure of sharing a bed with the woman I worked with at the NGO. Occasionally I would wake up to find that one of the toddlers in the house had nestled between us sleeping peacefully and deeply. I soon found out that my room also doubled as an armoire for about ten of the houses’ inhabitants. During all hours of the day and night people would enter and take what they needed out of the enormous armoire and leave. Some of the women would undress or get dressed in the room. I, on several occasions, walked in on half naked women getting their toiletries and bathrobe for the shower. I, as the resident awkward American, averted my eyes and grabbed what I needed and left. At night I frequently awoke to people shuffling in and out. To me this constant movement of people in what I considered to be my bedroom was incredibly mind-blowing for two reasons. One, in my house in Dakar my room is my own. I lock it when I leave and people only enter if invited. I leave my door open when I am present in the room but close it if I leave it. Two, as an American I have a very particular sense of space. I need a lot of it. Whether it manifests while talking to people, driving, or a physical space to go call my own. Americans tend to use their rooms as havens for places to go to be alone, to think, to escape, to pout, to read, etc. In Senegal this is not the case. People are more community based. Old men are the only ones given the freedom to retreat to their room whenever they like. Others stay in the living room or courtyard as a large group talking and eating. Senegalese tend to share the belongings freely and generously; therefore, my preoccupation with the security of my belongings was not far off except that this family understood that toubabs do not share like Senegalese share. My things were untouched and stayed near where the extra television and DVD player was stored. Regarding bedrooms, it is common for parents with a kid or two to share a room or several siblings to share a bed. Rooms are hangout spots for younger people but the door must be kept open. Most of the time they use their rooms as a place to listen to music and make tea. Kaolack was without a doubt a true cultural experience. I am thankful that I had it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
