In Senegal if you do something nice for someone or give him or her a gift they usually bless you in Wolof. It always baffles me when such poor people like my maid Khady, bless me and wish me “xaalis bu bare,” or “lots of money”. She shold be blessing herself and let me fend for myself. Anyway, in addition to money most often “xale bu bare” or “many children” are also part of the blessing. It’s at that point almost every time I say my dutiful “amen” and run away hoping I will not be like Senegalese women with five or more children.
On a completely unrelated note if you tell someone you like what they are wearing they will either offer to give it to you or they will offer to name it after you. I have been offered many items from a necklace to a skirt but have always declined. I have several items named after me, a tee shirt, Khady’s pagne, a blanket on the extra bed, and most recently my host dad’s grand boubou.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Monday, April 16, 2007
This is Dakar
This is my typical experience on my walk to University.
I leave my house with the wind blowing it is Harmattan season. The Harmattan is a strong wind that blows across the Sahara going right through Dakar. Sand nicks my ankles and if exposed calves. I begin my 45 minute walk through sand and on uneven pavement. On the VDN, the street or highway that I live on I try to avoid deep sand, garbage, stray dogs, and cars who think that the walking space is really a road. As I walk car rapide apprentis yell there destinations, “Fann Fann” or “ Dakar Dakar.” They bang on the side of the tin automobile altering the driver that he should not stop or that he should stop to let someone off. I walk past the Mobil station where early morning traffic loves to cut through and make schoolchildren jump out of the way. There is usually a car rapid filled with passengers filling up its tank. Right after the station are the bushes where I got into a fight with a car rapid apprenti. Those same bushes are where men urinate and squat to do their abolutions. Sidewalk appears made out of stone slabs and is uneven and missing pieces. I pass the group of large women sitting on the corner of the huge intersection. They have many buckets and bowls wrapped in fabric. While sitting they resemble a sea of brightly colored garden with different prints and materials mixing.
I cross the street and sometimes the man with a gray hollow pipe for a leg is in the area. He always wears a red knit hat and a green jacket. When he’s not walking around with his wooden cane he sprawls out on the sidewalk giving the people going by a look into his pipe. The canal near where he sits is filled with garbage- cardboard boxes, plastic bottles, scraps of fabric, wrappers, and car parts. Everything is sodden with water and sewage. A bit further down there is a man who has a deformity that impairs him from standing upright. He walks by using his hands that are padded with flip-flops. He uses his legs to propel forward with his butt sticking up. He “walks” around for awhile then sits down sticking his hand out to the passing cars and pedestrians. The bar in front of where he frequents, shelters the North African families who sit on the sidewalk and send their small children out to beg. These kids have a totally different method of asking for money which is to hang onto the pedestrian making them stop or slow down or running up to someone and cling to them for a block or two. I could write a dissertation on begging techniques in Dakar. Before I cross the street to either walk near the other Mobil station that houses On The Run or the Post Office I look at the huge baobab tree on the corner that stands tall and majestic among the chaos of Dakar.
Just as a reminder to understand what it feels like to walk down the street, there are constantly people staring and usually there will be a person or two who will scream “toubab.” From this point in my walk until the University the sidewalk is packed with people. Many people have physical deformities or handicaps that impair their ability to walk. There are talibes everywhere sticking their washed-out tomato sauce can hoping for coins or cookies. If I do not have anything edible to give the talibes I say “ba baneen” which means, “next time.” Encroaching onto the sidewalk are vendors selling: electronics, school supplies, or decorations for cars or car rapids like window decorations of a hand making the peace sign or a picture of Madonna. Before Michael bought me new ipod headphones I would buy cheap ones for 20 cents every few weeks at these tables. There are also people who have set up a table with benches around it where they sell meals for very cheap. Women selling peanuts: raw, grilled, sweet, and brittle have tables every few feet sometimes they also sell little forest berries found in Senegal. I prefer the grilled or sugar ones and buy them as quick snacks.
The street the University is on is called Avenue Cheikh Anta Diop. It is the most direct road that goes downtown. Many buses and car rapids have their routes on the road and share the road with bikes, motorcycles, cars, and taxies. The road, which probably is traveled on by at least thousands of people daily only has three lanes in total. One goes north, one goes south, and one is for passing. It is incredibly crowded especially around the University. Some motorcyclists decide to drive on the sidewalk to avoid the traffic jams on the road. I usually see an accident or altercation on my way to or from school.
The notable people I pass on my way from the Post Office to UCAD’s gates are more interesting than the other side of the road, the Mobil Station side. The first person whom I usually see begging for money is one of the most desperate cases. He does not have legs and has limited use of his spine so he can barely sit up straight. He lays face down, arms outstretched, wearing a prayer cap and earphones. He just lies there all morning staring at people’s shoes. I think he makes a lot of money because so many people feel sorry for him, as they should since he would never be able to work to make money in the condition he is in. The next highlight is the crazy woman that recently moved onto the block. She sprawls out on a straw mat on the sidewalk. Most of the time she sleeps covering herself in a red tattered blanket. In front of her she places a deteriorating woven bag that people throw coins onto. I am planning to give her the warm fleece blanket I “borrowed” from Royal Air Maroc as well as some soap. Today I saw her awake sitting on her mat holding a braided wig combing out the knots with her fingers. She was laughing to herself displaying her beautiful white teeth and bright eyes. After her there is just table after table selling a variety of goods.
After I pass the University gates things begin to peak up. The buildings are disgusting and in need of a paint job but the members of the community seem content and fed. Talibes and women with young children do sit on the sidewalk and ask for money but it far less intense than it is outside of the gates.
That is Dakar.
I leave my house with the wind blowing it is Harmattan season. The Harmattan is a strong wind that blows across the Sahara going right through Dakar. Sand nicks my ankles and if exposed calves. I begin my 45 minute walk through sand and on uneven pavement. On the VDN, the street or highway that I live on I try to avoid deep sand, garbage, stray dogs, and cars who think that the walking space is really a road. As I walk car rapide apprentis yell there destinations, “Fann Fann” or “ Dakar Dakar.” They bang on the side of the tin automobile altering the driver that he should not stop or that he should stop to let someone off. I walk past the Mobil station where early morning traffic loves to cut through and make schoolchildren jump out of the way. There is usually a car rapid filled with passengers filling up its tank. Right after the station are the bushes where I got into a fight with a car rapid apprenti. Those same bushes are where men urinate and squat to do their abolutions. Sidewalk appears made out of stone slabs and is uneven and missing pieces. I pass the group of large women sitting on the corner of the huge intersection. They have many buckets and bowls wrapped in fabric. While sitting they resemble a sea of brightly colored garden with different prints and materials mixing.
I cross the street and sometimes the man with a gray hollow pipe for a leg is in the area. He always wears a red knit hat and a green jacket. When he’s not walking around with his wooden cane he sprawls out on the sidewalk giving the people going by a look into his pipe. The canal near where he sits is filled with garbage- cardboard boxes, plastic bottles, scraps of fabric, wrappers, and car parts. Everything is sodden with water and sewage. A bit further down there is a man who has a deformity that impairs him from standing upright. He walks by using his hands that are padded with flip-flops. He uses his legs to propel forward with his butt sticking up. He “walks” around for awhile then sits down sticking his hand out to the passing cars and pedestrians. The bar in front of where he frequents, shelters the North African families who sit on the sidewalk and send their small children out to beg. These kids have a totally different method of asking for money which is to hang onto the pedestrian making them stop or slow down or running up to someone and cling to them for a block or two. I could write a dissertation on begging techniques in Dakar. Before I cross the street to either walk near the other Mobil station that houses On The Run or the Post Office I look at the huge baobab tree on the corner that stands tall and majestic among the chaos of Dakar.
Just as a reminder to understand what it feels like to walk down the street, there are constantly people staring and usually there will be a person or two who will scream “toubab.” From this point in my walk until the University the sidewalk is packed with people. Many people have physical deformities or handicaps that impair their ability to walk. There are talibes everywhere sticking their washed-out tomato sauce can hoping for coins or cookies. If I do not have anything edible to give the talibes I say “ba baneen” which means, “next time.” Encroaching onto the sidewalk are vendors selling: electronics, school supplies, or decorations for cars or car rapids like window decorations of a hand making the peace sign or a picture of Madonna. Before Michael bought me new ipod headphones I would buy cheap ones for 20 cents every few weeks at these tables. There are also people who have set up a table with benches around it where they sell meals for very cheap. Women selling peanuts: raw, grilled, sweet, and brittle have tables every few feet sometimes they also sell little forest berries found in Senegal. I prefer the grilled or sugar ones and buy them as quick snacks.
The street the University is on is called Avenue Cheikh Anta Diop. It is the most direct road that goes downtown. Many buses and car rapids have their routes on the road and share the road with bikes, motorcycles, cars, and taxies. The road, which probably is traveled on by at least thousands of people daily only has three lanes in total. One goes north, one goes south, and one is for passing. It is incredibly crowded especially around the University. Some motorcyclists decide to drive on the sidewalk to avoid the traffic jams on the road. I usually see an accident or altercation on my way to or from school.
The notable people I pass on my way from the Post Office to UCAD’s gates are more interesting than the other side of the road, the Mobil Station side. The first person whom I usually see begging for money is one of the most desperate cases. He does not have legs and has limited use of his spine so he can barely sit up straight. He lays face down, arms outstretched, wearing a prayer cap and earphones. He just lies there all morning staring at people’s shoes. I think he makes a lot of money because so many people feel sorry for him, as they should since he would never be able to work to make money in the condition he is in. The next highlight is the crazy woman that recently moved onto the block. She sprawls out on a straw mat on the sidewalk. Most of the time she sleeps covering herself in a red tattered blanket. In front of her she places a deteriorating woven bag that people throw coins onto. I am planning to give her the warm fleece blanket I “borrowed” from Royal Air Maroc as well as some soap. Today I saw her awake sitting on her mat holding a braided wig combing out the knots with her fingers. She was laughing to herself displaying her beautiful white teeth and bright eyes. After her there is just table after table selling a variety of goods.
After I pass the University gates things begin to peak up. The buildings are disgusting and in need of a paint job but the members of the community seem content and fed. Talibes and women with young children do sit on the sidewalk and ask for money but it far less intense than it is outside of the gates.
That is Dakar.
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