Today was the first time that something of this nature happened to me in Dakar. As usual, I was riding on a crowded bus, and did not have a seat. The young woman sitting in the two-seater next to me stood up to get off the bus. Before sitting down I checked to see if there were any old women or men who could benefit from the seat. There were not, just strapping young men, telling me to “togg-al,” sit down.
I swung my left leg into the seat and the middle-aged woman sitting next to the window put out her hand to block my leg. I thought that she was worried about protecting and maintaining the shiny white color of her boubou, so I tried to sit down again. This time I moved my leg into the seat only a little bit. She blocked my leg again this time speaking to me, not very loudly or clearly. I couldn’t hear what she was saying. I thought maybe she was saving the seat for someone but nobody approached. I was so confused and shocked I had no idea to do. The young men around me continued to tell me to sit and since I was half-way in the seat and stuck, I did. The woman recoiled from me, sliding closer to the window. She opened the window as if to demonstrate her disgust. She muttered something inaudible and reorganized the packages on her lap.
I tried not to show my disbelief at her behavior, since I have never experienced such an incident in Dakar, but I am sure my face turned red with embarrassment. My mind was racing with ways of handling this situation; do I address it or ignore it? I decided to pull out my newspaper and try to read. This seemed to shock my unfriendly neighbor. She was now in a modified fetal position, wrapped over her parcels, against the window, trying not to touch me. Thankfully, I did not have to stay with her long. My stop approached, so I got up and got off the bus in a daze.
Friday, December 19, 2008
Monday, December 15, 2008
looking for a partner?
I picked up a paper where people advertise the goods that they are selling ranging from their pet bird to their villa. At the back of the paper are personal ads and requests for employment. The personal ads are typically Senegalese. The majority of the posters refer to themselves as young and beautiful. Many people, both male and female, write that they are looking for a rich European partner. A woman, aged 38, referred to herself as a young lady, while men over a certain age use “man.” Most of the women use the words, “someone to talk to” and note that they are looking for a serious relationship or someone to marry. The women’s advertisements are short and boring, “Young lady, beautiful, looking for rich European man between the ages of 20 and 30.” Or, “(name) looking for a serious relationship and someone to talk to.” Snooze.
My favorites included “Fatou Diouf, looking for someone to talk to because I have given up on men. If you can convince me otherwise, call the number below.” An interesting and broad ad was a man looking for a European woman to marry between the ages of 20 and 70. Another man wrote that he is looking for a second wife (co-spouse) who is around 40 years old. A good and specific one is, “Man looking for a very sexy woman, in good shape, tall, and practices martial arts.” Another gem from the men’s section is, “Young man, 30 years old, looking for a rich European woman 50 years or older.” If anyone is interested in any of these people, I can provide their phone numbers…
My favorites included “Fatou Diouf, looking for someone to talk to because I have given up on men. If you can convince me otherwise, call the number below.” An interesting and broad ad was a man looking for a European woman to marry between the ages of 20 and 70. Another man wrote that he is looking for a second wife (co-spouse) who is around 40 years old. A good and specific one is, “Man looking for a very sexy woman, in good shape, tall, and practices martial arts.” Another gem from the men’s section is, “Young man, 30 years old, looking for a rich European woman 50 years or older.” If anyone is interested in any of these people, I can provide their phone numbers…
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Les Journals
I love reading the newspaper, but nothing tops reading the newspaper in Senegal. Generally speaking, Senegalese people are much better informed about world events, international and domestic politics, and geography than Americans. People seek out the news by reading the paper, listening to the radio, and watching copious amounts of television. Senegal has over seven different independent daily newspapers and one newspaper run by the government, Le Soleil.
However, my new favorite local paper, L’Obs, is a mix between trashy gossip and hard politics. The paper includes the important suduko puzzles and raunchy jokes, as well as the business, sports, and political news. Sample stories from this accredited newspaper will be summarized below.
As an aside to assuage fears, Senegal is an extremely safe country; violence is very rare and thus noteworthy. That said one of my favorite stories is when two self- described Senegalese thugs, mimicking American gangsters in music videos, (this was included in the article) demonstrated a little violence by wielding guns (real or fake, it is unclear). These two thugs tried to hold up a jewelry store to make a little cash and get some bling. The men drinking tea in the vicinity, described as “locals” came to the owner’s rescue. These men, found in every inch of Senegal are always drinking tea waiting for some action. They beat the thugs so badly that one was sent to the hospital before rejoining his friend in jail.
Another good one, which was reported yesterday, hails from Italy where many Senegalese immigrants live. According to this article, a Senegalese man impregnated his wife’s sister. After this was confirmed, he fled “into the nature.” His wife was quoted saying that she believes this infidelity is her sister’s fault and therefore does not blame her husband. This woman, despite catching her husband and sister in a “loving embrace” did not believe that he was cheating until her sister was visibly pregnant.
The last interesting article illuminates how Dakaroise treat people with mental instabilities. From observation, not from serious research, I have watched Senegalese people tolerate but not accept the many mentally unstable folks living on the streets of Dakar. They are treated as an embarrassment, a sort of pitiful carnival. As an example, the article was describing recent car accidents in Tambacounda, a city in the Southwest of Senegal, about a 14 plus hour drive from Dakar. Unlike Dakar where car accidents are an everyday affair, they are very rare in Tambacounda, especially those that are fatal. Three car accidents happened in one day, injuring two people and killing one. One of the injured was a chief from a nearby village and the other was a motorcyclist. The woman who was killed was a “folle” or crazy, that word was actually used to describe her. Although the journalist knew her name and place of birth, he only used it once. The rest of the article referred to her as the “mentally ill” person.
Mental illness is even joked about in the paper. Last week an article was printed about how the Wade family (Abdoulaye Wade is the President of Senegal) should stay at home on Tuesdays, since “crazy people” have a habit of accosting the family members on Tuesdays.
However, my new favorite local paper, L’Obs, is a mix between trashy gossip and hard politics. The paper includes the important suduko puzzles and raunchy jokes, as well as the business, sports, and political news. Sample stories from this accredited newspaper will be summarized below.
As an aside to assuage fears, Senegal is an extremely safe country; violence is very rare and thus noteworthy. That said one of my favorite stories is when two self- described Senegalese thugs, mimicking American gangsters in music videos, (this was included in the article) demonstrated a little violence by wielding guns (real or fake, it is unclear). These two thugs tried to hold up a jewelry store to make a little cash and get some bling. The men drinking tea in the vicinity, described as “locals” came to the owner’s rescue. These men, found in every inch of Senegal are always drinking tea waiting for some action. They beat the thugs so badly that one was sent to the hospital before rejoining his friend in jail.
Another good one, which was reported yesterday, hails from Italy where many Senegalese immigrants live. According to this article, a Senegalese man impregnated his wife’s sister. After this was confirmed, he fled “into the nature.” His wife was quoted saying that she believes this infidelity is her sister’s fault and therefore does not blame her husband. This woman, despite catching her husband and sister in a “loving embrace” did not believe that he was cheating until her sister was visibly pregnant.
The last interesting article illuminates how Dakaroise treat people with mental instabilities. From observation, not from serious research, I have watched Senegalese people tolerate but not accept the many mentally unstable folks living on the streets of Dakar. They are treated as an embarrassment, a sort of pitiful carnival. As an example, the article was describing recent car accidents in Tambacounda, a city in the Southwest of Senegal, about a 14 plus hour drive from Dakar. Unlike Dakar where car accidents are an everyday affair, they are very rare in Tambacounda, especially those that are fatal. Three car accidents happened in one day, injuring two people and killing one. One of the injured was a chief from a nearby village and the other was a motorcyclist. The woman who was killed was a “folle” or crazy, that word was actually used to describe her. Although the journalist knew her name and place of birth, he only used it once. The rest of the article referred to her as the “mentally ill” person.
Mental illness is even joked about in the paper. Last week an article was printed about how the Wade family (Abdoulaye Wade is the President of Senegal) should stay at home on Tuesdays, since “crazy people” have a habit of accosting the family members on Tuesdays.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Reflections on Tabaski
I was able to avoid eating sheep during the Tabaski festivities, despite my visits to people’s houses and celebrations I attended. I even managed to avoid eating Otman’s specialty dish of testicles and kidneys in eggs. The only thing that saved me is my body’s inability to digest eggs…
One aspect of Tabaski that I had completely forgotten how beautiful everyone looks in their boubous. Boubous are floor-length or calf-length dresses that are usually long sleeved and worn with pants for men and skirts for women. They are large, airy, and regal. On the whole, Senegalese people dress much better than Americans. They take care to wear nice clothing and look their best especially when leaving the house. However, holidays are the moment when people wear their nicest clothing and get special boubous made out of the nicest fabric, which is called “bazan.” Bazan is a fabric that shines in the light and is solid bright color. There is a subtle pattern throughout the fabric that is only visible up close. Men and women wear the fabric. Colors are not gender based, men wear purple boubous made out of bazan, as well as blue, brown, green, etc. White is only worn by people who have been to Mecca, it is a status symbol and these folks are treated with reverence.
Right before the morning prayers I went to purchase fruit at a market just outside of the downtown area. Men, older women, and young boys were making their way to the mosque. It was an incredible sight to see everyone wearing boubous, since most people, especially the younger generations, generally wear jeans, tee shirts, and other “western” apparel. The colors were so vivid. It was a sea of bright blues, oranges, greens, purples, grays, browns, and pinks. Fathers’, holding prayer rugs under one arm and their son’s hand in the other, was touching. The sons were usually dresses in the same color boubou, while their father wore another color. Women, past menopause, were also headed to the local mosques. Their enormous boubous flapping as they carefully walked in their heeled pointy-toed mules. Their heads wrapped in fabric matching their boubous. Fewer women than men, they stuck out, providing contrast to the sea of colors.
I watched as people walked leisurely toward the mosque, greeting friends and neighbors, wishing everyone a “bonne fete” and apologizing for any wrong-doing they may have unknowingly done (a typical way to greet people during any Seneaglese holiday).
Below are photos from Tabaski. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to take pictures of people walking
to the mosque.
Little Morocco
Chez Awa
One aspect of Tabaski that I had completely forgotten how beautiful everyone looks in their boubous. Boubous are floor-length or calf-length dresses that are usually long sleeved and worn with pants for men and skirts for women. They are large, airy, and regal. On the whole, Senegalese people dress much better than Americans. They take care to wear nice clothing and look their best especially when leaving the house. However, holidays are the moment when people wear their nicest clothing and get special boubous made out of the nicest fabric, which is called “bazan.” Bazan is a fabric that shines in the light and is solid bright color. There is a subtle pattern throughout the fabric that is only visible up close. Men and women wear the fabric. Colors are not gender based, men wear purple boubous made out of bazan, as well as blue, brown, green, etc. White is only worn by people who have been to Mecca, it is a status symbol and these folks are treated with reverence.
Right before the morning prayers I went to purchase fruit at a market just outside of the downtown area. Men, older women, and young boys were making their way to the mosque. It was an incredible sight to see everyone wearing boubous, since most people, especially the younger generations, generally wear jeans, tee shirts, and other “western” apparel. The colors were so vivid. It was a sea of bright blues, oranges, greens, purples, grays, browns, and pinks. Fathers’, holding prayer rugs under one arm and their son’s hand in the other, was touching. The sons were usually dresses in the same color boubou, while their father wore another color. Women, past menopause, were also headed to the local mosques. Their enormous boubous flapping as they carefully walked in their heeled pointy-toed mules. Their heads wrapped in fabric matching their boubous. Fewer women than men, they stuck out, providing contrast to the sea of colors.
I watched as people walked leisurely toward the mosque, greeting friends and neighbors, wishing everyone a “bonne fete” and apologizing for any wrong-doing they may have unknowingly done (a typical way to greet people during any Seneaglese holiday).
Below are photos from Tabaski. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to take pictures of people walking
to the mosque.
Little Morocco
Chez Awa
Saturday, December 06, 2008
Sheep on the Brain
I think all of the "mutons" are getting to my head. Tabaski, the celebration in which Muslims sacrifice a sheep, is rapidly approaching. Dakar has become inundated with sheep. On every stretch of once-empty land is now inhabited by "mutons". These "mutons" bleat, excrete, and eat all day long. Despite their frequent washings, they smell terrible. I have often complained about the sheep, but this time their presence is harder than before.
Here is one example, last night I was peacefully sleeping and having a dream about my brother, Douglas in our childhood home. I heard him calling my name, “Steph, Steph.” Abruptly, I woke up to discover that it was not Douglas calling to me but a mutton bleating. I was very unsettled and could not fall back asleep for half and hour after I mistook a sheep’s stupid bleats for my brother’s voice.
Traffic and the markets have also been difficult. Many people have remarked that it is worse (more crowded, more tense) in Dakar than in years past. People push and shove their way through the markets to find their flashy gaudy jewelry, shinny shoes, and sparkling fabric, as well as extra kitchenware. Recently on a packed bus out of the city, the bus was so filled with people’s junk (silver bowls, fruit, buckets, knives, cups, fabric, fish) all wrapped in used rice bags, that very few people could get on the bus without tripping over the packages. I had the pleasure of having on of the packages leak on my foot. The markets, especially the big one downtown, Marche Sandaga, are staying open later than usual, increasing the traffic and general anarchy around the city. These stores blare music and prayers, enticing people (not me) to come and buy.
Awa, Rijak, and I tried to go to the fabric market, Marche HLM, because we head that there was beautiful gold jewelry for sale. We could only handle about five minutes of the pushing shoving, catcalls, and being stepped on. There were so many people it was insane. I cannot describe what it feels like to be in a loud, pulsing, thronging place packed with people who are unbelievably aggressive and not very courteous. We did stop long enough for me to try on some heinously ugly wigs. Rijak took pictures, which I will have to post.
This chaos is thankfully particular to holiday time when people need to demonstrate their wealth (even if they are broke) by getting new clothing made, buying several "mutons" per family, and redecorating their houses. Still, what drives me crazy are the "mutons" and their plentiful excretions.
* "Muton" is the French word for sheep. It is not to be confounded with the English word for sheep's meat mutton. When I think about sheep in Senegal, I think "muton" not sheep, which is why I used the word.
Here is one example, last night I was peacefully sleeping and having a dream about my brother, Douglas in our childhood home. I heard him calling my name, “Steph, Steph.” Abruptly, I woke up to discover that it was not Douglas calling to me but a mutton bleating. I was very unsettled and could not fall back asleep for half and hour after I mistook a sheep’s stupid bleats for my brother’s voice.
Traffic and the markets have also been difficult. Many people have remarked that it is worse (more crowded, more tense) in Dakar than in years past. People push and shove their way through the markets to find their flashy gaudy jewelry, shinny shoes, and sparkling fabric, as well as extra kitchenware. Recently on a packed bus out of the city, the bus was so filled with people’s junk (silver bowls, fruit, buckets, knives, cups, fabric, fish) all wrapped in used rice bags, that very few people could get on the bus without tripping over the packages. I had the pleasure of having on of the packages leak on my foot. The markets, especially the big one downtown, Marche Sandaga, are staying open later than usual, increasing the traffic and general anarchy around the city. These stores blare music and prayers, enticing people (not me) to come and buy.
Awa, Rijak, and I tried to go to the fabric market, Marche HLM, because we head that there was beautiful gold jewelry for sale. We could only handle about five minutes of the pushing shoving, catcalls, and being stepped on. There were so many people it was insane. I cannot describe what it feels like to be in a loud, pulsing, thronging place packed with people who are unbelievably aggressive and not very courteous. We did stop long enough for me to try on some heinously ugly wigs. Rijak took pictures, which I will have to post.
This chaos is thankfully particular to holiday time when people need to demonstrate their wealth (even if they are broke) by getting new clothing made, buying several "mutons" per family, and redecorating their houses. Still, what drives me crazy are the "mutons" and their plentiful excretions.
* "Muton" is the French word for sheep. It is not to be confounded with the English word for sheep's meat mutton. When I think about sheep in Senegal, I think "muton" not sheep, which is why I used the word.
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