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.