racist hustling

When I walk around downtown Dakar by myself I am usually accosted throughout my entire walk. Someone will come up to me and ask me if I want to buy phone credit, another guy will ask me to buy an ugly t-shirt, a woman will ask me for money, someone else will wave bootleg perfume in my face, etc. It is all done in the most presumptuous manner, since I am white and therefore have money, why wouldn’t I buy a large picture of a marabout or some flip-flops.

Then there are the African fabric guys. These men wait on corners of busy intersections waiting for a toubab to walk by so that he can pounce. The conversation always starts, “What are you looking for?” I always reply in Wolof, “Dara” or nothing. Then they tell you about the wonderful and cheap African fabric they have in their boutique, which is always not far from where you are standing. Don’t want African fabric, well then this guy also sells masks or “beautiful necklaces” which are also not expensive. Sometimes, a “my sistah” gets thrown in to spice up the conversation. After about three of these men with the same schepel, I generally lose my temper and become quite rude.

This weekend I was walking to the bus stop at the bottom of Marche Sandaga, the largest market in Senegal, when after being asked twice if I wanted African fabric, I was met at the top of the market by a man in a red shirt. He did the African fabric schepel and I just kept on walking, which I acknowledge is very rude. Then he called out, “madame, tu es une raciste,” labeling me a racist. Shocked and disgusted, I sharply turned around and spit out a pitiful and sarcastic comeback, “If I am a racist then why do I live in Senegal?” Terrible, I know.

Angrily, I walked down the road racking my brain for a better comeback. It is hurtful to be called something you are not and then defend yourself in a useless way. I decided on a better comeback, “No, sir, I am not a racist; however, I think it is you who has a race problem since out of the people walking by you, I am the only one you spoke to and you call me the racist.” It sounds much better in French. I can admit to be rude and purposefully culturally insensitive. I am incredibly tired of being badgered for money every three seconds while walking alone downtown.

This little anecdote points to a larger issue, once again, of the role foreigners play in Dakar and how Dakaroise treats them. There is a stark difference in how toubabs are treated outside of Dakar and within the confines of the city. That said, in my neighborhood, I am almost always left alone. It is a tiresome and false assumption to battle that all foreign folks have money. However, it falls into a historical and modern context.