My address!

Heather Riggs
West African Research Center
BP 5456 Fann Residence
Dakar, Senegal

Don't pay too much to send anything though...I have no idea how much it will cost you...

Life in Dakar

January 25, 2011

Today, we all arrived at WARC, which is where we take classes, only to find out that our International Development professor actually couldn’t come in today, so we basically have the morning off until noon. I walked to school today in 27 minutes, which is a new record for me! Though let it be said that I was walking alone and quite briskly. It’s so nice for it to be sunny and warm here, even though it’s January and I know that it’s freezing cold in Iowa. Speaking of Iowa, it’s very strange to be getting all the emails from Grinnell telling me about such and such meeting at one time or another…and I am on a different continent entirely. If anyone is ever on Skype very early in the morning (or very late at night!) there’s a chance I might be on, and you should give me a call!

So, I’m going to try to describe some of the aspects of my daily life. Dakar often smells like exhaust and garbage, which can sometimes be overwhelming. There is a whole lot of pollution in the air, especially on my walk to and from school. I live in Mermoz, which is a very nice neighborhood and pretty safe. It’s not the nicest neighborhood in Dakar, but it has a lot of character! There are almost always people around, and there are a lot of goats everywhere. In almost all neighborhoods, there are stray animals (dogs and cats) wandering around, while there are usually goats tied up on the side of the road. More than once, I have been startled by some goats bleating when I didn’t know they were there!

The food here is really different from Western food, most of the time. We eat a lot of fish and meat; the fish is almost always served whole, head, tail, eyes and all. Also there are a lot of bones which you have to pick out. The first couple of days, I was crunching on the bones all the time, but I have developed a method to picking out the spine which usually seems to work pretty well. Most of the food has been pretty spicy so far, and it gets even spicier when you put piment on it.

Another part of our daily life is the power cuts, or coupures. For the first couple of days, there was barely any power, except for sometimes at night. However, it’s been getting a bit better lately and there has been power almost all the time that I am there. It’s especially nice to have it at night and in the morning when it’s dark and I have to take a shower. Speaking of showers…

Lesson number one about Senegal: no one tells you how to take a bucket shower. My first morning in the house, there was a bucket of warm water and a bucket of cold water, and I really had no idea what to do with them. I pitifully tried to sponge myself with my washcloth but I was quite unsuccessful at getting all of the shampoo out of my hair. The next day, I figured out the method of how you are actually supposed to do it! It works so much better to use a measuring cup as kind of a spigot, and that way you don’t dirty the whole water bucket with your soap. Also, since the first day my showers have been freezing cold. It’s refreshing! It’s actually not too bad once you get used to it.

I live in a small little pink room on the second floor of my house. There is kind of an open air courtyard in the middle of the house next to the kitchen where the kids often play and we always eat breakfast. You can almost always hear Arfin and Gigi being rambunctious in the courtyard, since it barely ever rains and it’s usually pretty warm.

On Sunday, I went to the beach with some other students. It was very warm and we had fun playing in the waves and relaxing on the sand. Though it did start to get a little windy and chilly in the later afternoon. When I went home, everyone in my house was wearing sweaters and thought that it was very cold! It was so funny to see our different perceptions of cold, especially compared to the US.

Something funny that happened the other day: we were taking a taxi through downtown Dakar, where people are always trying to sell you things through the window, particularly small bits of food and phone cards. However, one guy came up to our cab with a long-handled broom and dustpan! We thought this was so absurd and hilarious, and tried to imagine someone buying that through their car window: “Oh, I’ve been looking for a broom! I’ll just buy one while in my car!” Also, another guy on the street had a t-shirt that read “Scappoose Track and Field”! Portland folk know that Scappoose is a pretty tiny Portland suburb, so it’s pretty strange that this shirt got all the way to Dakar. But it did make me think of GDS class and how companies like Goodwill and Salvation Army will sell clothes to developing countries: I have no doubt that’s how this t-shirt arrived here.

Another crazy experience that made me think:

My friend Samantha and I were walking to my house for dinner, and she was thirsty, so we stopped at a little hole-in-the-wall boutique where they sell all sorts of little food items. There was a man sitting in the stall as well as a man behind the counter, so we said “Salaam aleikum” to both of them and Sam started to pick out a soda from the refrigerator. The man sitting in front of the counter said “Passe-moi un Coca” (pass me a Coke) and so she did, assuming that he worked there. He then started to talk to us for a little while, but when Sam went to pay for her drink, the man behind the counter pointed to the two sodas (hers and the man’s) and asked her for a price which included the two drinks. We were both a little confused, and she told the man that no, she only bought one. He insisted that she was buying two, one for herself and one for the man. We were both a little shocked, and she didn’t have enough money for two, so I stepped in to pay for her. We had both felt a little bit tricked, since the man didn’t ask for her to buy him a Coke, he asked for her to pass him a Coke. However, we weren’t about to take it back from the man after we had already given it to him. It’s a learning experience, and also completely different from the “customer is always right” attitude of the states.

That’s all for now. I have 47 minutes until Wolof class and I should find a small snack before then. People here eat lunch so late! I don’t think I’ll really be able to eat until 2, since I have a class from 12 to 2. We don’t eat dinner until 8:30, usually!

My family

January 24, 2011

This will just be a quick blog post since I only have about 45 minutes until I have to go to my first class. Things have certainly gotten interesting, all right. We’ve been with our host families since Tuesday, and it’s been kind of difficult for me. I live with Maman Elisabeth, who is about 64 and is a big part of the Catholic community. She has been very welcoming for the most part, but I am a bit intimidated by her. She’s a very opinionated person and you wouldn’t want to get on her bad side. Also living with us is her son, Loulou, and his wife Djeyna. Loulou is usually at work except for the evenings, but when he’s around he’s very nice to me. He always asks me, “Tu es en forme?” meaning “Are you in shape?” or “Are you doing well?” He also loves to put piment, which is a very spicy sauce, on his food, and teases me when I don’t have enough piment. Djeyna is a different story altogether. I get a distinctly cold feeling from her, and she barely ever talks to me, which is difficult when we are the only ones in the house. If I ask her a question, she will respond but won’t elaborate, and I always have to initiate conversation. This has been pretty hard for me, since Maman Elisa is almost always out of the house and I feel like Djeyna is the only person who I can talk to, but she doesn’t really want to at all. Loulou and Djeyna also have two sons: Arfin is about one and a half and Gigi is three. They are very cute and playful, but when Djeyna won’t talk to me, I have no one to talk to but the three year old, which is sometimes frustrating. We also have two maids, Fatou and Marie-Louise, who don’t speak French, only Wolof. I wish I could communicate more with them because they both seem extremely warm and welcoming, but we only have a few words in common. Marie-Louise’s daughter Martine lives with us as well, and she is seven. I really like talking to her, but sometimes I feel as if it’s not appropriate since she’s the maid’s daughter. Marie-Louise and Fatou don’t eat with us, and Martine kind of eats in her own little corner. I really don’t understand why she’s not as included in the family, though maybe it is a class or religion thing that I don’t understand. It makes me kind of uncomfortable the way the rest of the family treats the maids—it’s a very weird class difference.

There is also a young German couple that live with us, Regina and Simon. Regina is a student at the university and Simon is a computer programmer working from Senegal. They have been really wonderful and have made a lot of efforts to include me. I guess they went out a lot with Russell, the American student who lived in the house in the fall. On Friday night they invited me to go out with them and their friends, and we stayed at the bar talking until 4 in the morning! Needless to say, I was very tired the next day. Our host family is Catholic, which means it isn’t a problem to have the occasional beer on the roof and chat for a while after dinner. Also: the roof. It’s the best spot in the house, and none of the family even goes up there except to hang laundry. You can see all over our neighborhood, and especially in the morning it’s extremely beautiful. The Germans and I like to hang out there sometimes after dinner, since most of the rest of the family goes to bed. It’s just very strange since Maman is usually out til 10 or 10:30, Djeyna is not at all social, Loulou is tired after work, etc etc. I speak English with Simon and Regina, which isn’t the greatest for my French skills, but I have definitely connected with them more than anyone else in the family. Simon is fluent in English but barely speaks any French, while Regina is pretty competent in both. Simon’s leaving this weekend for Germany but will be back at the end of February, so I wonder if Regina and I will speak more French together when he’s not here.

Pictures and a few words to go along with them!

I wrote the blog post this morning and now I'm too tired to write more (it's evening now). So, to prove I am really here I will give you some lovely pictures from the day!

The view from our hotel window!

Samantha, Megan and I in our beautiful Senegalese pagnes!

Lunch was ceeb u yopp!

We went to the beach! Only about a 5 minute walk from our orientation house.

This picture doesn't capture the beautiful pink sky that we saw--it was so vibrant!
Anyway, I'll write more later.

The word of the day is...dazed!

Well. I am here, alright, though after no sleep for the past 24 or so hours I don’t know how coherent this post will actually be. Let’s see: I arrived in Washington Dulles without delay, and after a bit of searching made my way to Gate A14, where I had to get my boarding pass. There were two college-age looking kids sitting with a humongous pile of bags, so after obtaining my boarding documents, I hesitantly approached them and asked, “Are you with MSID?” They were! We all gathered at the gate until the flight was starting to board, but at around 4:30 PM, there were only nine of us when there should have been ten. Gabriel, the tenth person and one of two guys, had been delayed in Chicago and would miss the group flight with us. So the nine of us clambered on the HUGE airplane. It was literally 75 rows long, with 8 seats across most of the time. I was close to the back, and I ended up sitting next to a woman a little bit older than me, who was on her way to South Africa with her parents. The demographics of this flight were very anthropologically intriguing: since it was stopping in Dakar on the way to Johannesburg, there were a lot of people (in our section, at least), who were on their way to what sounded like a safari tour. When the flight attendant told them that we would be stopping in Dakar, they had no idea where that was, which was a little bit amusing. In brief, the flight was long and I didn’t get much sleep. I dazedly watched a couple of movies that they were showing and chatted a bit with my seat partner, but we had a seat between us that, while allowing us to stretch out, was not too conducive for in-depth conversations.

I’m always tickled by the amenities that international flights provide, especially in contrast with domestic flights. For example, on this flight we had little eye masks, toothpaste, blankets, pillows, and little red socks. Also the food was so much better than any airplane food I’ve had before. Chicken tikka masala! Cheesecake! TILLAMOOK CHEESE! Guess this means I need to fly South African Airlines more often.

Going back to my anthropological musings on the flight, one of the most interesting moments was at the very end, when Waverly (also an MSIDer!) and I were getting off at Dakar. An obviously South African man asked us why we were getting off. “Stay on the flight to Jo’burg!” he insisted. Another man earlier had been very surprised when I got my bag and made to leave. People (especially old white men) don’t expect two young white women to be getting off at Dakar; why weren’t we going to South Africa with all the other white people? This is an exaggeration, of course, but it was a very strange interaction.

So! We got off the plane and our journey in Senegal began!! We were loaded onto a bus straight off the airplane, and we were waiting probably ten minutes for the very crowded bus to leave, presumably for a terminal that was pretty far away. Wrong. Literally 15 seconds after the bus leaves, we stop again at arrivals. What? We could have walked that in half the time we were waiting! Everyone has said Senegal is full of ridiculous things that just make you laugh, and this was our first prime example. After “customs,” which consisted of filling out an immigration card in Franglais and giving it to some bored-looking police officers, we were shuttled into the baggage claim room. Oh my word. Chaos doesn’t even begin to cover it. There were about two carousels, and bags everywhere: on the floor, on the carousels, in big piles, everywhere! Thankfully, everyone found their bags pretty quickly and we could leave (not before putting our bags through an x-ray machine that no one was watching—another ridiculous moment). We stepped out into the dark humid Senegalese morning, to be immediately accosted by dozens of men offering to carry our bags. Our program directors found us and shepherded us across the parking lot, still being hassled by men looking for some money to help us (“Non, merci” is the standard answer). Two or three of them actually followed us to our bus, and one of the program directors kept speaking with him in Wolof, I assume telling him we didn’t need his help. At one point, the man said “Je ne suis pas voleur! Je suis tough cool hustle man!” (I’m not a thief, I’m a tough cool hustle man!). It was pretty funny to watch, though none of us really knew what was going on or what to do. We all piled in the van, with our bags tied to the roof, and the guys kept knocking at the windows, wanting to talk with us or wanting us to pay them. We were (still are) very sleep deprived, and really had no idea what was happening, so it was a very funny situation. It was probably 6:30 AM or so by that point, and still very dark outside, though the sun was beginning to rise.

Driving through Dakar proved to be a very surreal experience. On the one hand, there are tons of run-down buildings, mostly sandstone I think, and lots of places that just look extremely impoverished. Donkeys and horses were just hanging out around the street. On the other hand, you see these really nice cars and especially women who are just decked out—jewels, stilettos, and often boubous (beautiful draped Senegalese dresses). It seems paradoxical that in a country where many people don’t have access to clean water or good education, there are still expensive cars in the street.

We arrived at our hotel a little dazed and confused, but again were told to unpack our bags for the night. I’m sharing a room tonight with one of the Amys, who goes to Penn State. She is a great roommate so far! Anyway, breakfast was at 7:30. Most of us were expecting the sort of continental breakfast served in hotels in the United States. Wrong again. Two women brought us our individual breakfasts on trays, which included orange juice, tea, cream, sugar, half a baguette, a croissant, butter, and jam. Wow! It was all very beautifully laid out, as well. I forgot to bring my camera down to breakfast but I will be sure to take a picture of this elegant meal!

After breakfast, I took a shower to rejuvenate a little bit. First of all, I have to explain the bathroom situation. The room is probably two feet by four feet, and packed into all of that is a sink, toilet, and shower. How does this work? Well, suffice it to say that you could sit on the toilet and be most of the way in the shower. Despite the cramped room, however, there was hot water! Very relaxing after no sleep. Anyway, now Amy and I are sitting in our room, blogging and journaling, with our open window bringing in the sounds of Dakar. There are so many people outside, just walking around, their voices carrying up to our room in a language we can’t understand. The city has a very distinct smell, though I can’t pinpoint it exactly: a combination of dust and exhaust.

It’s still very hard for me to believe that I’m here, and even harder to believe that it’s only 9:00 in the morning! I’m exhausted, but it’ll be best if I can stick it out until tonight, when I can really crash and then be on Senegalese time. A bientot!

Le vrai moment

I leave tomorrow morning for the airport around 5:30 AM. My flight to Washington Dulles leaves at 7:35, and then I am off! I should really have gone to bed a little earlier than now, but if I am a bit sleepy I can hopefully sleep a little bit better on the plane. All my bags are packed (into ONE suitcase and ONE backpack, I might add!) and I am pretty much ready to go, besides all the last minute things. One of my least favorite parts of early flights is all those little things that you can't put into your suitcase until right before you're about to go: hairbrush, toothpaste, contact solution, etc. Flying would be a whole lot simpler if I could pack absolutely everything the night before and not have to worry about the various miscellany. Anyway, I am signing off to take what will probably be my last hot bath or shower in five months!! I figure I should savor it while I can.
See you in Dakar!

Packing...

...is probably one of the activities that stresses me out the most. Right now, what I'm doing couldn't really qualify as packing, as much as throwing things willy-nilly onto my floor, my couch, or my bed and trying to figure out how in the world I am going to fit everything into a suitcase and a carry-on. I'll sort out what I really need to take later, but for now, half of my closet is chilling out in my suitcase, along with a random assortment of medications (one for every occasion and more than I could possibly ever use), toiletries, and host family gifts.
Speaking of host families, I got the placement for my Dakar family! The mother's name is Elisa, and she's a widow, has a "dynamic personality" and is a great cook. She lives with one of her sons, Loulou, and his wife Djeyna, and their two sons Bebe Edouard François, who is three, and Warren, who is only ten months old. Also living with the famille is Elisa's niece Marie Louise and her daughter Martine Clorinda, who is seven. I'm so excited to have a Senegalese maman and a big family!

A plethora of pre-departure preparations

I've decided to start this blog to keep you all updated on my "aventures sénégalaises," as one might say in French. For now, I'm working my way through the immensely large packet of articles on development, study abroad, Senegal, and global citizenship, provided by MSID (Minnesota Studies in International Development, the program through which I am studying abroad). I've been getting all my shots and everything I need to be prepared, though I can't say I'm excited to start taking my anti-malaria medication. I absolutely can't believe I only have 12 days until I leave: it's so soon and yet I feel completely unprepared, despite all my attempted preparations. At the moment all I'd really like to do is curl up with a good book and some chai and look out the window at the cold (though not by Iowa standards) grey Portland day. Yum. Fear not, though: twelve days to go still means twelve days to prepare...everything.
Peace,
Heather