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!
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