This weekend was certainly eventful.
Saturday morning I went with Shani and her mom (who's name I don't know because Shani never calls her anything except "my maman") to buy fabric for my Tabaski outfit. Tabaski is the Muslim New year, known as Eid al-Adha in other muslim countries. (And yes, I had to look that up to tell you, everyone here calls it Tabaski.) It's a very big deal, even more important that Korite, the Senegalese name for the festival at the end of Ramadan that the Arabic world calls Eid. For Korite, all of the American students had been expecting a huge party, so all of us were a little confused when everyone got dressed up and then sat around all day talking, just like they do everyday. For Tabaski, my host family is taking me to Kaolack, a city in the interior of Senegal, where we have even more family.
Getting dressed is a big part of both Korite and Tabaski (even if it is hard for us Toubabs to understand, since we don't seem to do much once we're dressed up) so you have to get nice clothes made, and get them made far in advance, because everyone else in your neighborhood is doing the same thing. In Senegal, there is no such thing as buying nice clothing. You can buy jeans, t-shirts, skirts etc, but for nice clothes you go to the fabric market, pick out the tissue you want (fabric, sorry, there are some french words creeping into my english vocabulary) then take it to the tailor and describe the outfit you want, with the help of several glossy magazines, which look like catalogs to me, but seem to be more like suggestion guides.
In Saint Louis, I got an outfit made at a good price because the tailor was the brother of one of the Senegalese students in our program. (Later we found out brother actually meant cousin, but it's best just to go with these things.) Shani, Lauren, Emily and I wore our outfits to school last Friday. I had thought I drew a lot of attention on the streets just by being a toubab, but it's nothing to how much attention we got by being toubabs in Senegalese clothing. We were hilarious.
Anyway, buying anything in a Senegalese market goes much better when you have someone Senegalese actually helping you. Last weekend Shani and I went to Sandaga so I could buy some earbuds, and we could look around. We made a friend as soon as we got out of the car rapid, and he was a great help with my earbuds, but afterward insisted we come to his shop, an adventure which ended with us in a sketchy upstairs office bargaining for purses that we weren't sure we wanted and really couldn't afford. Shani's mom however, is large and impressive and in control at all times, and no one bothered us when we were with her. We went early, because she said we could better prices if we went to the distributors instead of the stalls. We found fabric we liked, but since the distributor woulkd sell us 30 meters of it or nothing, we ended up having to find something similar in the stalls after all. My fabric, in case you're curious, is royal purple and slightly shiny, with designs on it. (I have yet to sucessfully load any pictures on to the internet, but I'm trying I swear, it'll happen one day.) We went to the tailor after the market, and hopefully will get our clothes before too long... but it's Senegal, so we'll see. I'm learning not to expect puncuality.
That night Youssou N'dour was playing at his club, so we all went to see him. A lot of the Senegalese we told about it before hand laughed at us, I guess it's a bit of a stereotypical thing to do, since he's so well known, and by their reactions I was excpecting it to be a major toabab scene. There were certainly more toababs than in some places, but it was still at least a 90% Senegalese crowd. we got seats in the balcony when we got there (around one) and watched the opening act and chatted. Around 1:40 people started crowding the stage even though nothing new was happening; we figured it meant he was coming on soon and a few of us went up to the front too. My personal bubble (which I'm learning is very American) was certainly challenged by that concert, there wasn't space to move your feet, and if your fell, you'd only go about 6 inches before you hit someone. When Youssou N'dour came on, the crowd went nuts. He had a guy with him, dressed all in white (who is apparently very famous too, which makes it embarressing that I can't remember his name) who revved the crowd up before Youssou N'dour actually came on. He had a pretty big band with him, nine people all told. There were four percussionists besides the trap player, one playing the tama, and three playing drums a bit like jembes, though I think they have a diferent name. There was a lot of call and response through out the concert, which was cool even if I knew none of the responses. (At one point, he yelled "Est-ce que vous etes fatigue?" (are you tired) to which of course the audience responded "Non!!" but I couldn't help thinking, well yes actually.) The audience went wild, every so often someone would jump on stage and dance mballax, until they either jumped off themselves, or got pulled off the stage by the bouncer, who sat on the side of the stage waiting for such an occurance. One guy gave him money, another jumped on stage and got Youssou N'dour to try on his glasses. We got really close to the stage, and at times he was no more than maybe 6 feet away. In some ways it was a boon that I had no room, because it was easier to get away with just swaying in place and calling that dancing: no matter how I try I will never be able to dance like the Senegalese. Eventually we all got tired of being bandied about by the crowd, so we went back to the balcony to sit. It was harder to get back than it had been to get to the stage, instead of a crowd in front of the stage like it had been, the club was solid people. I stepped on quite a few toes to get back to the other students and when I got there I realized I was in fact, exhausted and could barely keep my eyes open. He finished around 4:40, with no encore.
The next morning Shani had all the students in our program over to her house, and we made pancakes with real maple syrup, and scrambled eggs with tomato and green pepper and only a little bit of oil. I'm almost emabrressed to admit how happy something that American made me.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
Under African Skies
So my village stay.
I’ve talked to several of the other students about writing blog posts on the village stay, and we were all talking about how difficult it is to write about so anyone would actually be able to understand what it was like. This is less a teenage angst “no one ever understands me!” sort of statement, and more because first I have little faith in my ability to articulate what that nine days was really like or meant to me, and second, because I’m not sure that I entirely understand yet what happened there, or what it meant, or how it affected me.
My family was great. It was huge, which was a nice change from my Dakar family, which for a while after Korite was down to just Astou and me. My mother, or yaay as you say in Wolof was a wonderful regal matriarch sort of figure, who seemed to rule over the rest of the family. My father was the president of the village, and seemed really interesting, even though he was never there so I never got to talk to him much. My family DID for the most part speak French, so my biggest fear was assuaged as soon as I got there, though they spoke Wolof to me much more than my Dakar family. We lived in what was not so much a house as a compound, with several buildings surrounding a sandy courtyard area where we spent most of our time. And I have to say, I think I preferred it to sitting in front of the tv all the time like we do in Dakar, we would sit on mats in the sand surrounded by cats and chickens and the occasional frog, and once the sun set, with an astounding tapestry of stars overhead. The electricity cuts would mean the fan in my room wouldn’t work, so it was difficult to sleep, but it also meant that the street light (I can’t think of a better word for it, though it is difficult to have a street light without streets) would stop working, and the stars were more brilliant there than anything I’ve seen before.
My sister Fatou, was really sweet and took me under her wing for the week. The first day, we arrived around eleven, and at three or so Shani showed up at my house with her little sister; she was exhausted because her family didn’t speak French and she had already used up most of her Wolof vocabulary. Fatou took us on a walk to the river (or “un bras de le fleuve” an arm of the river) and then to her friend’s house where they tried to teach us to dance. As we were being dragged around, we hit upon what turned out to be the theme of the stay “xamuma” which means “I don’t know” in Wolof. So much of my time there was learning to go with the flow in a way that I don’t think exists in the US, in a “I don’t know where I am or where I’m going or the names of any of the people I’m with or what you’re trying to say to me” kind of go with the flow. “Xamuma” became a bit of a talisman, (a gris-gris, as our Islam professor would say, which are the amulets that many of the Senegalese wear) to deal with the absolute uncertainty of every situation, and to find humor in it.
My birthday was good, nothing like any birthday I’d had before, but I had a really good time, mostly because I was determined that I would. I was staying in the rural village with a really big family (who did speak some French after all) and they threw me a party. We had these pink shrimp-flavored chip things that are really good (you might have had them before, you can get them sometimes at Thai restaurants) with sauce, and they sang me happy birthday in English, which was pretty funny, and then we danced to Senegalese music. The other students had a competition over who could make me the best card out of things they found in the village, so I got a lot of… interesting birthday cards (no really they were great) and Shani, came to the party with my family, which made it less awkward than it could have been. We walked to the market in the town where we met for lunch everyday, and we went in the hottest part of the day, when none of Senegalese are stupid enough to be out. While we were walking, I said to Emily, who had her birthday a day before mine, “I think this is the first sweltering hot birthday I’ve ever had.” October in Michigan is rarely t-shirt weather, let alone hot. It was unlike any birthday I’ve had, and probably unlike any I’ll have again, but it was good. For a while I was a tiny bit bitter about having my 21st birthday here, since I can’t exactly do any of the traditional things, but then I thought “how many chances will I have to have people throw me a Senegalese birthday party?”
Now we’ve been in St. Louis for four days, but I still feel like we just got here, because I’ve been sick and spending most of my time lying in bed listening to The Golden Compass on my computer. Thanks mostly Deborah, I will have an outfit made here, which I’m pretty excited about. Getting clothes made in Senegal deserves it’s own post and might even get it one of these days.
I had to wait to post this because I couldn't get internet in Saint Louis, so I'm back in Dakar. It funny how much like home Dakar feels now.
I’ve talked to several of the other students about writing blog posts on the village stay, and we were all talking about how difficult it is to write about so anyone would actually be able to understand what it was like. This is less a teenage angst “no one ever understands me!” sort of statement, and more because first I have little faith in my ability to articulate what that nine days was really like or meant to me, and second, because I’m not sure that I entirely understand yet what happened there, or what it meant, or how it affected me.
My family was great. It was huge, which was a nice change from my Dakar family, which for a while after Korite was down to just Astou and me. My mother, or yaay as you say in Wolof was a wonderful regal matriarch sort of figure, who seemed to rule over the rest of the family. My father was the president of the village, and seemed really interesting, even though he was never there so I never got to talk to him much. My family DID for the most part speak French, so my biggest fear was assuaged as soon as I got there, though they spoke Wolof to me much more than my Dakar family. We lived in what was not so much a house as a compound, with several buildings surrounding a sandy courtyard area where we spent most of our time. And I have to say, I think I preferred it to sitting in front of the tv all the time like we do in Dakar, we would sit on mats in the sand surrounded by cats and chickens and the occasional frog, and once the sun set, with an astounding tapestry of stars overhead. The electricity cuts would mean the fan in my room wouldn’t work, so it was difficult to sleep, but it also meant that the street light (I can’t think of a better word for it, though it is difficult to have a street light without streets) would stop working, and the stars were more brilliant there than anything I’ve seen before.
My sister Fatou, was really sweet and took me under her wing for the week. The first day, we arrived around eleven, and at three or so Shani showed up at my house with her little sister; she was exhausted because her family didn’t speak French and she had already used up most of her Wolof vocabulary. Fatou took us on a walk to the river (or “un bras de le fleuve” an arm of the river) and then to her friend’s house where they tried to teach us to dance. As we were being dragged around, we hit upon what turned out to be the theme of the stay “xamuma” which means “I don’t know” in Wolof. So much of my time there was learning to go with the flow in a way that I don’t think exists in the US, in a “I don’t know where I am or where I’m going or the names of any of the people I’m with or what you’re trying to say to me” kind of go with the flow. “Xamuma” became a bit of a talisman, (a gris-gris, as our Islam professor would say, which are the amulets that many of the Senegalese wear) to deal with the absolute uncertainty of every situation, and to find humor in it.
My birthday was good, nothing like any birthday I’d had before, but I had a really good time, mostly because I was determined that I would. I was staying in the rural village with a really big family (who did speak some French after all) and they threw me a party. We had these pink shrimp-flavored chip things that are really good (you might have had them before, you can get them sometimes at Thai restaurants) with sauce, and they sang me happy birthday in English, which was pretty funny, and then we danced to Senegalese music. The other students had a competition over who could make me the best card out of things they found in the village, so I got a lot of… interesting birthday cards (no really they were great) and Shani, came to the party with my family, which made it less awkward than it could have been. We walked to the market in the town where we met for lunch everyday, and we went in the hottest part of the day, when none of Senegalese are stupid enough to be out. While we were walking, I said to Emily, who had her birthday a day before mine, “I think this is the first sweltering hot birthday I’ve ever had.” October in Michigan is rarely t-shirt weather, let alone hot. It was unlike any birthday I’ve had, and probably unlike any I’ll have again, but it was good. For a while I was a tiny bit bitter about having my 21st birthday here, since I can’t exactly do any of the traditional things, but then I thought “how many chances will I have to have people throw me a Senegalese birthday party?”
Now we’ve been in St. Louis for four days, but I still feel like we just got here, because I’ve been sick and spending most of my time lying in bed listening to The Golden Compass on my computer. Thanks mostly Deborah, I will have an outfit made here, which I’m pretty excited about. Getting clothes made in Senegal deserves it’s own post and might even get it one of these days.
I had to wait to post this because I couldn't get internet in Saint Louis, so I'm back in Dakar. It funny how much like home Dakar feels now.
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