New Update

It's Sunday, and I am starting to feel the beginnings of a downward turn. This week has been eventful, to say the least, but that's all over – classes start tomorrow, and the beginning of a routine. I haven't been able to properly digest what I've seen this week, and I'm starting to find myself in this limbo between understanding and complete confusion.

Let me start by explaining the family dynamics that we've come to know this past week:

l “Papa” Ignace: The father. A jovial, dynamic person who I believe is responsible for his family's participation in being a host family in the first place. Melanie and I are one of “countless” Americans who have lived in this house....at least 10 years worth. Since it is so difficult to get host families within walking distance from W.A.R.C., the same families seem to be recycled.
 He seems to get a kick out of having foreigners in his house, and definitely radiates an immense feeling of African pride. He gets some sort of satisfaction out of showering us with knowledge, translating the dubbed Brazilian soap operas to me of which the entire family is transfixed daily, or the Wolof movie called Treize...yes, he translated an entire movie for me. We've talked about everything from Senegalese history, sports including African wrestling, spirituality, culture, food, language, sharing his family (old photos, his village of Casamance where he goes several times a year with tourists), etc. He is protective, like a father figure, and being a pretty large (tall, strong) man, we are glad to have him take us to the corner to hail taxis at night, bargain with them....and then finally deciding to go with us in the taxi to the bar....and even taking us up to the door of the bar to make sure we're ok He is the only one of the family with whom we've had such extensive conversations.
l “Mama” Leontine: The mother. Most of the time Leontine seems to genuinely enjoy having us around. If she overhears us ask a question, she hurriedly answers us in French. She seems to be busy most of the time, and when her husband is home, she is practically mute as she sits, engrossed in the television, whether it be news in Wolof or soap operas. He definitely seems to not only dominate the conversation, but he seems genuinely interested in us...if only to see our reaction to what he tells us about. Leontine hasn't really made as much of an effort. She conducts most of her conversations in Wolof, like the rest of the family, and hardly ever addresses us other than when we wake up in the morning and when we return home for the day.
l Antoine, Therese, Cathy: The kids. Antoine seems young and self-absorbed. Like their mother, they've given the impression so far that Melanie and I are “just another one of “those Americans.” Although, unlike past students, we don't party, puke in the house, pick up girls/guys at bars, leave our dirty underwear and garbage on the floor in the room, and get lost at 3 in the morning and then call to have Ignace come and yet them. However, we are still viewed as another of the same breed....same old news, same old story, nothing interesting. They do not address us except in passing, or to ask if we had a good night at the bar, for example. They don't ask us to go out, they don't show interest in playing games or cards or learning about our country. They stay out of our way and are cordial. We did not see Antoine at all yesterday, and when we asked him where he was, he ambiguously replied “Je suis sorti.” I went out. When I asked where he went, he said he visited his grandmother. He didn't offer anything else...not, oh, my grandmother lives in the south banlieus, or do you want to meet her? The conversation died there. I'm not sure if this is a cultural thing, that it just takes time to warm up to us...or if it is genuine disinterest based on the flood of students who have occupied the house for the past 10 years. Theares and Cathy get along really well, more like friends. They tickle each other, they sing songs while they cook and clean. Antoine kids around with them, but he does not get along too well with his old brother, Jean-Marie.
l Jean-Marie: the one who cares. Jean-Marie seems genuinely sympathetic for me and Melanie. Aside from the fact that we didn't even meet him/see him for the first three days we were here, ever since he opened our relationship by embarrassing me in front of everyone, he's been very receptive. (He came down and said, in front of everyone, “C'etait toi qui criait en haut ce matin?” Was it you that was screaming up there this morning? After laughing and blushing, I said, “Yes, it was me in the shower...it was freezing!” Everyone burst out laughing for a good 10 minutes). He works in l'Oasis which is about two blocks from our house in the same neighborhood. It's a small bar where all the Catholics go (non-Muslims...people who can actually drink). They have the reputation, which Brendon's host brother told us the other night, of being “party animals.” I guess that makes me lucky to be living with Catholics? Friday night, I realized that I hadn't been out at all for anything fun – aside from walking to and from W.A.R.C. (the center where we take classes), I hadn't been anywhere else. So I asked if we could go out. Theares took Melanie and me to l'Oasis where me met Jean-Marie. It wasn't clear to me at first why he was already there, but he had us take a seat. He sat and talked with us for a while, about his philosophy of life (just live day by day for yourself, to be happy). Then some of his friends came and sat down, and spoke Wolof unless we asked them something. Jean-Marie was very nice and sympathetic toward us, and made sure we were having a good time. He even bought us another round of drinks, but unfortunately we couldn't finish them in time because we had to be up early the next day for our tour of Dakar.


Here are some things that annoy me so far:
The family is always speaking Wolof around us, instead of French....I find this sort of rude. I can understand if they were saying a few words or phrases and then including us in the conversation, but this isn't the case. We go entire meals, if Papa Ignace isn't around, where Melanie and I are completely silent and everyone else speaks Wolof. They don't even try to ask us questions or include us at all. This is beginning to really annoy me. I spoke to other students, and this doesn't seem like a cultural thing...it seems like it's just our family. Their families all try to include them, and attempt to speak French around them. What I don't understand is, everyone speaks French...including the kids...and they don't make an effort around us.

Here are some things worth mentioning:

*Senegalese beer: I've had two types so far: Gazelle and Flag. Flag is a darker beer, whereas Gazelle is a pretty light beer. They're both very good, and I've begun to drink Flag with Grenadine...which is actually pretty good. I have not gotten drunk, I usually just go to l'Oasis, the bar where Jean-Marie works, and have one drink and talk. It's a pretty good way to practice Wolof and meet people from our neighborhood.
· There is a a supermarket about two blocks from where I live. It's called Casino, which is a chain apparently. There are three or so in Dakar. It is the only place I've noticed where the prices of things are listed, scribbled on a piece of paper that is taped to the shelf. Most other places are not listed, and the store owner makes up the prices as he sees fit....probably depending on if you're toubab (white) or a local. They have a pretty good selection there...lots of Senegalese food, as well as French, and a meat counter. The one thing I find interesting, is that most people do not buy regular milk. Instead, they buy lait caille which is sour milk. Contrary to what I expected, it doesn't taste sour in the least bit. Instead, it's sweetened, so it tastes a bit like yogurt. It isn't refrigerated, and most people have sour milk, condensed milk as well as powdered milk in their homes. We ate it poured over a couscous-like millet concoction, almost like millet porridge. It was pretty tasty...it's called tcaiy (chaye).
· So far, besides the tcaiy, I've had ceib bu jen (chape bu jen), which is couscous with a tomato-based, spicy sauce with carrots, potatoes and fish. It's not as good as everyone makes it out to be, (it's the national food here), but it was pretty good. The thing that struck me, is that some of the fish that is eaten here have teeth. By teeth, I don't mean tiny little teeth you can barely notice...I mean teeth like our cat Pepinot. I would not want to run into one of these things alive. And yes, all the fish we've had still has its head and tail intact. We've also had Chinese stir fry, which is just like home, except it tastes a lot more salty with different spices. We've had French fries (which they just refer to as potatoes), at least four times since we got here, which Mama Leontine serves everyone at the table with her bare hands. It's tradition for the mother of the household to serve everyone by hand like this, in some more traditional families, she will even tear up fish and meat with her hands to serve everyone.
· Most Muslim families around here keep sheep, as well (which we thought were goats until a few days ago, but it turns out that in hot climates, sheep don't grow wool...so they have the face of a sheep but look just like goats). They feed them, and tie them up in the house...until the end of a Muslim holiday, or whatever, where the family slaughters them and eats them. It's still a bit strange for me to see livestock in the middle of a capital city like that...there aren't exactly any fields or grass or anything for them to eat or roam around in. In fact, during the day, they are just tied up to a pole in the middle of the road, where they can't walk very far.

Here are some things that are bothering me:
· I miss home...but not in a way I expected. I miss things being familiar, and knowing people, and being comfortable. It's not that I'm uncomfortable here...it's just that EVERYTHING is a task, everything requires you to be 100% attentive to what's going on around you...it can be mentally exhausting. It's not just the language...which there are two...I'm learning Wolof from the ground up, as well as daily struggling with French (the Senegalese speak with a lot of slang, more than what I'm used to. And they don't always speak slowly with me.) Some Senegalese don't even speak French...so asking for directions when we're lost is a bit of a challenge, when all you can say in Wolof is “I'm going to Sicap Baobab (my neighborhood)”, but you can't understand the directions people give you in response.
· I miss miss English...where it feels like a legitimate language...and not just an impostor, preventing communication. English here is just useless. It feels like I'm babbling when I speak it, and it is the only time I really feel like an outsider...other than when I walk down the street when I feel everyone is staring at me. Which they are. Most white people stay in downtown Dakar, about half an hour's drive away, in the upscale hotels. A few of us got lost on the way to Fann Residence (where some of the students live), and we ended up in a quartier (quarter/neighborhood) called Grand Dakar, which is just a section of our area where there are several streets of markets. People were selling everything from tires, to used sound systems, to mattresses, to fruit, to nuts, to baked goods, to blankets and clothing...children were all home from school, and the parents home from work. Stray cats (which are treated like squirrels around here, not pets), dogs, and sheep were everywhere...the sound, smells and sights were overwhelming. To make matters worse, five toubabs walking in the middle of it all caused more than a few people to stop in their tracks from their work and play to stare at us. Several bands of children stopped to point. We waved and would say “Hello!” to the children, and “Salaam maleikoum” or “Ca va” to the adults. They seemed surprise that we acknowledged them. We felt like V.P. Celebrities, only that no one knew what to do with us. One tiny little girl, no more than five years old, broke the stare of her family by screaming, “Bonjour, Toubab!” We laughed, and said “Bonjour!” Some little boys ran up to us and followed us. They reached out their hands, and for some reason I had the urge to slap them five. So I did. I slapped the first one high five, and he shrieked with delight and started to giggle. The others put out their hands, and I slapped them all five one by one. They really enjoyed it and followed us for a while. Aside from this one interesting and memorable time in Grand Dakar, it is so strange to be the odd one out. For once I know how it is to be black in America. I don't think any white person can understand how this feels unless they come to Africa for an extended period of time. I sometimes catch myself feeling ashamed, in some obscure way, of my obviousness....the softness of my hair, and the whiteness of my skin. Everyone else is so friendly, outspoken, confident, with black, rich skin and brightly colored clothing. I feel like I will never fit in here, even when I learn all there is to know about the rhythm and society of where I live...just because of the way I look and the English I speak. My socio-economic background doesn't really play in my mind at all, because as a student, I don't consider myself a rich American. And as for washing machines and dishwashers – I don't feel particularly...primitive, for lack of a better word – because at Andrew and my apartment in Champaign, we don't have either! Although when I asked Jean-Marie if he wonders where Americans come here at all, he wasn't really sure, and when I asked if we are “spoiled” he said, “Yes” without a moment's hesitation.
· Living with another American is interesting. It has its ups and downs...we can complain to each other when we want, which is cathartic, we can discuss the day and analyze what happened, we can verify if we've understood everything that was told to us that day, etc. It's nice to have someone to talk with, and to share my culture with at night before bed, when everyone else has gone to bed. However, sometimes I wonder if my French would improve faster if I was forced to be on my own, without an English speaker nearby. Also, her French is not as good, which means conversations are slower and simpler, because I have to stop and explain to her what's being said, and Papa and Mama speak in simpler phrases as well around her. Aside from that, I share a room with her and we are almost always together...which prevents me from having any privacy or alone time...which I am beginning to crave. I asked her to give me a few hours alone yesterday, and she totally understood, which was nice. I drew some nice sketches, which everyone in my family is fascinated by...they love them, and ask me to show new ones all the time. I sometimes go up on Jean-Marie's roof to look out over the neighborhood and read/draw/whatever. So that helps. But I feel suffocated....seeing Americans at W.A.R.C....and then walking home with Melanie, to pass the rest of the day with her, and at night. We talked about this though, and she understands the need to spend time apart from time to time. So maybe this will work out better.

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So we had a breakthrough with Antoine and the girls!! But I have to start at the beginning to explain: four French people, two couples, arrived yesterday night in Dakar, friends of Ignace and Leontine. They are really very nice...and it's amazing how comfortable they behave here. The one woman came downstairs this morning in her t-shirt and shorts, and began to smoke in the kitchen. She made a joke out of it, and Leontine didn't seem to mind at all. They are leaving for Casamance (the south of Senegal, where it's more tropical, where Ignace is from), in the morning, for two weeks....so il faut survive sauf eux. We have to survive without them.
The woman seemed very interested in what we were doing, who we were, etc etc. She told us she had dystentary a year ago, when she drank the tap water...and she urged us not to risk the same disease. We've only been drinking filtered and bottled water, and so far it's been fine. Not sick yet, knock on wood. Anyway, since the French couples were there, Ignace and Leontine had dinner with them at the table, while us “enfants” had to eat at a wooden table in the hallway upstairs. Instead of plates, for the first time, we ate the traditional Senegalese style – almost. With one bowl in the middle of the table with French fries, fish in the middle, and a type of onion sauce that goes over the top. We still ate with forks, which is different from everyone else's families (because they're Muslim and eat with their right hand), but we all ate from the same bowl.
Anyway, we were eating, and across the table, Antoine and the girls spoke rapid Wolof, as usual, and were ignoring Melanie and I. We began to get irritated and just decided to speak English...they didn't seem to notice. After a while, I noticed Antoine playfully pointing his fork at his sister, obviously threatening her to stop teasing him. What I said next went like this:
“T'es mechant alors...je savais pas.” So you're mean...I didn't know. Except the problem was that I had put an emphasis on the “t” in mechant...which, when you're talking to a male, you're not supposed to do. He corrected me:
“Il faut dire “Mechant” avec des hommes,” You have to say “mechant” with men,” correctly pronouncing the end of the word without the “t.” So I said, smiling and looking boldly at him across the table:
“Mais comment sais-je que t'es un homme? Tu peux etre fille. Regardez, ses doigts sont si longues et delicats.” But how do I know you're a man? You could be a girl....Look, his fingers are so long and delicate.
Well that comment definitely hit the right note, as I thought it would. I could tell that he was one of those guys who reacts well to being teased....and the Senegalese culture in general appreciates being teased, and those who can accept teasing. It's a form of bonding in a strange way....to untie people's up tightness, to relieve tension.
So anyway, it worked like a charm. He stared at me for a second, comprehending what I had said, and his two sisters burst into laughter. He smiled and looked away, trying to defend himself over their laughter. He started laughing also, and said, “Tanks” (he was trying to say thanks). And then...”Beh....non...” But, no....
Then his sisters started jabbering in Wolof, and Melanie and I assumed we had lost the conversation. But Antoine then said, “Regard-ca...maintenat c'est mes soeurs qui se moquent de moi.” Look at that...now it's my sisters who are making fun of me.
I then turned to his sister and high-fived her. Then everyone started laughing. The tension was completely eased, and everyone began to pay attention to Melanie and I. Antoine began to feel brave, and started to speak English to us....mostly to make us laugh. He said that of all the exchange students that had passed through their house, none of them had bothered to give him the time of day, basically...much less practice English with him. So I said, “On va faire un petit lecon, alors.” We're going to have a little lecon, then.”
We then proceeded to laugh and correct him, as he laughed at his own English. “Mai...euh....Engleesh...ees.....euh.....very bad....euh....” and then laugh again. After talking more, we began to talk about music. He invited us to his room where he has a desktop computer, and he showed us his extensive collection of American rap. We played some classic rock, as well as modern music that we like, in exchange. He really likes rap and reggae though.
At that point I had made plans to meet Josh, because he had wanted to go to the bar Oasis by my house. He told me he had left, so I was to walk and meet him...because he doesn't know how to get to where I live. I live about 45 minutes away from him by foot.
I then asked Antoine if he wanted to come meet him with me. He politely declined and said he was tired...but I was starting to get the feeling that declining is the polite thing to do in Senegal. You don't want to feel like you're imposing, when someone invites you somewhere. So I persisted, and said, “What, you're just lazy! Come, come with me, I insist.” So he smiled and said ok. Melanie said she was tired and was going to bed.
We met Josh at “My Shop” which is a convenient store with fast food places at the big intersection we cross on our way to W.A.R.C. In the morning. We walked back, and I started them talking because I said, “Josh aime bien le rap american....Josh, Antoine aime bien le rap americain.” They both began to talk away in Franglish about rap music, for the entire half an hour back to the house. Josh saw the house, and we went up on the roof and he was very impressed with the view, as well as the fact that we have our own bathroom...which is nice, I must admit. Apparently I have a nice “crib.” We went back downstairs, and I asked Antoine if he wanted to come with to the bar. He again, politely declined and said he was tired. I laughed again, and insisted. He said he didn't want to “derranger” (to bother us, impose) and I said that was ridiculous, of course he wouldn't be imposing, I was inviting him. Then, he accepted.
We walked to the bar and went inside. There were barely any people there, because it's a Monday night, but there was this one guy who was totally drunk and once he realized we were American, he wouldn't leave us alone. Antoine translated in the middle of laughing to himself, as the guy procceeded to compliment Josh on his “Rasta” (like Rastafarian...the back-to-Africa movement originating in black communities in the Carribiean, like Bob Marley, etc), saying he had hair like that until his wife shaved half his head in his sleep. He talked about Obama and Bush and America, and forced us to practice our Wolof. Then he walked away and began to dance alone. It was amusing. Josh and Antoine talked nearly the entire time about music, which didn't bother me one bit...Jean-Marie was there, which was nice. I was just happy to be finally interacting with Antoine after all this time. Making progress!!!.....Ndank, Ndank (Wolof for, one step at a time, slowly). (NdAHnkuh, ndAHnkuh). Antoine then helped Josh take his first taxi, back home to Fann Residence.
It was a good night. Ugh.....I cannot kill this one mosquito.......