Closure

I haven’t written on this blog in a long time and it’s because life is real. It’s not always easily captured on a blog. Teaching was hard; probably one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life and that’s because success doesn’t rely 100% on my progress so much so as it relies on the progress of the kids. I may be very good at and know alot about journalism, English and history, but if I cannot effectively relay that to my students then what good is my knowledge? So, I found myself struggling to engage students, create effective and interesting lesson plans and to stay in control of the classroom which is the most difficult part. I have the utmost respect for teaching and for learning how to become a teacher in the traditional sense instead of through these alternative teacher programs.

Then there was my personal story. My reasons behind my desire and determination to immerse myself in an African culture centered around my quest to bridge the gap between Africa and I. I was searching for my “true identity.” Quite often I found I was spurned by people who rejected me because I was American while others jokingly called me, “Charlotte American” or introduced me as their American friend before I even had a chance to speak.

The people at Goree Island will never know how hurtful it is to demand I pay more than double to take the ferry to the island than the Senegalese because I am a foreigner and not African. (Sidenote: I’ve never actually paid the expensive rate because I can “pass” for Senegalese if I keep my mouth shut, but it still hurts!) The vendors will never understand how unkind it is to call after me, “my sister, my sister,” beckoning me to come to their stand with the intention to cheat me while I stand on the very island from which they may have packed and shipped away my ancestors.

Then there were the good moments; times when people affirmed that I looked just like their sister or cousin. They say I look like a Tukulor. There were instances when I somehow managed to get the real price of an item with my limited Wolof. Vendors never forget your face and some are nice. I saw a guy I had bought jewelry from five months ago recently and he smiled and said hello. He greeted me in English and when I replied that his English was improving he told me that he was taking classes and then handed me a cowshell bracelet for free.



It took me awhile to realize that it’s neither group, not the people that deny nor the people that affirm my “Africanness” that should have power over my true identity. It’s all about how I perceive myself. Yes, I am American. Yes I am also African. But I cannot be limited to a title or a label; I am Charlotte Young, free of what you say I am because I am so much more than what you think! And many of the same people that declare I am not African would reject me regardless if I did not fit their ideal social standing or was of another African nationality.

I still live in Dakar. Just last weekend I was out with friends at my favorite night spot watching Senegalese, Cape Verdeans, Cameroonians, Ghanaians, Canadians and who knows what other nationalities dance to Congolese music. You see this mixture of nationalities and culture, this is Africa.

I was shy of dancing until one guy pulled me up.

“Where are you from?” he asked.

“America.” I replied.

“No, you are from Africa!”

He proceeded to dance around, bouncing his shoulders and shuffling his feet to the music. Another guy hopped in front of me.

“Do like this,” he said.

Moving his feet and hips in a dance similar to that I’d seen in the states. So I copied him.

“Well look you can move!” someone teased.

I looked at them and smiled. “Merci.”

So that is it. I am Charlotte—lover of self, lover of people and culture and lover of assisting in youth development—just not as a teacher.

Mach’Allah.

Peace

Encounter with a Marabout

The most outstanding memory from my weekend spent in Louga, Senegal is the time I spent speaking with a marabout, or religious leader, in the Islamic faith. His name is Cheref Mahfou Aidara. He is a brown skinned man with a receding hairline and a quiet, calm demeanor.

I watched him walk into the religious festivities surrounded by his talibes and accompanied with the boisterous songs of Muslim worship. All rose to their feet as he approached and continued to stand as he took his place in one of the large and plush chairs facing the crowd. His younger brothers sat in the chairs beside him. This was the moment everyone had been waiting for.

As a lead singer continued to sing his song to the marabout, others came to sit as his feet or simply just to shake his hand. No shoes were allowed in his vicinity and all kept crouched to the ground around him. So terrified was one man by the marabout’s presence, that he writhed about in the grasp of three men as they carried him to the feet of the marabout. This man was so reverent and fearful that he refused to lift his face and let it stay tucked in the crook of his arm. But the marabout was gracious. He bent to touch the man’s head and allowed him to sit at his side.

Marabouts in Senegal are both great in number and highly regarded in society as was evident by this festivity. I was once on a full ferry boat to Goree and it had already pulled off when a marabout arrived. The boat then turned around and waited for this marabout to board and find a seat. While respected by all, each marabout has his set of talibe who look to him for guidance.
It must be at times difficult to be a marabout. It is a position you are born into that is passed down through the generations. Your future is chosen for you before you are even born.

A friend of mine, M. Ndiaye, told a story once of a man who he grew up with who was destined to be a marabout. They were very close and even went to college together in France. While there his friend decided that he wanted to be an actor, so he left and went to an acting school in London. Shortly afterwards his people found out and some were sent to Europe to find him. They asked M. Ndiaye where his friend was but he did not know; he replied that he thought his friend went somewhere in London. When they finally found the young man they sat him down and talked to him for hours. And after that talk, M. Ndiaye says his friend never again mentioned wanting to be an actor.

As I looked on at Aidara I wondered if he ever had aspirations to be a doctor or a lawyer or even a comedian and his dreams too were shot down. Cherif is a direct descendant of the prophet Mohammed the great--something grandson of Fatitmah Zahra. What if he had wanted to be a lawyer or a doctor or even a comedian? As a descendant of the founder of one of the world’s top religions he could never be anything but a marabout. It is one of those situations that makes you question why we are put on this earth. Is it really to find our own individual purpose? Some people never have the option to define their own fate. There are perks I am sure to having people fear you and literally bow and sit at your feet. But what if none of that was ever what you truly wanted in life?

The next day when I had the pleasure to speak with him, I began to doubt whether he ever had any inspiration to be anything else but a marabout.

Hello how are you? He asked me in English. What is your name? And in those two statements he had exhausted all of his English. Aidara is fluent in both Wolof and Arab; two languages I am not able to carry a conversation in. For the remaining part of our talk which lasted about two hours, the questions and answers were translated from Wolof to French and vice versa by a friend. If I write any false statements in this piece, it is because something was misinterpreted.

If you are like me one of the first questions you may have for Aidara was how did the descendants of the prophet Mohammed end up Wolof speakers in Senegal?

Each generation migrated to other countries, he told me. His grandfather had gone to Yemen and his father to Mauritania. From there they left and settled in Senegal.

The next series of questions centered mainly around the role of Jesus. How can Jesus be God and the son of God? He asked. God is alone. Because of the faith of Mary and her father who was also a prophet, God allowed her to give birth to “the prophet” Jesus. But Jesus is not the son of God. He is however the Messiah, or savior of the Jews. It is amusing to me that the only people that don’t seem to believe this are the Jews.

Jesus did not die on the cross, he continued, another died in His place. Who I am not sure. Jesus ascended to heaven before the crucifixion and is the only prophet to go to heaven before death. This is because Muslims believe He is going to come back again and explain to everyone that He is not the Christ or the Son of God and that Islam is the true faith.

To this I replied that this was good news! I would simply wait until He came back and hear what He had to say. They told me that no I could not do this because no one knows when He is coming back.

I then asked if it was possible to go to Heaven or Paradise if you were a good person, believed in God, and basically followed the rules of Islam except that you did not believe that Islam was the true way. No I found out, this was not possible because Mohammed closes the door to Heaven and the five pillars of Islam are the bare minimum for the faith. I did not in fact know that Muslims pray to Mohammad; that surprised me.

Is God the same God for all three Abrahamic faiths? I asked next. The answer was simple—God is God for all.

I then asked Aidara if he personally read the Torah or the Bible, and he told me that no he did not because both of them were included in the Koran.

My last question for the marabout was if interfaith marriage was possible. Between Muslim men and Non-Muslim women yes. But not between Muslim women and Non-Muslim men. This is because of the authority men have over women. A Muslim man will raise his children Muslim and his wife has the freedom to practice as she wants. But because women are weaker, if a Muslim woman marries a non-Muslim she may fall in her faith.

After hours of speaking with a marabout in French I grew tired and I was not able to ask all of the tough questions I wanted to ask. But Aidara is a nice man. He took his time with me. He asked me why I chose to wear the head covering and seemed pleased that I did so out of respect. I explained the difference between the Protestant and Catholic Church to him and tried to explain why Christians did not believe Mohammed. In the end he invited me to come back again for another discussion.

For me the most fundamentally important idea that I took away from the session was the similarities between the Christian and Islamic faiths. No they do not believe the same exact things but I heard some of the same statements made by the marabout made in the Christian Church. God is God for all…only God can convert and no one can force anything…before this knowledge you were like a child in the dark but now you have been brought into the light… They both have the same approach to salvation. But the resounding last question is how will you get there? And that dear reader is up to you to decide.


(Cheref Mahfou Aidara praying for me.)

Why I like English Better than French

"Le/La" vs. "The"

**A Conversation while walking down the streets of Touba**

Me: Hey Abo!

Abo: Hmmm?

Me: Un jour, tu sors toute la nuit et tu m'appelles. Je ouvre le porte pour toi.

*Laughter*

Soda: Charlotte.

Me: What?

Soda: It's la porte not le.

Me: Quoiever!!!! Le...la...c'est la meme chose!!!!

**More Laughter***


Earthy Apples

I was looking at a bag of "pomme de terres," which literally translated means "apples of earth." Earth Apples??? They're potatoes!!! Apples and potatoes are nothing alike.

ThInGs I No LoNgEr TaKe FOr GrAntEd

Just a list of some things I've noticed are no longer in my life...

1) Washing machines. I really wish I had one. There is someone who washes clothes but she doesn't wash jeans, underwear, cargo pants or bathing suits. All I have are shirts.

2) Target/Walmart- the convenience of everything in one location so easily accessible. I don't always like to bargain in Wolof for stuff.

3) Taxi meters- because they're fair. What's not fair is overcharging me because I'm not Senegalese.

4) College ruled paper- who would've thought I should stock up on paper before I came. But the paper here is like graph paper, I can't write on that.

5) Smart trip cards or bus pass- that'd be nice to have. although the way the bus system works here, it would be impossible to implement a smart trip machine. The bus gets so packed during rush hours and there's no way to monitor who is on the bus and who paid.

6) phone plan/unlimited texting- I have a pay as u go phone. I don't like my conversations to last longer than 20 sec otherwise i'm paying beacoup money!!!

7) Bacon- PORK bacon, or even turkey bacon. Haven’t had either since I’ve been here.

8) Milk- I don’t like the way the milk tastes here. I want some 2% milk.

9) Oreos- but not just any oreos, the white ones. Nobody loves those. Except for me. I love white oreos. Although now that I think about it, having the black oreos would be great as well.

10) Waffle fries from chic fil a. They’re so delicious. Actually I just miss chic fil a in general. Nuggets with waffle fries and sweet tea lemonade mix.

11) Certain sanitary Practices- although I’m not dead yet. Maybe there’s no need to sanitize everything.

And a Merry Christmas to You

When people ask me what was my Christmas like in Senegal, I may omit the fact that one of the first things I did that day was to break down crying in front of my host family. It was a very pitiful and pathetic sight. I kept asking for the phone—in English—as the tears streamed down my face because it seems when I’m upset I can only speak English. They couldn’t understand me. Finally I was able to get my message across and I called my home and managed to stutter a Merry Christmas to my mom before hanging up because the phone was so staticey and I was so emotional that nothing else could be said.

Once off the phone they asked me what was wrong and I could only reply, “C’est Noel,” to which they burst out laughing at me.

They just didn’t understand how important the day was to me. But I’ll try to break it down for you so that you can understand exactly what was on my mind and why I cried.

1) Like I told them, it was Christmas. I missed my family terribly. The thing is that that is a very powerful statement to make because after my senior year of high school I have tried my hardest to stay out of SC and it seems that I have succeeded. I went to college in DC and now I’m in Senegal, very very far from SC. But in DC I could always come home for the holidays and here I can’t. It seems that whatever it was I didn’t like about my homestate, has dissipated. And I just want to be home with my mom and my dad and my little brother.

Thanksgiving was hard enough; I have never felt such a strong desire to visit my Grandmother’s house in the backwoods of Georgetown County. All I wanted was to eat dinner with my entire family- my aunts, uncles and cousins, to laugh and to feel the togetherness shared between those of my blood. Now I know that people here have done their best to make the holiday enjoyable, but it’s just not the same. And I miss my aunts’ cooking.As the holiday season progressed, it just got even harder for me. Now I’m not saying I want to stay permanently in SC, but I know I need to be there around the holiday season.

2) Throughout my experience in Senegal I have realized that Senegalese people love holidays and when one of their holidays comes around they are very extravagant in the way that they dress and in what they do. Korite comes—we have a large feast, we get dressed up and we visit others so that everyone can see how fly we are. Tabaski comes, it’s the same thing and we even kill a goat. But when Christmas comes, people party the night before and do absolutely nothing that day. And for me it hurt because Christmas is my holiday that I celebrate in a grand way because it’s important to me as a Christian. I thought that Muslims viewed Jesus as a prophet and if that’s the case to me, they gave Him absolutely no respect. Some people cannot even tell me why they celebrate Tabaski but everyone knows Christmas is the day Jesus’ birthday is celebrated and nobody cared. I guess He’s just not important to them after all. But what made it worse is that I partied the night before with them. I told myself I wanted the Senegalese experience, but as that night progressed at the club I began to have a moral complex about it. Why was I even out? And it was my first time at the club.

3) I didn’t have a clean towel and I needed to take a shower. I don’t understand why there are not extra towels in the house or why my towel is not clean. Why are there no washing machines?????

And so that’s why I cried. I celebrated Jesus in my own private way, but at the time I was still very unhappy.

Now I recognize that there are some terrible memories that people have around the holiday season and my memories haven’t been bad they just haven’t been what I wanted. But I can honestly say if I compare my holidays seasons together, this has hands down been the worst holiday season in the history of my life.

Rudolph

Who thought that it would be so hard to teach the song, "Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer?" It has been a song I've known since childhood. But when you teach a class full of francophone 10 and 11- year-olds who have never heard of Rudolph and don't really celebrate Christmas, it can become quite a task. But they surprised me and I am very proud to show this video of my class singing "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" this past Friday. It was the highlight of my day.

That Dang Little Muhammad!!!!

My little host brother Muhammad came very close to getting a spanking the other day.

He was sitting at the breakfast table whining for no reason, and his dad told him to come which he didn't do. He just sat there crying like the little baby he is.

All of a sudden dad gets up but mom rushes in and grabs baby, saves him from a spanking. Dad had a belt in his hand ready.

I just sat at the table laughing. Then he looked at me and says, "this is not in America." I just smiled and said we got beat growing up too. We got beat probably more than they do here. In my house the belt didn't come out for no reason. If my daddy took his belt off he was going to use it on one of us...maybe both. That was the way it was.

If that had been me my dad or mom would've said, I'll give you something to cry about, and that would've been it. The thing about it is I have never seen a little boy in Africa or America, that needs to get beat as badly as Muhammad needs to get beat. That little boy needs to get his butt whooped like...every 2 hours. That'll show him. He hits, he spits, he yells, he throws things, he tried to pull my pants down on the school bus he's so bad. And he'll do something, laugh and walk away, and he gets away with it every time. Talk about things that are unfair.

He came in my room one morning and spat on my sheets but do you think he got in trouble OF COURSE NOT. Now it's getting cold and I have no sheets. Maybe it's because he's the baby, maybe it's because he's the only boy I don't know. But I'll tell you this, I'm glad mama is pregnant and I hope she has a boy. Then maybe Mohammad will finally be able to calm down and act normal...or maybe not.

(it's always better when he's sleeping)

Tabaski Pictures

There's Blood Everywhere!!!! My First Tabaski

So Tabaski has come and gone, and today we get one more day to chilax until back to school tomorrow (thank God!) It was quite an interesting day.

In the morning the men went to the mosque and the women stayed to clean. There was much cleaning. So after I stopped being lazy I got up and began to help with the cleaning. We cleaned EVERYTHING. The floor upstairs is really large. I mopped it and the stairs and the outside stairs which doesn't even make sense to me because they're outside and they get dirty again sooo fast. After that Madame Ndaw said I could take my shower and when I opened my door I noticed this outfit on the bed. I was like omg look at this outfit! It was just there, laying on the bed waiting for me. That was one of the best things ever. So I took a shower and put it on then had breakfast. As I was eating, near the back door, I noticed some commotion happening outside and I looked up and saw the goat standing on its hind legs. I was like, "oh snap, it's time!" And I freaked out and ran towards the front of the house. Then I heard the kids around the house yelling and I started yelling a little. The backdoor opened and it was Yankhoba, restraining the dog on a leash. That's why there were scared. Turns out they aren't really scared of the killing of the goat. They see it every year but I couldn't watch the actually killing. I peeked outside from the living room and could see that there was blood every where. My little sister Aida was just watching them on the couch like it was a tv show. I tried to go sit in my room but eventually little Mohammad came and pulled me outside. That little boy is sooo bad.

Madame Ndaw and the girls were cutting up vegetables on one side of the back outside area while the goat was being skinned on the other. I didn't think it was right but I sat down to help make the seasoning, then cut up some cucumbers and potatoes. I couldn't help but think how delicious it was going to taste when it was all done. I tried not to look while they skinned and cut up the poor animal, except to take a few pictures...

First around 12 we had a snack of smoked ribs and fries. Really delicious I have to admit. I had a bit of liver too and I have to say I've never eaten liver before because I didn't want to, but I find myself doing so many new things here, and I liked it.

Around 2 or 3 we had lunch, goat with fries, onion sauce and bread. The first part of the day is all for family. After 5, you put on your very expensive tailor made Tabaski outfit and visit friends. One of my good friends here came to see me and I went with him to visit his aunt, then we went to the Kanes residence and finally to his house where we spent the rest of the evening.

It was overall a good day. Check out the pictures on the next post!

Tabaski Preparation

Today the streets will run red with the blood of hundreds of goats who will be slaughtered as a symbol of Abraham's sacrifice. Yes, the bleating of goats was heard all yesterday and it will be heard all morning, but all at once, in one moment it will stop. And we will eat...

It's Tabaski time!!!!!!

Tabaski is the holiday that celebrates Abraham's commitment to God by his willingness to sacrifice his son, Isaac. (Some say it was his son Ishmael). Just as he was about to finish the deed, God stopped him and he saw a ram caught in the bushes so sacrificed that instead. It's a very big deal here. There is much feasting and people will be dressed in fantastic wonderful clothing. Now I couldn't afford the expensive material and the tailor so my outfit will not look quite like that.

I did however, find myself caught up in the materialism/commercialism that overshadows all holidays, no matter how pure they start. Tabaski is two days after Thanksgiving, and coincidently though I wasn't in America, I still had a "black Friday." We went en ville (downtown) to go shopping for shoes and for the life of me I could not find the perfect pair. Well, I did but I wasn't willing to pay 10,000 CFA for them. My budget was 3,000 CFA so you can see the 7,000 CFA difference. It was so sad. We went en ville, somewhere else and somewhere else and I just could not find the shoes at a price I wanted so I went home upset and angry because my outfit is not going to be fly with the perfect golden shoes and my outfit is not grand and excessive.

Now why should I care so much about a holiday I've never even heard of much less celebrated before I came here three months ago (it seems so long)??? Because universally, Christian or Muslim or whatever, I like to look fly and I don't know many people who don't. And when in Rome do what the Romans do.

But I suppose I can appreciate the religious value of Tabaski. I mean I do believe in Abraham and that he almost sacrificed his son--Isaac--for God. Actually made me wonder why Christians don't celebrate Tabaski. Well, it's probably best we don't, because I already have to worry about finding the perfect outfit for Easter, I don't need another holiday to do that to me when I go back to the states. :)

The Fam...

Just a few pics, more coming. My internet has been down :(

To Be Senegalese

Just as any little sister would want to tag along with her big brother, I find myself wanting to tag along with my host brother Yankhoba. My host brother Yan, has been a true brother to me and I'm very grateful for our brother-sister closeness. Though he usually doesn't invite me to come along with him to his friend's house, on this particular day he did. I think he felt sorry for me because it was a Friday night and I had nothing to do but sleep.

We went over to his friend's house and found him in the midst of making tea, a Senegalese tradition that usually involves drinking up to three small glasses of very strong tea which progressively get weaker and easier to drink. It's very good for keeping you awake.

As he made more tea, more and more of their friends arrived along with them entered a roach--cafard in Wolof. For anyone who knows me, you know of my deep rooted fear in roaches. I can't stand them and I usually let out a high pitched scream when I see one. You will be happy to know that I did not do so this time. I did however show enough discomfort for them to laugh at me and promptly kill the roach.

Another roach crept into the room and another and each were killed but at the last I received a shake of the head. "You are not Senegalese," I was told. "A Senegalese woman would not be afraid of a cafard."

It's a phrase said with a negative condemining feel to it that I truly do not appreciate. I was told again a few days later that in order to be Senegalese, I must speak to everyone when I enter a room or a place no matter what. Sometimes I forget to say hello to everyone after a hard day at work but this is something that I must do in order to be Senegalese. And I certainly can't be quiet.

There is a common theme I've experienced here in Senegal and that is that I must be here to learn how to be Senegalese. Now I do not recall mentioning that I ever wanted to be Senegalese. I'm American, I understand that I'm American and that there are certain things I will not be able to do such as get over my fear of roaches. It's just not going to happen.

I'm sure that somewhere there is a Senegalese woman who truly doesn't like roaches and wants to scream when she sees one but doesn't because she knows that is not Senegalese. And there has to be someone in this country that doesn't like talking to people all of the time. But I suppose the difference between those people and me is that they can hide those things while I cannot hide who I am.

It's not that I don't want to be Senegalese, it's that I understand that I am not and it is not possible for me to be at this time. So why this constant pressure to do things and be things Senegalese?

I think that they know that there is somewhere in those that come here a desire to connect with Senegal and her people and this is they way they try to express that belief. But it is not wanting to be African that I desire. It's a connection to Africa and an accpetance of who I am. And that I suppose, is what I am still searching for.

LeArn To SpEak WoLof!

I am certainly no authority on teaching anyone how to speak Wolof, but I have picked up a couple of phrases that you may find useful if you ever come to Senegal or run across a Senegalese person. Plus, learning a language is always fun.

Rule #1: Senegal is a majority muslim country so many of the phrases are in fact arabic. Mach'Allah, for instance, means May God Maintain it, in Arabic.

Inch'Allah means God-willing, and you will use this phrase after many many phrases. If you don't, there's a possibility people will look at you funny.

Alhumdoullilah means all praises to God. It's also what I say when someone greets me and I have no idea what they are saying. But I would only do that if you know the person, then they think it's kind've funny.

Rule #2: There are like a thousand ways to greet someone in Wolof. When you speak to someone I would say you use at least 3 in a row before moving on to the next thing.

Let the learning begin! Keep in mind I'm spelling these words phonetically as I hear them.

Nanga def-how are you
Mange fee- I'm good.

Yange se diam?- Do you have peace.
Mange se diam- I have peace.

Yange noce (I don't know what this means exactly but it is a greeting and the response is below)
Mange noce

waw- yes
dedet- no

Da ma (I am) Da ma...
heef- hungry
sone- tired
mer- angry
yacumte- in a hurry

Lekka!- Eat
Lek gue be soo?- Did you eat enough?
Lek nabesoo- I ate enough.
Tau no nekhna- It was delicious

Jeddejef- thank you
nuk a buk- we are one (you're welcome)

Mange niew- I am coming.
Kay- come
Kay talk fee- Come sit here.

to tee to tee- a little

Da fa tanga!!!!- It is hot!!!!

Jogo- stand up
Togo- sit down

Mange dem-I am leaving
Foy dem?- Where are you going?

Mange dem nelow- I am going to sleep.

Nopee- Be quiet

Maima- give me. Maima...
ndokh- water
hallis- money

lo bug a- What do you want?

ya suma hol- you are my heart

Basouba, inch'allah- Good night God willing.

Babenin yo inch'allah- until next time, God willing.

That's it for now, try it out!

Charlotte Young Est Charlotte Ndaw

J'aime my host family!!!!

I have finally moved into my homestay with Pape Ndaw who works at the school and his family and I love them. It's very different from the Kanes.

Pape Ndaw lives in Mamel which is about a 10 minute drive from Almadies where the Kanes live. The house is large; 2 stories about 5 bedrooms, 3 common spaces, a dining room, kitchen...it's large. Plus there's space up on the roof which will be absolutely BEAUTFIUL once they fix it up. They recently moved there so there is still work to do on the house.

The family dynamic is COMPLETELY different. First there's Pape Ndaw, his wife and 4 children, 4 men who are the brothers of either Pape Ndaw or his wife and 2 women who are nieces. That's 12 people, 13 if you include me, all in one house...beaucoup de famille. And they all speak Wolof excluding Pape Ndaw, one of the brothers and the English that the children know.

As much as I would love to say that language barriers don't matter and that together we cobbled together a language filled with laughter that was understood by all, that didn't exactly happen. I proudly spurted out three of the five wolof phrases I knew, and looked confused upon the next question. It occured to me then that I only know introductory phrases. There's been a lot of me just standing around silently and looking confused or in a daydream.

The first night I walked around Mamel with the 2 nieces and one of the brothers. I enjoy walking around Mamel and seeing people. I mostly spoke to the brother as he is the one that speaks English, but he won't always be around.

He wasn't around at all last night, and I spent most of the time with the women, watching Madame Ndaw sew (she's a seamstress) with her fellow seamstress people and walking around with one of the women. I really need to remember everyone's name.

Then the power shut off and I realized how different it is when the power is off and there is no generator. Candles provided a soft glow of light throughout the various rooms, and I watched the children mischievously play in the tips of the flames while they completed the homework by candle light.

The lights did not come back on before dinner so we ate in the dark. "Mange! Mange!" (Eat, Eat.) They encouraged even though I was full. I have a hard time telling people in English that I do not want anymore so you can imagine how it was in Wolof/French--there was nothing else I could do but eat even though I was full.

Eventually the lights came back on and the children scrambled in a race to blow out the candles. Then we sat around the living room talking and laughing. I learned several new words.

Kay tok fee-- Come sit down.
Lek gue be soure--Did you eat enough?
Lek nabesoure. Tog bi nekhna. I ate enough. It was delicious.

And finally, Mague dem nelow. Basouba. I am going to sleep. Good night.

After getting ready for bed in the bathroom, I noticed a plate of apples and pears by my bed. It was the sweetest thing everrrrr I love my new family! :)

Korite!

Korite has come and gone. It was a day filled with food, beautiful colorful outfits and glasses of bissap and more bissap. The memories inspired by it will last after all of that is gone.

In the morning everyone went to the mosque for service. Afterwards it was back to the house for some pourridge with yogurt, my first breakfast food in Senegal and a very filling meal. Because I didn't go to the mosque in the morning, I had extra time to prepare for the day. Masake allowed me to borrow one of her dresses for the day and I wore my very expensive and fly (if I do say so myself) tresses.

Though we were all dressed up, Masake and Rugi's outfits outdid us all. They had their outfits specially made for the day and they were gorgeous.

The boys came over with Amadou for lunch, our first lunch in Senegal and afterwards we lounged around in our dress clothes until Masake decided it was time to make the visiting rounds. After everyone eats, the day is typically filled with visits to friends and families. When they greet they say to each other in Wolof:

Forgive me, I forgive you. May God forgive us both, in turn.

Our first stop was at the house of two of Masake's cousins They are two girls, 23 and 25, who we will be very good friends with in the near future...language permitting. Camille will be their neighbor and I will be living not too fa from all of them. Three men came in to visit a little bit after we came and we learned that they too leave nearby. I hope to see more of them as well. :)

That was the only visit that worked out for the evening. At the subsequent visits no one was home, most likely off making their rounds.

So, we headed to the Radisson Blu and got a few sodas. The view from the outside is beautiful. True to its name the structure is highlighted by blue lights at night. You can see blue lights glowing softly beneath the pool and around the corners of the patio area. If you walk to the edge of the enclosure you can watch the ocean rhythmically move in and out surrounded by the city and its lights. In the distance is the lighthouse we ventured to not so long ago, its light rolling in a circle.

It is the kind of place I can see my father wanting to stay when my parents come to visit me, but I think I will probably put them in a place a bit more traditional...

Once we left the Radisson, we went to the most western point of Africa and found everything closed. Then it was off to downtown for pizza.

Korite was fun and thankfully it also comes with a 2 day haedus from the school. As much as I say I love those kids, teaching is hard and mentally strenuous.

The holiday made me realize just how much I can't wait to move into my homestay. As much as I love living with the Kanes in Almadies, it seems to me that more people live in Mamel and Ouakam and I want to be where the action is. I just hope when that time does come, it will be all that I hope for and then some.

Dinner with Ahmat

Friday all of the teaching fellows had dinner at Ahmat's house.

Ahmat works in administration at SABS and is also a relative of the Kanes. When the Kanes had their large Ndougou and invited several friends and families, the other teacher fellows and I sat listening to Ahmat as he detailed how we are all "persons" no matter what our color or religion or origin. It was a very interesting and passionate discussion.

Afterwards he told us that we must come to his house and have dinner before Ramadan was over. As Saturday marked the last day of Ramadan, our time to come over was running up.

Camille and I went to Amadou's house to break fast first and meet up with the boys. CP time prevailed and we unfortunately arrived after the sun went down.

Then Amadou accompanied us to Ahmat's house which was only about five minutes away.

We found Ahmat in the open outside speace of the front of house next to his little baby girl. A mat and a mattress sit invitingly on the floor and that's where we spent the next hours of our time. It was very comfortable. In the distance we could hear chanting and goats bleeting.

"You must only speak in French," Ahmat told us. "You know English very well already so you must speak French."

He was right. So I spoke my next sentence in very broken but understandable French.

"Je veux trouve un homme de Senegal et parle Francais toujours!" I announced. (I want to find a Senegalese man and speak French always.)

"Oh," Ahmat said. "You want to marry a Senegalese man?"

"Peut-etre." I replied.

"Do you want to be the first or the second or third wife? he asked me."

I frowned. "Le premier et le finalement!!!!"

"Well you know here in Senegal a man can have more than one wife."

"One, two, three, four wives." Amadou added.

"But not five." Ahmat finished. "If I make more money I may take a second wife. And have more babies. I may take an English wife."

"Why would you take an English wife when you have a wife that can speak English?" Ahmat's wife questioned coming up behind him. She sat in the chair across from him and positioned the baby in her lap so that they both were staring at him.

"Ahhh...."

We continued talking for several hours before the food finally came. And when it came, it was quite a feast. Beef and theib with onions and olives. As usual it was served in a large silver dish that we all ate from either with our hands or spoons. We dug in.

"Please, eat." Ahmat said. "You are not guests here. You must eat more."

Amadou and Ahmat kept dropping beef in front of us despite our protests that we were full. When we truly could eat no more Ahmat's brother served us small glasses of very strong tea.

Then we laid out on the mattresses and struggled not to fall asleep. I informed Ahmat about "the itis," much to the disapproval of my colleagues but it was clearly what was steadily overtaking us.

But finally, we were able to stand and leave the house. We went straight to sleep as soon as our heads hit the pillows.

The Last Days of Ramadan

It's here, it's finally here!

The last days of Ramadan. I thought this time would never come. It feels so...bittersweet. There's a sense of accomplishment that I have made is so far in fasting (Well I did cheat a few days) and a sense of excitement. Not only will I be able to eat and drink when I want (whoo!!!) and there will be so many more available activites. People tend not to go out as much during Ramadan because everyone must be on their best behaviours. Some restaurants and other businesses even close for a month in recognition of the month. In addition if they were like me, they were so hungry during the day they conserved their energy by sleeping and sitting around the house. It's hot outside and the last thing one wants to do is break fast because they unnecessarily exerted themselves to much.

I was participating in Ramadan to fully immerse myself in the Senegalese experience. But now that it's over, I find that as a Christian Ramadan has given me the confidence to do my own spirtual fasting for a long period of time. In fact I plan to do one for a week sometime soon.

Because Ramadan is dependent on the lunar calender, it ends depending on when the moon can be seen. Tonight everyone will look outside and if a credible person says they see the moon then the fast is over. If not, the fast will last for one more day.

Then it's Kourite. We celebrate the end of Ramadan. It's like Easter they tell me, except that we're not celebrating the ressurrection of Jesus...so perhaps maybe not so much like Easter. Either way I will find out soon. Hopefully, the moon will reveal itself tonight.

Amistad

I'm chillin' here watching Amistad on this tranquil lazy Saturday afternoon with everybody here in the Kanes residence and I have to tell you it's a different kind of feeling.

Amistad is one of those movies that I purposely avoided due to the fact that I get quite sensitive about matters dealing with slavey and racism. I don't need to see a movie directed by Steven Spielburg to remind me of this fact. Although I must admit Djimon Hounsou is an attractive man and here's a fun fact: one of the languages the Africans are speaking is Wolof. I understood one word.

The thing that gets me in this movie and in others (Roots) is that African people are the ones that sold other Africans into chattel slavery. Yes, I know the institution of of slavery has been around for a very very long time and when there was war there were slaves. The movies told me nothing new.

But now that I'm on the Continent and in Senegal which was a large player in the slave trade, I have to wonder...is this the land where my ancestors were originally taken? Are these people that I interact with each and every day, the descendants of the very ones that allowed for my ancestors to be taken to America?

There is no way to be sure. It's a pointless question that I have asked myself many times.

The only thing I know for sure is that I reverence the past. The reason why I came to Africa was to form the connection that was lost in the greed and hatred that was the American slave trade. I want to build my bridge back to Africa.

I suppose my thoughts on this subject will continue once I am able to view and step foot on Goree's Island. Ramadan is almost over. So that will be sooner than later...inch'allah (if God is willing).

Journey to the Light House

Saturday afternoon the other fellows and I took a journey to the top of the light house. Under the hot Senegalese sun during Ramadan this is no easy task.

But we walked...then we climbed and we made it! You could see all of Dakar or so it seemed from the top...perhaps even beyond. I looked over this city which is now my place of residence and couldn't help but acknowledge the easy peace and calm that has washed over me ever since I stepped foot into Africa. Mach'Allah, may God maintain it.

(we turned out a bit dark in this pic. Can't be helped.)

Chivalry Lives in Senegal

So, I found chivalry in the kind and gracious person of Amadou. Amadou is the man that "the boys" (the 2 male teaching fellows) are staying with. He is the nicest person one can meet and has a true heart for service. One can learn alot from him besides Wolof, just by watching his actions.

Take Sunday afternoon for example. Amadou came over to the Kanes' residence for a quick visit. Because Camille and I had heard the wonderful tales the boys have of hanging out with Amadou, we decided we wanted to come along with him back to his home. So we set out on a very hot walk to Ouakam which is probably about a 15-20 min walk from Almadies. At first it was pleasant and carefree. Amadou offered to carry Camille's purse if it got to heavy for her shoulder. Then he proceeded to teach us Wolof words.

(Excuse the Spelling) "Nan ga tu do" means "What is your name?" "Fungajugi-" "Where do you come from?" "Howma-" "I don't know." "Sawaju" is "Family."

As we walked we came across a very intense argument across the street. They were speaking Wolof quickly and angrily so I didn't understand the conversation, but the body language gave the scene away. Two women--one older and one younger were arguing with a man and an empty taxi cab was parked nearby. The man had the younger woman's purple scarf and refused to give it back to her, keeping her at arm's length.

"Hold on," Amadou said and quickly crossed the street.

He approached the angry group and separated the younger woman from the man. He then began to talk to both of them and after a moment took out his wallet and handed the man some money. The man then obligingly gave the scarf back to the woman. But almost as soon as he did he reached a hand and looked as if he were about to hit the older woman. Amadou pulled him back again and the angry women walked away and called another cab. Amadou then opened the doors to the cab and made sure the women got in safely and watched as they pulled away.

He had completely diffused the situation. But what I didn't understand was that at no point during the altercation did I sense a "thank you." I can't speak Wolof but there did not seem to be any gratitude in their appearance.

To me that was one of the most amazing and kindest things I've ever seen. When Camille and I were walking down the same street with the boys two days before, they laughed when a car almost hit me. Here was Amadou, walking on the outside of the sidewalk to protect us from cars and fixing the problems of strangers. It makes me smile even now.

We had Ndougou at his house with one of the boys. He made us feel extra special and bought a watermelon. The he fried fish and made sure we had as much fruit and Bissap as we could possibly want.

--Just a quick FYI, mangos in Senegal are extra delicious and Bissap is a drink made with the flowers of some plant. It's GREAT!--

It was a memorable Ndougu and a happy day to say the least.