Ramadan is OVER. Today is the big (think christmas-big) holiday to end it. Man, were the streets deserted today. This made for a very nice, light on cars run. Highlight of the day was running into kids all dressed up coming to the gate to ask for money (they go around the neighborhood like this, kinda like halloween in formal wear.) I declined (running clothes, no room for change in the pocket!) but we had a laugh because to what child is a girl out running not funny? My favorite part was they chased me to the corner where I said "Attention!" and we all waited patiently for no cars to be coming (I was being waaay more responsible than I would sans kids, I confess) and recommenced chasing on the other side. Okay, I lied, my favorite part was next, when I outran them. These African kids, man, often they are embarrassingly more fit than you. Maybe it's just that these city kids are soft.
Lost a 10K bill (about 20 bucks) by the time I got back. Considered retracing my steps, decided whoever found it could probably use it more than I could and also I was really, really tired and hot. Happy korite, somebody.
UPDATE: Found the 10K bill; it was hiding somewhere in my clothes. Happy Korite to me, then!
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Sunday, August 28, 2011
En mission
Saint-Louis was the French capital of Dakar, and it has a lot of old colonial buildings, now universally run down. It is on an island in the Senegal river, and you can walk from end to end in maybe half an hour. Less? I thought it was quite lovely.
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| Sheep, kids, palms, river. |
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| Our hotel (and vehicle, too.) |
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| View of the Barbary Coast (la langue du Barbarie) from my room. |
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| Fishing boat, Senegalese flag. |
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| A mosque under construction next to our hotel. |
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| Anti-President Wade graffiti in 'downtown' Saint-Louis. |
Here I am engaging with a rice grower on the irrigation perimeter. He had two false teeth in front that bounced when he talked. We couldn't tell if they were joking when they said he was an imam.
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| Not a spy. |
And of course the best thing about coming back from outside Dakar in my opinion: Mangoes are sold in units of buckets. Un sceau, 1500 CFA. Yes, please! These particular mangoes became mango bread. True story : Cooked mangoes taste like peaches. Amazing tropical peaches.
Ramadan
Ramadan ends next Tuesday or Wednesday, and I can. not. wait. And I'm not even fasting. Background: Ramadan is the ninth month of the Koranic year, which falls almost exactly in the month of August this year. During Ramadan, Muslims who observe it don't eat or drink between dawn and dusk. You are also supposed to do certain extra prayers, refrain from smoking or other vices, and be generally more spiritual/less worldly. So among other things, there's no live music this month, and the beaches are pretty abandoned.This is my first time in a majority Muslim country (well, technically I've been to Indonesia, but I was only on Bali, and the island is the Hindu exception to the rest of the country.) and spending Ramadan here has been an intense way to be introduced to the religion/culture.
[Sorry, little to illustrate this post, but The Big Picture has some awesome pics from around the world. No Senegal representation though, disappointingly. Also, if you can read French, I thought this was funny : http://www.rue89.com/2010/08/30/au-senegal-les-fraudeurs-du-ramadan-font-semblant-164302]
My boss usually observes Ramadan, even though she isn't Muslim, just because she has spent so long in Senegal and she wants to be in solidarity. My other boss wussed out completely last year and never did it once; this year he did a whole week. And of course my office mate, Senegalese and a rather observant Muslim, would be fasting. So there was some explicit and implicit pressure for me to at least try. I had decided, though, that there wasn't really any reason for me to do it, and it fact the soft pressure of conforming to someone else's religion kind of offended me. And of course, for me, touching my food habits feels like a particularly intimate violation. After a couple days, though, I felt wretched going about my day and feeling(/imagining) everyone's suffering around me, and being jealous in a way that the rest of my office didn't have that guilt. Then I realized what was obvious, that it was fully within in my control to be what I wanted to be (this is true in more cases than I realize generally; I'm making an effort to recognize them more often), and in this case even easier since all I had to do was not do something, right? I decided I'd fast the first day I wasn't planning to exercise. Side effect was that I worked out a lot that week, but by the fourth day of Ramadan I was out of excuses...and totally anxious about it. I interrogated expats (mostly former Peace Corps) who were fasting about strategizing and felt anticipatorily unhappy and deprived.
Finally on Wednesday or Thursday I woke up in the dark and stuffed my face and chugged water before dawn. Okay, before-ish dawn; I kept deciding it wasn't quite light enough to qualify yet, but 6:30 or so felt pretty darn early. I left to work with an oddly light burden; just my purse since I didn't have my habitual snacks and lunch or gym stuff. I resisted the temptation to bring something along in case I wussed out at some point. I also gave myself permission to do basically nothing all day. (Sorry, boss, if you are reading this.)
I meant to live blog fasting, but I was so completely out of it I sat down to write and managed a gibberishy sentence and gave up. That said, almost all of my misery was anxiety and anticipating suffering rather than the actual suffering. I had managed to cram so much into myself in the morning I didn't even get hungry until mid afternoon (I do not think this is how you are supposed to do this, but whatever, I followed the rules.). I did get thirsty almost right away, but again, I think that was mostly just anxiety thirst, and really I wasn't feeling too bad until after work. I had cleverly scheduled a massage ($20/hr for Clementine to come to your house. Not the best massage I've every had, but the best cost:convenience/quality ratio.) which did a good job until seriously about an hour before dusk and breakfast when I went from that stage where you are so hungry you don't feel hungry anymore to so hungry you feel ill. 7:00 to 7:40 was a pretty black time, I'll be honest. And then come break fast time, I felt so ill I could hardly eat.
I'd been thinking I might fast again now that I knew the drill and wasn't freaked out about the unknown of it, but that put an end to that. I was not interested in making myself ill by starvation. It is kind of too bad, though, because taking out the fear factor would make it very doable the next time...except for the radical drop in my work productivity. Don't think MCC would appreciate it if I did 1 week's worth of work in 4 of my 10 weeks here. Ok, that could just be a justification, but I am at peace with having fasted one day. Oddly, the one day fast completely alleviated my sympathetic suffering for other people, probably because whatever you are imagining is going to be worse than the reality, or now I feel like I shared it, even though 1 day out of 30 is entirely negligible. It has proved at least amusing to occasional Senegalese folks I tell that I have fasted. Either way, sorry Pape, but I am drinking water while I work even if you aren't and I am trying not to crunch audibly, but I am not going to leave the building to do it.
A few more thoughts on Ramadan:
It makes you realize how basic to human interaction eating and drinking is. It has really chilled the tone in the office now that we aren't sharing coffee, cookie, or candied peanut breaks. Lunch is a furtive rather than a social activity. Meetings aren't softened by pastries or tea. Differences between the expats (and the Catholic minority, too) and Muslim Senegalese are drawn out. And of course people are fatigued and more somber than usual. It is inspiring in a way of course; the dedication everyone demonstrates each day is really remarkable. And since the contrast is so marked, I'm just going to go ahead and say it: Lent and Passover are for pussies. Quit yer whining.
[Sorry, little to illustrate this post, but The Big Picture has some awesome pics from around the world. No Senegal representation though, disappointingly. Also, if you can read French, I thought this was funny : http://www.rue89.com/2010/08/30/au-senegal-les-fraudeurs-du-ramadan-font-semblant-164302]
My boss usually observes Ramadan, even though she isn't Muslim, just because she has spent so long in Senegal and she wants to be in solidarity. My other boss wussed out completely last year and never did it once; this year he did a whole week. And of course my office mate, Senegalese and a rather observant Muslim, would be fasting. So there was some explicit and implicit pressure for me to at least try. I had decided, though, that there wasn't really any reason for me to do it, and it fact the soft pressure of conforming to someone else's religion kind of offended me. And of course, for me, touching my food habits feels like a particularly intimate violation. After a couple days, though, I felt wretched going about my day and feeling(/imagining) everyone's suffering around me, and being jealous in a way that the rest of my office didn't have that guilt. Then I realized what was obvious, that it was fully within in my control to be what I wanted to be (this is true in more cases than I realize generally; I'm making an effort to recognize them more often), and in this case even easier since all I had to do was not do something, right? I decided I'd fast the first day I wasn't planning to exercise. Side effect was that I worked out a lot that week, but by the fourth day of Ramadan I was out of excuses...and totally anxious about it. I interrogated expats (mostly former Peace Corps) who were fasting about strategizing and felt anticipatorily unhappy and deprived.
Finally on Wednesday or Thursday I woke up in the dark and stuffed my face and chugged water before dawn. Okay, before-ish dawn; I kept deciding it wasn't quite light enough to qualify yet, but 6:30 or so felt pretty darn early. I left to work with an oddly light burden; just my purse since I didn't have my habitual snacks and lunch or gym stuff. I resisted the temptation to bring something along in case I wussed out at some point. I also gave myself permission to do basically nothing all day. (Sorry, boss, if you are reading this.)
I'd been thinking I might fast again now that I knew the drill and wasn't freaked out about the unknown of it, but that put an end to that. I was not interested in making myself ill by starvation. It is kind of too bad, though, because taking out the fear factor would make it very doable the next time...except for the radical drop in my work productivity. Don't think MCC would appreciate it if I did 1 week's worth of work in 4 of my 10 weeks here. Ok, that could just be a justification, but I am at peace with having fasted one day. Oddly, the one day fast completely alleviated my sympathetic suffering for other people, probably because whatever you are imagining is going to be worse than the reality, or now I feel like I shared it, even though 1 day out of 30 is entirely negligible. It has proved at least amusing to occasional Senegalese folks I tell that I have fasted. Either way, sorry Pape, but I am drinking water while I work even if you aren't and I am trying not to crunch audibly, but I am not going to leave the building to do it.
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| Sunset = break fast time. Do not try to get a cab at this hour. |
A few more thoughts on Ramadan:
It makes you realize how basic to human interaction eating and drinking is. It has really chilled the tone in the office now that we aren't sharing coffee, cookie, or candied peanut breaks. Lunch is a furtive rather than a social activity. Meetings aren't softened by pastries or tea. Differences between the expats (and the Catholic minority, too) and Muslim Senegalese are drawn out. And of course people are fatigued and more somber than usual. It is inspiring in a way of course; the dedication everyone demonstrates each day is really remarkable. And since the contrast is so marked, I'm just going to go ahead and say it: Lent and Passover are for pussies. Quit yer whining.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
My life in Dakar: The Early Days
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| Backyard of where I am housesitting |
I am being a very poor autobiographer in terms of writing contemporaneously, but let's pretend. My first few weeks in Dakar were very work-focused, and it took me a while to get my legs here. I felt like Kampala opened itself up to me as a visitor more easily, but that could be:
- some retrospective rose colored glasses (it may have taken me longer to feel at all embedded in the city than I am imagining now);
- related less to the city than my living circumstances (I'm living alone here, well, mostly; there I had a rotating crew of...at least six roommates I can think of to guide me or at least share discovery); geography (I'm living and working in rather residential, removed parts of town);
- or just straight up chance.
(I really like bulleted lists.)
Either way, Dakar felt at first very quiet, and more like a more inconvenient, overpriced (seven dollar cereal, no almond milk, etc.) version of a Western city than something wholly new. I'm getting past that, getting to different corners of town, out of town, and trying to reach outside the US government environment. Of course, as I am familiar with the last eight (!) (nearly consecutive!) summer internships, just as you are getting accustomed, you are on your way out.
My daily routine (ha! compare this regularity with my "day in the life" posts of earlier in the year):
7 or a little earlier (the sun is just up at this point, as I learned when I observed Ramadan one day. More on that later.) I get up, let Scout out, (my chocolate lab charge for the summer, who I'm feeding & watering in exchange for free rent. Good trade!)
Rush to cut up some mango/papaya for snacks during the day and spread some avocado on Erik Kayser whole wheat baguette for breakfast, (You can tell I am suffering here. Where else is there that voluptuously delicious tropical fruit and boulangeries every other block, including some that are seriously world class?), fill Scout's food and water, pack up my work clothes (I go in gym clothes usually, work out at USAID's gym around the corner from our office, then shower and change.)
7:40 Hope I am outside by the time my officemate, Pape (pronounced like 'pop') swings by to pick me up. We drive mostly along the coast about fifteen minutes to get to the office. If I am on time, the horoscope is just about to finish my sign. (I tell Pape I just like to listen to it because it is good listening comprehension practice, but I am pretty sure we both know the truth.) Sometimes Pape pulls over to the Brioche Doree boulangerie (it's one of a chain) at one of the rotaries on the way for a pain au chocolat to supplement his petit dej. There's always a line at this hour. Well, there was before Ramadan. Now we never stop since Pape eats only before sunrise this month.
8:00 Workout for half an hour, spend another half an hour desperately trying to get down to a normal enough body temperature that I am not still bright pink and dripping when I get back. There is just not enough cold water in the world if the air in the shower is 95 degrees. A daily battle, followed by the gauntlet of greetings of anyone I might run into between the gym and my office. I'm friendly with the USAID guards and they keep trying to get me to speak Wolof. Their tenacity is amazing given that every day I can respond to "hello" but then stare blankly. Well, little by little.
9:00 At my desk (ocean view!) checking emails that have come in the half day that Washington was still at work after we left the last night.
1:00 Go with Pape to the USAID cafeteria, hoping there is thieuboudienne with fish today. (classic spiced dish served with rice. Not very helpful Wikipedia entry says it is made from "fish and tomato sauce and the other ingredients are onions and peanut oil". The name is from the Wolof for fish and rice. Aside: It was only invented maybe 50 years ago, around the time the French were trying to push their rice surplus from Indochine on non-rice eating Senegal. ) NB this is also pre-Ramadan. Now Pape is fasting and I try to hide my grabbing a sandwich or eating a packed lunch in the next room.
6:00ish Take the Pape bus back home, feed the dog, go to the Lebanese grocery if I'm low on grocery items [very confused exchange with cab driver: I'm going to Parcours Grocery, says I. Au bas la? says he. NO, not down there. Go straight, I reply. We argue for a while. Turns out he was saying "Hoballah" which is the name of the owner.], sanitize fruit if I've stopped at the market, get a massage on my floor from Clementine if it's Wednesday, read whatever's currently on my kindle (taking suggestions!), or meet people for dinner (trying to beat the breaking fast rush at 7:45), etc.
Is there anything interesting in there? Maybe. I'm going to say yes and move on to catching up on google reader.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Dakar? D'accord.
Oops, I'm going back to the States in a month, a large part of my potential
audience are on their own adventures post-bar, and I am just writing my first post. Let's just count is a good thing that I felt too busy to write, yes? Let's also ignore the decreasing relevance of the blog name. Shall we focus on how lovely it is to be by the ocean? Oui.
audience are on their own adventures post-bar, and I am just writing my first post. Let's just count is a good thing that I felt too busy to write, yes? Let's also ignore the decreasing relevance of the blog name. Shall we focus on how lovely it is to be by the ocean? Oui.
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| La Madrague, the hotel I plopped in my first night. Overlooking Ile Ngor. |
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| View from my room at La Brazzerade, the hotel two doors down to which I quickly decamped facing the shockingly overpriced Dakar hotel scene. |
Friday, August 12, 2011
One last post on Uganda
Thanks for the sweet going away gift, Crater Lakes, but I really wish you'd left the tags on that vicious attack of billharzia.
Whew ! Got that out of my system (so to speak), onto Senegal.
Whew ! Got that out of my system (so to speak), onto Senegal.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Goodbye, Fort Portal. Ndakurora obundi!
Stayed up late last night for a final sauna and stargazing. So many stars we could see by starlight; feel very lucky my last days were around the new moon. Stayed up until I caught one last shooting star. Teary goodbye this morning, ride to Kampala spent running through more good memories than I have words for while trying to sponge up the scenery. Feeling just full of love and gratitude for this place and this time.
Kampala clubs tonight, Rome on Tuesday, Boston 3/20-3/23, LA 3/23-25ish, drive Palo Alto for Spring Quarter, then...Senegal in June? Hard to stay sad for long with so much to look forward to, especially as I feel in my bones I will be back here before too long. After all, all I have to do is make it happen, so why not?
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