January 23, 2005 Yoff, Senegal
11 pm
OH WOW! I’m here. Not quite sure what to write, how to feel. It’s kind of wonderful, actually. Hot as hell. More humid. May just be nerves. My family seems wonderful so far. My “mom,” Neé—remember that one, Emma—is so friendly, all smiles. And they have two little boys who are adorable and whose names I don’t know. And a girl. She is beautiful and laughs easily and her name is Marie. And my “father,” who is not quite as ebullient as his wife, more silent, but amiable nonetheless. I have my own room! And am right next to the center where I will be taking my classes. I can see it from my doorway. Not bad, eh. The air is umm odiferous—distinct but indescribable. The odor not so much permeates as weighs, a leaden vacuum of rotting fruit, sweat, animal, excrement(?). Not quite sure. Not quite sure that I want to be sure. I’m not even tired. But I bid bonuit to my family because communication is difficult at best. My French royally sucks. I miss home. Two weeks ago I would have bet money against my ever writing such a sentence. But there it is. The familiar is not to be underestimated…however much I may have resented it back in Cbridge. Went to a Shell Station market. That was familiar. Kind of. Ok, so details:
Arrive @ customs around 9 pm.
Grab baggage by 9:20 pm.
Dakar Airport = one terminal. One squeaky baggage claim that snakes the length of the building. Two customs booths. This is no Heathrow.
Aside: flies all around. Don’t know what are. Am considering netting. Hmm.
Wandered a bit dazedly through the fray of colorful, talkative people and looked for someone with a red hat as I had been instructed by L.R. folks. Ronald found me. Tall and lean with the kindest face I had seen since my travels begun (or maybe I was just so happy to connect with someone), Ronald exuded a warmth that immediately put me at ease. His red cap matched his red Armani Exchange, “AX,” shirt. Funny what bits of America make it across the pond.
Ronald led me to an ATM where I got 20.000 something. Then found me a cab and stopped at the Shell Station where a shiny Santa—rosy cheeks and all—cardboard cutout wished all a Merry Christmas! And tinsely xmas trees hung from the ceiling. A lot of what the store held was familiar enough. Strangers greet you with big smiles and outstretched hands: “cava?” “oui, cava bien.”
K, need to move in direction of sleep. Or, at the very least, unpacking.
Missions for tomorrow:
-Learn names of male members of family.
-Learn what money I am using and the exchange rate.
-Go to EcoYoff Center and meet and greet.
-Call Mom just to say all’s well.
-Allow myself to freak out. Just a smidge.
And now for a picture interlude.
My little cousins’ school.
Deeply engrossed in a human anatomy book.
The London Bridge as seen from the Tower of London (my dad insisted that we visit the Tower of London because he still suffers nightmares from his last visit when he was nine, was really a healing visit of sorts, conquering fears, moving on….)
Hampton Court. Would suggest going in Spring/Summer when gardens are in full bloom, but was actually quite beautiful mid-January.
Dad’s friend’s house where I stayed before departing.
And some of the grounds….
Yours truly enjoying what she imagined may be her last apple for quite some time.
And then everything changed…
Ma rue our ruelle (little street) in Yoff. Sideways. I need to find a way to fix that….
La plage (the beach)! My third night here, the group had a little party on the beach.
I pull out a camera to take some scenic pictures of the water, the sand, the soccer game, and am bombarded by kids pointing at my camera, asking politely “photo? Photo?” They loved having their picture taken and were beside themselves over the instant gratification of my digital camera.
Group shot. Or, part of the group at least. From L to R (I am definitely going to butcher some names): Abu Karim, Mamabwe, Shannon, Victoria, Kendall, and Fatou sprawled across the middle.
Fish feast.
Le marché (the market) takes place every Wednesday. Quite the scene. DVDs, used clothes, baseball hats bearing the names of American teams, flimsy sandals with Prada and Puma stamped on the insoles, vegetables, candy, brightly patterned cloth….Interesting what triggers basic survival instincts—I immediately shifted into city mode, swinging my shoulder bag so that it rested on my thigh, trying not to make eye contact, and keeping a brisk pace. Because I am a “toubab” (white person/tourist) and was traveling with three other toubabs, we were expected to buy out the whole market and were hassled at every booth we lingered at for over 2 seconds.
Boston comes to Yoff. I’d say about 50% of the graffiti contains some reference to America/American pop culture—DMX, 50 Cent, Brooklyn, and “fock,” show up quite frequently.
Again, pull out a camera and instant popularity! This couple went so far as to lean out of their window as I passed by and ask that I take their picture.
Families are quite big here as men can have up to three wives…I believe. So families will often live in what are essentially compounds, sometimes with little courtyards in the center. This is a compound where a classmate currently resides.
A funny little door. Sideways.
Yoff rooftops.
And now some very grainy pictures (I am only just beginning to understand the very basics of digital cameras—memory card fills up, pictures suffer):
Abandoned building.
An emaciated horse and some of the boats used by fishermen.
Less scenic bit of the beach.
Soccer game at dusk.
[End interlude]
Oohlala. That picture interlude took quite a lot of work. I still have much to report about the past few days, but I am going to post this for now while I sort through emails and journal entries in an attempt to portray life in Yoff as vividly as possible.
