That's all folks

What an anti-climatic end to a blog. My program is over and I am already out of the country, in fact in a completely different environment, sitting around Copenhagen for a while. I am tempted to try to go back, to log all of those missed logs, to write about all of the experiences, but I also feel like I should try to move ahead. Its so strange to be done already, but I am glad the wait is over. The last two weeks were nothing but waiting. Senegalese people don't make farewells easy. They remind you every half hour that you will be gone soon. Plus they stop talking to you, really, as if you are already gone. They say things like "Don't go stay and live here", or "You'll be back right?" Nevertheless, its just this quite sadness, they won't ever admit that they are sad, they just won't talk, which is a sign that there is a problem in Senegalese culture.

Silence characterized two of my departures. First from Joal, I remember the taxi ride to the garage, the area where all of the buses and cars going to other towns wait, with one of my neighbors. He just stared out the window, didn't say a word. A few times I tried to talk but got only one word responses. "Waaw", "Daydet", "Inch'allah". He did stick his head into the cab once I got in, the cab going to Dakar. He just held my hand and thanked me. Then he left.

Dakar was similar. The night I left (my flight left at 2 in the morning so I left the house around midnight) barely a person said a word. Most of them just continued to watch T.V. Finally around midnight I decided to leave by saying "Well, I guess I'll go". They followed me to the door, first splashing water in front of me (a good luck gesture in Senegalese custom) and then everyone shook my left hand (a gesture that signifies the hope that you will meet again soon in the future). No one made miraculous speeches, no one even said much. I just kind of disappeared into the darkness, shifting through the somber streets until I came upon the main road, hailing a taxi.

I guess I was sad as well, I mean I didn't necessarily try to initiate any conversation. It was interesting, watching Dakar one last time, going over the newly paved roads, seeing Dakar in this mess it is. I don't know if the taxi man sensed the finality of it but he seemed to drive much longer than necessary, taking turns down side streets, going in front of buildings that weren't necessarily on the way. He seemed to loop around the city, creating a web back and forth across a city that I would soon leave.

What does it mean to live somewhere? I know, it means to be there, to hear the sound, but I want to know is there a difference between just being there and being a part of 'there'. I remember how comfortable I had grown, being able to understand the conversations on the bus, being able to watch TV and know what they were saying. The way that responses just rolled off my tongue.

I barely looked out of the window when we left. The lights were the same, that strange contrast of brilliance and darkness, the shadow of a world ending. Taking off from Dakar you shoot directly over the Atlantic, the divide between two worlds, the end of a continent. I remember seeing those lights for the first time, like some signal on the horizon. Coming into Dakar for the first time, these lights seemed like a beacon, life exists here, there is something pouring out of this darkness. Leaving, I have trouble thinking of what the lights could mean, of what they are illuminating?

I don't talk to the person in the seat next to me. I put my head against the back of the headrest and close my eyes, just so I can pretend to be asleep.

The sun bleaches out this darkness as we reach Portugal. The Portuguese were the first to reach Senegal, brushing against its what must have been frightening shores, a world so foreign, so bizarre. I feel like I am discovering this process in reverse, the red roofed villas catching my eye with a twinge. What happened to the decaying cement, the typical black birds? We get off the plain and it smells like spring. You can still see the ocean, the great ocean that never changes, only just reflects through people's minds differently. Another continent. Another world.

What else can I say?

I seem to have held my breath since we took off and when I release a whole world floods out and mixes with this one. How long will it take for my expressions to not be laced with Senegal, how long will it take before I can't think of it so easily. I shouldn't ask these questions. I should step into the bus, wait in line, almost miss my plane and think about Denmark. I should.

P.S. I have uploaded a whole ton of new pictures, pass your eyes over their content immediately!:

http://community.webshots.com/album/563209529YdnmhW?vhost=community

Research

Means no time. Means no creativity. Means no blog posts right now.

I have way way way to much to do so I can't blog.

Imagine what I am doing.

That's an order.

Pictures of my work

I teach computer classes
I teach English classes

I helped establish an in-school library

Pictures