The long awaited wait is now over. I have some pictures posted up on webshots.com. I only have a few up right now but check from time to time to see more. Yeah for obsessive compulsive internet access!
http://community.webshots.com/user/joshuacapodarco?vhost=community
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
The Sacred Boabab
This weekend has been a mess of going back and forth. I had a friend come into Joal from Dakar, which as most of anything in Senegal, was a mixture of good and bad. First of all, it was good because during the weekends here I don’t really do much. When he first got here my friend asked what I usually do on the weekends. It pretty much goes like this:
I wake up, early despite the fact that I don’t have to go to school. I walk around my courtyard a few times because I can’t think of anything else to do. If I am really motivated I will read or study and sit on the roof. I then wait until I eat my breakfast, then I try to figure out ways to not notice that the time is just barely crawling by. The rest of the family usually either does housework or watches T.V., which sometimes can occupy me for about half an hour.
Other than that I try to go places. This is the give and take of country life. Its great during the week when I don’t have to worry about all the traffic jams, the loud noises, when I can go home and just do nothing, just watch the ocean after work. Then on the weekends I find myself pacing around going insane trying to find things to do. Having guests at my house in Joal is great, because well hell we eat well, we eat well normally but its not the same thing every night when we have guests. Also, it is a cure for ungodly horrible boredom. Maybe, I am just an ADD ridden American but I can’t get used to doing nothing for days at a time, I at least need to pretend like I am doing something, pretend like I am interested in something instead of just letting things slip by. On the other hand, whenever I have had guests over I feel like I am always stressed to provide so much, in terms of finding places for them to stay, and paying my family to cook for them. This is when the bad side of my host family comes out. My host mom will start asking me for money, complaining that the money I already gave her wasn’t enough, that I don’t know how expensive the market it, that she needs medecine for her baby. Sorry for this but, bullshit. She says these things even though I know they are all fake. I pay her 10,000 FCFA for my friend to eat here for the weekend, plus they have the money they get every month from when I am there. This is more than enough money to feed a family for several days, not just accomadate an extra mouth. Even if she does buy meat, which is expensive but not drastically so, she exagerates the prices. On top of all this, I notice that whenever I do give money for things like this, the kids get new toys, bracelets, book bags in the following days. Its just this two sided nature or hospitality. My family is not bad financially, not at all, but they make up the new middle class, and like all those new middle class families in America, they are greedy. My host father busy himself new televisions for christmas but complains about the 50 FCFA raise in price of bread. This translates to less then 10 cents, U.S. dollars. Itjust makes you feel like such an outsider, like such an object when everyone looks at you and sees dollar signs. On the other hand, we went to the sacred boabab, supposedly Senegal’s biggest boabab tree (which if I remember hearing exists not only in Fadiouth, but in Tambacounda, along with several other locations). Tourist traps. The boabab was interesting, it was big, but it was surrounded by a sea of beggars, and artisans basically grabbing you and forcing you to buy things. We actually got to climb inside of the tree, through a hole no bigger than one of those small bathroom windows. Inside was nice, dark, scary. You could hear bats inside but couldn’t see any. The senegalese man that gave the tour then went on to tell us how they used to bury Griots, Wolof story tellers, in these trees because the Griots never tilled land, never worked with the earth, so that if they tried to bury them in the earth the earth would not except them. There are no mummies, no skeletons, supposedly they had all been removed after tourists kept damaging them. Sitting in the tree, looking through the small hole, it felt like another world, alice in wonderland like. Watching the Senegalese people stare back through the hole, them and their sea of misery, it seemed like we were looking out from some land of the dead. Things are fine, people live, but its not what it should be. People eat, and even in the countryside they eat enough, maybe not nutritious enough, but its not the same. They can't seem like normal people, they can't act like Europeans and Americans because they aren't treated like them, they aren't allowed those kinds of comforts. By who, one might ask? The world economic market, capitalism, their own laziness, genetic differences, historical determinism, racism. Everyone brings an excuse but the things remain. "Put your hands on the boabab and pray", our guide told us this, "pray for something you want, for something we need. This place is sacred". My two hands were on the tree as I looked out this whole into the biting light, into the faces of all those people staring in.
I wake up, early despite the fact that I don’t have to go to school. I walk around my courtyard a few times because I can’t think of anything else to do. If I am really motivated I will read or study and sit on the roof. I then wait until I eat my breakfast, then I try to figure out ways to not notice that the time is just barely crawling by. The rest of the family usually either does housework or watches T.V., which sometimes can occupy me for about half an hour.
Other than that I try to go places. This is the give and take of country life. Its great during the week when I don’t have to worry about all the traffic jams, the loud noises, when I can go home and just do nothing, just watch the ocean after work. Then on the weekends I find myself pacing around going insane trying to find things to do. Having guests at my house in Joal is great, because well hell we eat well, we eat well normally but its not the same thing every night when we have guests. Also, it is a cure for ungodly horrible boredom. Maybe, I am just an ADD ridden American but I can’t get used to doing nothing for days at a time, I at least need to pretend like I am doing something, pretend like I am interested in something instead of just letting things slip by. On the other hand, whenever I have had guests over I feel like I am always stressed to provide so much, in terms of finding places for them to stay, and paying my family to cook for them. This is when the bad side of my host family comes out. My host mom will start asking me for money, complaining that the money I already gave her wasn’t enough, that I don’t know how expensive the market it, that she needs medecine for her baby. Sorry for this but, bullshit. She says these things even though I know they are all fake. I pay her 10,000 FCFA for my friend to eat here for the weekend, plus they have the money they get every month from when I am there. This is more than enough money to feed a family for several days, not just accomadate an extra mouth. Even if she does buy meat, which is expensive but not drastically so, she exagerates the prices. On top of all this, I notice that whenever I do give money for things like this, the kids get new toys, bracelets, book bags in the following days. Its just this two sided nature or hospitality. My family is not bad financially, not at all, but they make up the new middle class, and like all those new middle class families in America, they are greedy. My host father busy himself new televisions for christmas but complains about the 50 FCFA raise in price of bread. This translates to less then 10 cents, U.S. dollars. Itjust makes you feel like such an outsider, like such an object when everyone looks at you and sees dollar signs. On the other hand, we went to the sacred boabab, supposedly Senegal’s biggest boabab tree (which if I remember hearing exists not only in Fadiouth, but in Tambacounda, along with several other locations). Tourist traps. The boabab was interesting, it was big, but it was surrounded by a sea of beggars, and artisans basically grabbing you and forcing you to buy things. We actually got to climb inside of the tree, through a hole no bigger than one of those small bathroom windows. Inside was nice, dark, scary. You could hear bats inside but couldn’t see any. The senegalese man that gave the tour then went on to tell us how they used to bury Griots, Wolof story tellers, in these trees because the Griots never tilled land, never worked with the earth, so that if they tried to bury them in the earth the earth would not except them. There are no mummies, no skeletons, supposedly they had all been removed after tourists kept damaging them. Sitting in the tree, looking through the small hole, it felt like another world, alice in wonderland like. Watching the Senegalese people stare back through the hole, them and their sea of misery, it seemed like we were looking out from some land of the dead. Things are fine, people live, but its not what it should be. People eat, and even in the countryside they eat enough, maybe not nutritious enough, but its not the same. They can't seem like normal people, they can't act like Europeans and Americans because they aren't treated like them, they aren't allowed those kinds of comforts. By who, one might ask? The world economic market, capitalism, their own laziness, genetic differences, historical determinism, racism. Everyone brings an excuse but the things remain. "Put your hands on the boabab and pray", our guide told us this, "pray for something you want, for something we need. This place is sacred". My two hands were on the tree as I looked out this whole into the biting light, into the faces of all those people staring in.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Smoke and mirrors
I apologize to anyone that has been waiting for pictures, or inspiration, I have been having the hardest time getting those two things together. Although I have seen a lot, I always have a hard time taking pictures, have a hard time getting myself to pull out the camera and snap off a few shots. It seems so cliché, it seems to touristy. I've visited a little bit more of Joal, so now I feel like I understand the city a little better. I went to the little island where all the fishers smoke the fish so they can transport it to Burkina Faso and Guinnee. I was surprised when I first got their, I had always heard about the fishing in Joal as being huge, the fact that people come just to fish, and women come from other villages just to work as "transformatrices". I had heard these words, I had learned about this phenomenoa, but I was still surprised when I saw it. For me, these "transformatrices" surely had to be some women who helped package the fish for shipping, but in the end they just peel the scales off the fish, seperate the heads from the bodies, and pound the heads into dust. First of all, when people talk about the fish smoking factories "les usines", I imagined some semi-modern, indoor conveyor belt driven shiny metal surfaces with women wearing those hair nets and plastic gloves environments. This is not at all what it really is. The factory isn't even a factory at all, its not even run by a company, its a series of fishermen who decided to bring their fish to one area, build ovens and smoke the fish. Only after more and more fishermen started smoking fish their did other things develop, such as roads, the presence of women working for the fishermen and the large transport trucks. First of all, the location is kind of desolate, location behind the majority of city in Joal. I think at one point it used to be an island, there are even the appearence of the recent presence of salt water, seeing that there are low lying areas where the sand it covered in salt. Now there is no water, and the low lying areas have quickly been filled in with trash of every variety. Broken buckets, small plastic sacks, any sort of waste that couldn't be reused ends up filling in the shallow areas. Surprisingly right next to the "factory', for a lack of a better word to describe the place in general, there are mangroves. I have a strong feeling that at one point that whole area had been mangrove, and that is why there used to be water there, but after the mangroves where all cut down the water dried up and it became what it is today. Seeling large areas or low lying land with salt covering the surface is usually a tell tale sign of mangroves, or the presence of mangroves before they were cut down for firewood, or to use the land for farming. Unfortunately, the Senegalese government tried to stop the deforestation of mangroves by providing subsidies for natural gas, thus making the small gas stoves an efficient and cheap way to cook, but they recently lifted those subsidies, thanks to the World Bank's suggestions, and now the deforestation starts all over again. People can no longer afford to use as much gas as before because it becomes more expensive every day.
In the "factory" itself, its a weird circus bizarre of activities, something that would make all those self sufficiency nuts in the States go ape. First of all, the fish is brought in by trucks and set up in piles next to each fisherman's oven. The oven is basically a long brick grill, with holes in the bottom so air can get in and chicken wire on top so that the fish don't fall into the fire. The fishermen then hire some women to come and peel the scales off of the fish, seperate the heads from the bodies and beat the heads and the scales into dust. The fish are they places on the grills to be smokes, while the powder that is left over from the fish heads and scales is put in packages and sold as animal feed. The fish powder is mixed with any sort of vegetable and water to make a protein rich animal feed. In terms of fuel for the ovens, the fishermen don't use wood, instead they use the dried stalks from the millet harvest. After all the grains are harvested from the millet, the farmers let the stalks dry in the fields for several months, and then cut them down and sell them by the bundle to the fishermen. Its funny how autosufficient it seems. The fisherman bring fish, the farmers bring millet. The fishermen buy millet to eat with the fish, and the farmers buy fish to eat with the millet. The fishermen buy the old millet stalks to smoke the fish, and the fishermen buy the fish powder to use as fertilizer for their fields. It sounds almost too perfect. Unfortunately, I have no idea why it doesn't work. Each year the millet harvest gets work, each year the fishermen have to sell their fish for less, and each year the fish get smaller.
It seems like a system that should work. The fish are then sent to Burkina Faso and Guinnee to be sold there. I asked why they weren't sold in Senegal and I was told that merchants in Burkina Faso and Guinnee are willing to pay more for the fish because they don't have access to the quantity or the same type. Most of the money goes towards Burkina Faso and Guinnean businesmen, because the fishermen make a little bit of money, but the vendors usually end up making the most. Also, the "transformatrices", the women who do the majority of the work end up making very little. I was talk each time they filled one sack, which was about as big as trash can in the U.S. they earned 2000 FCFA. That is the equivalent of 4 dollars for all the work, the seperating, the skinning, and the pounding. People are always talking about the plight of these women and I see why, they earn nothing but work so hard. If this doesn't dispell the myth that people in under developped countries are lazy I don't know what will. With all this auto sufficiency I don't see why things keep getting worse every year, I don't see were the solution lies if it can't be generated from within itself. "Yallah yallah bay sa fool", a wolof proverb meaning God doesn't help those that don't help themselves. These people are trying to help themselves, but it seems like it isn't working. Where is god, where is this IMF/ World Bank promised economic boom that was supposed to come with decentralisation. Where are the new trade lines that are supposed to develop with the many trade agreements between Africa and Europe? What have those NGO's been accomplishing if things keep getting worse? I think Senegal is waking up to these realities, the bitter truth that a lot of the prescribed help hasn't been helping at all. They are saying no the APE (the economic parternship and accords) with the E.U. This is a good first step, because APE just allows foreign factories to import goods and destroy the Senegalese production industry. It allows European trade and goods free reign in Europe but still restricts the amount of African goods shipped to Europe, even restricts the number of African persons that can go to Europe.
As a result of all this smoking, once nightly Joal is covered with smoke, from the "factory". It seems almost prophetic, almost like an omen.
In the "factory" itself, its a weird circus bizarre of activities, something that would make all those self sufficiency nuts in the States go ape. First of all, the fish is brought in by trucks and set up in piles next to each fisherman's oven. The oven is basically a long brick grill, with holes in the bottom so air can get in and chicken wire on top so that the fish don't fall into the fire. The fishermen then hire some women to come and peel the scales off of the fish, seperate the heads from the bodies and beat the heads and the scales into dust. The fish are they places on the grills to be smokes, while the powder that is left over from the fish heads and scales is put in packages and sold as animal feed. The fish powder is mixed with any sort of vegetable and water to make a protein rich animal feed. In terms of fuel for the ovens, the fishermen don't use wood, instead they use the dried stalks from the millet harvest. After all the grains are harvested from the millet, the farmers let the stalks dry in the fields for several months, and then cut them down and sell them by the bundle to the fishermen. Its funny how autosufficient it seems. The fisherman bring fish, the farmers bring millet. The fishermen buy millet to eat with the fish, and the farmers buy fish to eat with the millet. The fishermen buy the old millet stalks to smoke the fish, and the fishermen buy the fish powder to use as fertilizer for their fields. It sounds almost too perfect. Unfortunately, I have no idea why it doesn't work. Each year the millet harvest gets work, each year the fishermen have to sell their fish for less, and each year the fish get smaller.
It seems like a system that should work. The fish are then sent to Burkina Faso and Guinnee to be sold there. I asked why they weren't sold in Senegal and I was told that merchants in Burkina Faso and Guinnee are willing to pay more for the fish because they don't have access to the quantity or the same type. Most of the money goes towards Burkina Faso and Guinnean businesmen, because the fishermen make a little bit of money, but the vendors usually end up making the most. Also, the "transformatrices", the women who do the majority of the work end up making very little. I was talk each time they filled one sack, which was about as big as trash can in the U.S. they earned 2000 FCFA. That is the equivalent of 4 dollars for all the work, the seperating, the skinning, and the pounding. People are always talking about the plight of these women and I see why, they earn nothing but work so hard. If this doesn't dispell the myth that people in under developped countries are lazy I don't know what will. With all this auto sufficiency I don't see why things keep getting worse every year, I don't see were the solution lies if it can't be generated from within itself. "Yallah yallah bay sa fool", a wolof proverb meaning God doesn't help those that don't help themselves. These people are trying to help themselves, but it seems like it isn't working. Where is god, where is this IMF/ World Bank promised economic boom that was supposed to come with decentralisation. Where are the new trade lines that are supposed to develop with the many trade agreements between Africa and Europe? What have those NGO's been accomplishing if things keep getting worse? I think Senegal is waking up to these realities, the bitter truth that a lot of the prescribed help hasn't been helping at all. They are saying no the APE (the economic parternship and accords) with the E.U. This is a good first step, because APE just allows foreign factories to import goods and destroy the Senegalese production industry. It allows European trade and goods free reign in Europe but still restricts the amount of African goods shipped to Europe, even restricts the number of African persons that can go to Europe.
As a result of all this smoking, once nightly Joal is covered with smoke, from the "factory". It seems almost prophetic, almost like an omen.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Oriented in the Orient
Four days in Joal and I am already back in Dakar. It seems like this city keeps sucking back into itself, into the mad two way highway coming into Dakar. Into the tired reluctant crawl of the progress of Dakar. Whenever I think of all this work I can't help but think of the President's saying "One must always work, never stop working..." My host father in Joal brought up a good point. "When do you ever see him working?" He has a point, he is always flying around for this conference, or that meeting. He is constantly plaguing every international development forum, every world bank African planning meeting. On top of this, he is a fan of giving long speeches, that seem both intellectual but somewhat simply. He is not afraid to break out of the political jargon and talk blatantly. I feel like its all an act. I think we might take it for granted but the disparity between the government and its people is so much more blatanly honest here in Senegal. In the U.S. we complain about congressmen getting 500 dollar haircuts, or spending thousand dollar electricity bills, but in Senegal, the disparity just becomes absurd. The private jets, the new cars. All the while talking about the general poverty of the people, the wretched of the earth, the blight of a hungry child. They don't wince as they say this. All the while they appoint their family members to government posts, fly for free on the national airline, and make people working in NGO's pay bribes to get meetings with them.
One example: one of the previous students worked with an agricultural NGO which dealt with solving, or trying to better, the huge cacophony of problems that go along with agriculture in Senegal. One day he said he asked his director why they didn't try to work with the Minister of Agriculture and Rural Development.
The Answer: The minister said he would be more than willing to meet and work together on some project, providing that the NGO provided 100,000 FCFA for every hour of the meeting. These meetings usually last several hours meaning a nice chunk for the minister.
Someone in class brought up the point that the minister was already being paid to do this exact thing by the state. Is there hope?
On a more local level:
I have restarted my work at CPC (College de la Petite Cote) in Joal. Things seem to be passing better. I am teaching less, which is better, and working to start up teaching computer classes. I don't mind teaching English, it just seems so different. I just can't stand this top down teaching method. The whole catholic school, if you don't repeat exactly what I want to hear then it is wrong, teaching style. An example: If the teacher asks a question she expects a specific response, even the the response provided is correct
Teacher "What is a man who make bread in the morning"
Student "He's a baker"
Teacher "NO! A man who cooks bread in the morning is a baker"
Followed by a pinch on the child's arm.
Other than that I feel a new sort of autonomy at my house, I don't deal with the drama that my family tries to start. Will I give you money - NO - will I refuse to talk to someone just because you are angry with them - NO - will I stay in the room and do nothing even though you don't talk to me - NO. I think one of the hardest things to deal with here in the stupid, yes I said stupid, family politics. It is hard enough to figure out what is going on with the language barrier, the cultural difference, the city-countryside difference, the individual preferences, and finally trying to figure out why one person isn't talking to another today. For a foreigner this is too much. For the sake of my own sanity I ignore many things.
Now in Dakar:
I love my new comfort in leaving and coming abck to certain places. I no longer feel uncomfortable just going to the garage and walking around till I find the place were the taxis go to certain cities. It seems to work so well, and the lack of specific hours has its ups and downs. I have been in Dakar for less than two days and I already have to leave. We were asked to come back to Dakar for the new MSID Fall semester student's arrival, and asked to leave the next day. It was weird to see the new MSID kids, so different than the MSU and Wells kids that came two weeks earlier. They seem less fashionable, less pretentious. I feel like they won't be the kids that come to class wearing their hipster jeans, their large sunglasses, and carrying their iphones, brand new laptops, asking people were they can get good drugs (I was asked this by one of the Wells students, I took a guess and told him to bribe a pharmacist. I kind of hope he tries and ends up in jail). Who are these kids, who is the kid who comes here and starts ranting about how he refuses to accept the fact that people single him out for being white, refuses to understand cultural difference. Who are these kids? Is this some prolonged vacation for some sorority sister culturally myopic valley girl? I don't get it, why come to Africa and talk about how weird it is (to a certain point). I don't know. I guess I am doing that, isn't that what all these rants are? For some reason, this just seems different, I guess I don't make comments like "I hope my new American room mate is ugly so I'll look more cute". Other than all of this, its weird to be part of these orientations. We admit openly that we are hear mostly for the food and juice (We being the three students that are staying the full year). These are the little things that you do because you eat the same thing every day in the country. We need change, we need variety. Yet, at the same time I love Joal, I love the uniformity, the flatness which makes every thing I do seem so out of the norm. I like the pace, but hate it at others. The slowness, the routine. It comes and goes. Its like when I go to the beach and watch the fishermen push out into the ocean, where they will spend one whole night, maybe a week working straight, sleeping in shifts, just to come back in and do nothing for a week in town. This is how all activity seems in Senegal. The explosion and then the silence. Bang.
One example: one of the previous students worked with an agricultural NGO which dealt with solving, or trying to better, the huge cacophony of problems that go along with agriculture in Senegal. One day he said he asked his director why they didn't try to work with the Minister of Agriculture and Rural Development.
The Answer: The minister said he would be more than willing to meet and work together on some project, providing that the NGO provided 100,000 FCFA for every hour of the meeting. These meetings usually last several hours meaning a nice chunk for the minister.
Someone in class brought up the point that the minister was already being paid to do this exact thing by the state. Is there hope?
On a more local level:
I have restarted my work at CPC (College de la Petite Cote) in Joal. Things seem to be passing better. I am teaching less, which is better, and working to start up teaching computer classes. I don't mind teaching English, it just seems so different. I just can't stand this top down teaching method. The whole catholic school, if you don't repeat exactly what I want to hear then it is wrong, teaching style. An example: If the teacher asks a question she expects a specific response, even the the response provided is correct
Teacher "What is a man who make bread in the morning"
Student "He's a baker"
Teacher "NO! A man who cooks bread in the morning is a baker"
Followed by a pinch on the child's arm.
Other than that I feel a new sort of autonomy at my house, I don't deal with the drama that my family tries to start. Will I give you money - NO - will I refuse to talk to someone just because you are angry with them - NO - will I stay in the room and do nothing even though you don't talk to me - NO. I think one of the hardest things to deal with here in the stupid, yes I said stupid, family politics. It is hard enough to figure out what is going on with the language barrier, the cultural difference, the city-countryside difference, the individual preferences, and finally trying to figure out why one person isn't talking to another today. For a foreigner this is too much. For the sake of my own sanity I ignore many things.
Now in Dakar:
I love my new comfort in leaving and coming abck to certain places. I no longer feel uncomfortable just going to the garage and walking around till I find the place were the taxis go to certain cities. It seems to work so well, and the lack of specific hours has its ups and downs. I have been in Dakar for less than two days and I already have to leave. We were asked to come back to Dakar for the new MSID Fall semester student's arrival, and asked to leave the next day. It was weird to see the new MSID kids, so different than the MSU and Wells kids that came two weeks earlier. They seem less fashionable, less pretentious. I feel like they won't be the kids that come to class wearing their hipster jeans, their large sunglasses, and carrying their iphones, brand new laptops, asking people were they can get good drugs (I was asked this by one of the Wells students, I took a guess and told him to bribe a pharmacist. I kind of hope he tries and ends up in jail). Who are these kids, who is the kid who comes here and starts ranting about how he refuses to accept the fact that people single him out for being white, refuses to understand cultural difference. Who are these kids? Is this some prolonged vacation for some sorority sister culturally myopic valley girl? I don't get it, why come to Africa and talk about how weird it is (to a certain point). I don't know. I guess I am doing that, isn't that what all these rants are? For some reason, this just seems different, I guess I don't make comments like "I hope my new American room mate is ugly so I'll look more cute". Other than all of this, its weird to be part of these orientations. We admit openly that we are hear mostly for the food and juice (We being the three students that are staying the full year). These are the little things that you do because you eat the same thing every day in the country. We need change, we need variety. Yet, at the same time I love Joal, I love the uniformity, the flatness which makes every thing I do seem so out of the norm. I like the pace, but hate it at others. The slowness, the routine. It comes and goes. Its like when I go to the beach and watch the fishermen push out into the ocean, where they will spend one whole night, maybe a week working straight, sleeping in shifts, just to come back in and do nothing for a week in town. This is how all activity seems in Senegal. The explosion and then the silence. Bang.
Friday, January 18, 2008
A Seemingly Endless Myriad of Facts
I don't smoke, nor do I drink coffee, this has very little to do with Senegal, but the itching suspiscion (is this in fact how one spells suspicion? I posit several other suspects: suspition. Suspicion, which I think is French. I should feel ashamed to say it but without the automatic grammar check I am left oblivious, I forget how to spell this word. I could look in a dictionary but I let the mistake stand) that no matter what people do indeed look cooler drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. The only possible reference this has to my experience here was my recent complete boredom while watching Television with my Senegalese family in Joal. So many needlessly important facts like this merry-go-round my head as I don't watch T.V. Coming to Joal is a mixture of everything, while I enjoy the countryside more, the life is easier, people are more friendly, and I don't feel that terrible rush, that neurotic push of people on all sides of Dakar, that bazaar that is this nation's capital. At the same time, the lifestyle does get tedious. The frequent requests to stop and chat (when I was last here it took me an hour and a half to walk 5 blocks to a store just because I stopped and talked with so many people). Also the relative resistance that this place puts up against the world, at the same time draws me in and pushes me away. I am talking about the fact that my host family refuses to eat the peanut butter I brought for them, they reluctantly tried the candy canes I brought them, and gave me back the can opener I gave them as a gift. I am not trying to impose myself, I am just exhibiting myself, exhibiting a world that isn't Senegal, and it often comes flying back in my face. My host father explained it as such:
Number 1: We all have habits (this is understandable) and I (meaning my host father) would probably eat peanut butter and whatever else they eat in the U.S. if I went to the U.S. I am sure I would get used to the diet, just like you (that's me) got used to all the rice (now for the average American this is a huge step, rice is the main food source, it is used to fill one's self up. In short, eat as much rice as possible to forget the fact that it provides relatively no nutrients). But (this the important part) I am not in America, so... (follow this comment with a small shoulder shrug meaning "We enjoyed the food, or at least we are willing to tell you that, but in fact we don't see any value in it, except for the fact that I (my host father) had mentionned that is was nutritious, probably more so than most things we eat, but in spite of all these things, we shall guard our customs and give no explanation."
Rightly so.
This is the defiant tome of tradition. Unlike Dakar, people here are less likely to change their habits, less likely to embrace change just because of its presence. This is not to say that they are backwards, not in the least, or that it is wrong to guard tradition, this is all just a response, a observation, a difference between here and Dakar. Only a small amount of moral value will be place on these happenings. I can't help but think of tradition when I think of this place, Mama Gejj, the delta that quick literally has its shore at the wall of our school (meaning the school I work at). Looking out into this delta and seeing all those haunting boabab trees, that distopian nature. I think of Senghor, the first president of Joal. I regress to literature. Typical.
On a typically ADD type of subject switch I do not, as I have debated time and time again, enjoy drinking coffee. (this is in reference to the very beginning of this post) For some reason this morning this had a terrible importance, I sgawked at my morning coffee (black with so much sugar the last drink is less liquid and more solidifying magma, same consistency) and thought, "I don't want to drink this" Normally, this is of no significance, but if I refuse to drink the coffee this has so many consequences, a domino of Senegalese faux-pas come crashing down.
Senegalese Faux-pas's
1. It is rude to refuse food when given it. Try some and leave it if you don't like it, but they will question you, they will stare.
2. The continued refusal of a certain type of food doesn't necessarily mean one doesn't like that food but usually is implied as "I don't like the way you (person who cooked the meal) cook".
3. The typically American temptation to simply say no does not translate well. To refuse something one first must thank the person for the opportunity multiple times, and make an excuse, which is often I have just ate. I have been invited to diner where I literally was grabbed by my hand, given a fork and told "EAT!", the only way out of a situation like this is to take three or four bites and say "Sour naa" meaning "I am full", the family will be upset but there is only so much a man can do.
Out of all of this I think the thing I notice most is this sort of undercurrent of double standards. As a "Toubab", white person, my actions become unbearably noticeable for all of the Senegalese people. I think this is one thing people have double dealing with, the fact that even if someone does the exact same thing as everyone else (to a certain point) they will still be asked why they do certain things. It seems like I become more concious of a lot of cultural ideas, more so than most Senegalese people. For example, the use of your left hand. I conciously make an effort to never use my left hand in giving someone something and taking something from someone, which culturally is considered rude. However, more and more I notice that for some people it doesn't seem to matter, even our Muslim professors. More on my work and family to come, and maybe pictures!
Aren't you excited?
Number 1: We all have habits (this is understandable) and I (meaning my host father) would probably eat peanut butter and whatever else they eat in the U.S. if I went to the U.S. I am sure I would get used to the diet, just like you (that's me) got used to all the rice (now for the average American this is a huge step, rice is the main food source, it is used to fill one's self up. In short, eat as much rice as possible to forget the fact that it provides relatively no nutrients). But (this the important part) I am not in America, so... (follow this comment with a small shoulder shrug meaning "We enjoyed the food, or at least we are willing to tell you that, but in fact we don't see any value in it, except for the fact that I (my host father) had mentionned that is was nutritious, probably more so than most things we eat, but in spite of all these things, we shall guard our customs and give no explanation."
Rightly so.
This is the defiant tome of tradition. Unlike Dakar, people here are less likely to change their habits, less likely to embrace change just because of its presence. This is not to say that they are backwards, not in the least, or that it is wrong to guard tradition, this is all just a response, a observation, a difference between here and Dakar. Only a small amount of moral value will be place on these happenings. I can't help but think of tradition when I think of this place, Mama Gejj, the delta that quick literally has its shore at the wall of our school (meaning the school I work at). Looking out into this delta and seeing all those haunting boabab trees, that distopian nature. I think of Senghor, the first president of Joal. I regress to literature. Typical.
On a typically ADD type of subject switch I do not, as I have debated time and time again, enjoy drinking coffee. (this is in reference to the very beginning of this post) For some reason this morning this had a terrible importance, I sgawked at my morning coffee (black with so much sugar the last drink is less liquid and more solidifying magma, same consistency) and thought, "I don't want to drink this" Normally, this is of no significance, but if I refuse to drink the coffee this has so many consequences, a domino of Senegalese faux-pas come crashing down.
Senegalese Faux-pas's
1. It is rude to refuse food when given it. Try some and leave it if you don't like it, but they will question you, they will stare.
2. The continued refusal of a certain type of food doesn't necessarily mean one doesn't like that food but usually is implied as "I don't like the way you (person who cooked the meal) cook".
3. The typically American temptation to simply say no does not translate well. To refuse something one first must thank the person for the opportunity multiple times, and make an excuse, which is often I have just ate. I have been invited to diner where I literally was grabbed by my hand, given a fork and told "EAT!", the only way out of a situation like this is to take three or four bites and say "Sour naa" meaning "I am full", the family will be upset but there is only so much a man can do.
Out of all of this I think the thing I notice most is this sort of undercurrent of double standards. As a "Toubab", white person, my actions become unbearably noticeable for all of the Senegalese people. I think this is one thing people have double dealing with, the fact that even if someone does the exact same thing as everyone else (to a certain point) they will still be asked why they do certain things. It seems like I become more concious of a lot of cultural ideas, more so than most Senegalese people. For example, the use of your left hand. I conciously make an effort to never use my left hand in giving someone something and taking something from someone, which culturally is considered rude. However, more and more I notice that for some people it doesn't seem to matter, even our Muslim professors. More on my work and family to come, and maybe pictures!
Aren't you excited?
Monday, January 14, 2008
Dakar to Lac Rose
Dissapointing. I would say this is the word I most associated with going to Lac Rose (Pink Lake). Although it's a popular tourist destination, we saw about three or four buses full of French tourists get off in the same general vacinity as us, it was surprisingly nothing. I mean the fact that the lake was pink, which it barely was, I guess might draw someone from France, but looking across the lake, sheilding my eyes with my hands because there weren't any trees, all I saw was nothing important, nothing but what is normal. Trees. Sand. The occasional bush. Roads with potholes nearly everywhere, almost like the road had been bombed recently (more often than not in Senegal the drivers decide to drive off the road, in a sort of remade road that is usually right next to the road but composed of all dirt, just a path beaten down after repeated use.). The hotels, which seemed odd in their backround with the sheep, goats and wandering cows. On top of all of this as soon as we got off the bus we were mobbed by the craftspeople. This is the first time I've seen craftspersons actually run, from a far distance, to beg us to buy something or go to their shop. Within a short while most of the craftspersons had set up a makeshift market around our group as our professor explained some things about Lac Rose.
A Brief explanation of Lake Rose made by a grinning Senegalese man:
1. The lake is pink because it is extremely salty, so much so that when the sun shines it reacts with the salt and causes the water to take on a pink color.
2. The lake is not as pink as it used to be (the assumption here is that it was extremely pink, I imagine the pink on some Barbie box or car) because:
A. It is not summer thus the sun does not shine as much, meaning their is less of a reaction.
B. People harvest the salt by digging the lake bottom and leaving the mud to dry on land.
They then add chemicals and wash away the dirt and are left with salt that they sell.
C. It will never be as pink as you imagine it in your imagination. (I'm talking neon here, so
much so that it glows at night. This is what I imagined)
3. This salt, as mentioned above, is an essential source of the local economy.
4. There are no fish in Lac Rose, they water is too salty. All the boats on the lake are used to transport the mud that is taken from the lake bottom back to shore where it is dried.
5. The purple "salt" balls that people sell are not actually salt at all, they don't even come from the area. They are made using some sort of sugar, gum and water, dyed with fruit juice and sold as souvenirs. (They look like a dinasour egg would look expect for red, like the color of beets, and all the craftspersons sell them as Salt crystals from Lac Rose).
Surprisingly most of the crafts were relatively cheaper than the crafts I've bought in Dakar. I found that most of the Senegalese vendors immediately become much nicer, less hostile in their selling tactics and more laid back when I spoke wolof with them. I could explain to a vendor that I had no money in French probably over 20 times before they gave up trying to sell anything, but usually the first time I said I had no money in wolof they stopped immediately. Beyond that, the lake which was dully pink and the people selling souvenirs (that had nothing to do with the Lake itself, most of them where dolls or necklaces) there wasn't really anything else. I saw some French tourists ride by on Dune Buggies, so I am assuming there might have been some dunes near by. I was surprised to see the lack of trees around Lac Rose, Rufisque is known for its fruit trees, most people cultivate fruit trees and not millet. I also noticed the half built housing all along Lac Rose. The Paris-Dakar moto race ends in Lac Rose, and since it was cancelled this year, you see a whole string of grass huts that were going to house the drivers, half built and already decaying by the water. (For more information on the cancelling of the Paris-Dakar http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/england/north_yorkshire/7172939.stm ). Despite the relative dissapointment, at least I didn't waste an individual and potentially expensive trip, of Lac Rose, Keur Moussa, a monastary, was extremely good.
Before we went to Lac Rose, we went to a 10 a.m. mass at the monastary, which was relatively normal in terms of catholic masses go. There was the chanting, the incents, the bowing and standing up, making of peace, eating of bread and drinking of wine (which most of the students decided they didn't want to do). The different thing about church services here is their inculturisation (I am actually not sure if this is how the word is spelled), but the basic idea is that African churches shoud and can, according to the Pope some time ago, express their faith in their own language (in this case it was French but I have heard churches services in Wolof) and with their own customs. This means the presence of Djembas, a traditional african drum, and Koras, an instument used by griots from Mali for years before it was adopted by christian monks for prayer. I am absoluetly-enthralled-even-to-the-point-of-paying-600-U.S.-dollars-for-a-Kora enfatuated by Koras. Its like a harp but portable, in terms of its design, but sounds so different depending on how you play it. I would compare the sound to a satar, when played slow, a banjo when played fast, and a guitar is plucked feverishly fast. The monks actually have a workshop were they handmake Koras and ship them all over the world. Unfortunately, due to the delicate crafstmanship of the Koras, and the fact that there are only two workers that make them, they are expensive. Training Koras, as they call their cheapest ones, cost around the 600 dollar range. The more professional ones cost anywhere from 1,000 to 1,500 U.S. dollars. Besides this, the monks are actually quite accomplished farmers. I was amazed to see that the monks had large stocks of fruit, with irrigation systems (which is rare to non-existant in Senegal), and livestock, which is usually hard to keep in one place because of the large amount of food they require. I don't know how the monks had developed their farm to such a point but the entire compound was self-sufficient, they required no outside resources to fabricate all of their crafts and food (even cheese and chocolate). I wonder what kind of money that had in the beginning to help them get this far, or if it was due to their cloistered life that they were able to accomplish so much. Potentially, if the computers work and I have enough time I will post some pictures and potentially a video or two.
A Brief explanation of Lake Rose made by a grinning Senegalese man:
1. The lake is pink because it is extremely salty, so much so that when the sun shines it reacts with the salt and causes the water to take on a pink color.
2. The lake is not as pink as it used to be (the assumption here is that it was extremely pink, I imagine the pink on some Barbie box or car) because:
A. It is not summer thus the sun does not shine as much, meaning their is less of a reaction.
B. People harvest the salt by digging the lake bottom and leaving the mud to dry on land.
They then add chemicals and wash away the dirt and are left with salt that they sell.
C. It will never be as pink as you imagine it in your imagination. (I'm talking neon here, so
much so that it glows at night. This is what I imagined)
3. This salt, as mentioned above, is an essential source of the local economy.
4. There are no fish in Lac Rose, they water is too salty. All the boats on the lake are used to transport the mud that is taken from the lake bottom back to shore where it is dried.
5. The purple "salt" balls that people sell are not actually salt at all, they don't even come from the area. They are made using some sort of sugar, gum and water, dyed with fruit juice and sold as souvenirs. (They look like a dinasour egg would look expect for red, like the color of beets, and all the craftspersons sell them as Salt crystals from Lac Rose).
Surprisingly most of the crafts were relatively cheaper than the crafts I've bought in Dakar. I found that most of the Senegalese vendors immediately become much nicer, less hostile in their selling tactics and more laid back when I spoke wolof with them. I could explain to a vendor that I had no money in French probably over 20 times before they gave up trying to sell anything, but usually the first time I said I had no money in wolof they stopped immediately. Beyond that, the lake which was dully pink and the people selling souvenirs (that had nothing to do with the Lake itself, most of them where dolls or necklaces) there wasn't really anything else. I saw some French tourists ride by on Dune Buggies, so I am assuming there might have been some dunes near by. I was surprised to see the lack of trees around Lac Rose, Rufisque is known for its fruit trees, most people cultivate fruit trees and not millet. I also noticed the half built housing all along Lac Rose. The Paris-Dakar moto race ends in Lac Rose, and since it was cancelled this year, you see a whole string of grass huts that were going to house the drivers, half built and already decaying by the water. (For more information on the cancelling of the Paris-Dakar http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/england/north_yorkshire/7172939.stm ). Despite the relative dissapointment, at least I didn't waste an individual and potentially expensive trip, of Lac Rose, Keur Moussa, a monastary, was extremely good.
Before we went to Lac Rose, we went to a 10 a.m. mass at the monastary, which was relatively normal in terms of catholic masses go. There was the chanting, the incents, the bowing and standing up, making of peace, eating of bread and drinking of wine (which most of the students decided they didn't want to do). The different thing about church services here is their inculturisation (I am actually not sure if this is how the word is spelled), but the basic idea is that African churches shoud and can, according to the Pope some time ago, express their faith in their own language (in this case it was French but I have heard churches services in Wolof) and with their own customs. This means the presence of Djembas, a traditional african drum, and Koras, an instument used by griots from Mali for years before it was adopted by christian monks for prayer. I am absoluetly-enthralled-even-to-the-point-of-paying-600-U.S.-dollars-for-a-Kora enfatuated by Koras. Its like a harp but portable, in terms of its design, but sounds so different depending on how you play it. I would compare the sound to a satar, when played slow, a banjo when played fast, and a guitar is plucked feverishly fast. The monks actually have a workshop were they handmake Koras and ship them all over the world. Unfortunately, due to the delicate crafstmanship of the Koras, and the fact that there are only two workers that make them, they are expensive. Training Koras, as they call their cheapest ones, cost around the 600 dollar range. The more professional ones cost anywhere from 1,000 to 1,500 U.S. dollars. Besides this, the monks are actually quite accomplished farmers. I was amazed to see that the monks had large stocks of fruit, with irrigation systems (which is rare to non-existant in Senegal), and livestock, which is usually hard to keep in one place because of the large amount of food they require. I don't know how the monks had developed their farm to such a point but the entire compound was self-sufficient, they required no outside resources to fabricate all of their crafts and food (even cheese and chocolate). I wonder what kind of money that had in the beginning to help them get this far, or if it was due to their cloistered life that they were able to accomplish so much. Potentially, if the computers work and I have enough time I will post some pictures and potentially a video or two.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Paris to Dakar
I am surprised at how I feel so used to being here already. Its been less than a week and I already feel like I never left. I just kind of showed up and fit back in so easily, the majority of the people here didn't make a big deal out of my arrival, which was nice. Even though I have a lot to say about Dakar coming back I think I should talk about Paris for a while. During my day long trip back to Senegal, I left the U.S. on the 6th and arrived in Senegal at midnight on the 7th, I had an 8 hour layover in the Paris-Charles De Gaulle aeroport. I had been debating whether I was going to go into the city during my layover seeing that it was relatively cold and I had two heavy bags to lug around. I finally decided and took a train into Paris, not knowing any of the stops. Taking the train into Paris was an interesting first look at France. This is the first time I've been in Europe and actually set foot outside of the airport. Coming into Paris we passed through all the suburbs, the notorious banlieu, where there were riots a few years ago. You can definately see a population difference. Even the apparent upkeep of the streets, the buildings, everything seems to sag the further away you get from downtown Paris. I kept thinking about how this is so different from the U.S., I though about takign the train to Chicago and passing through all the rich suburbs. Everything seems unnecessarily organized, almost plastic like, as if nothing happens, everything just stays the same. The lawns are always mowed, the streets lights are never out, the people all have peacoats and long winter scarves. The closer you get to Chicago the more things change, the towns no longer have Porsche and Jaguar dealerships, and the people seem more normal, less hidden. Its the opposite in Paris. Heading into Paris you notice less and less people until you hit downtown. You don't see the large housing complexes but the classic European apartments. I ended up getting off at the stop labelled "St. Michel - Notre Dame" and ended up right in the middle of everything. The metro exit lets you out right next to the Notre Dame cathedral. I walked around the city just looking around and taking some pictures (which I tried unsuccessfully to upload, so maybe next time). I was surprised to hear so little french. The majority of people that walked by were speaking other European languages, even on the train the group behind me spoke Spanish, while the couple in front of me spoke some slavic language (which reminded me of the German women who spoke German with me during the flight from Chicago to Paris. I didn't understand a word she said but she kept talking endlessly). Paris seems so much like a thing, so much like something that has changed so much, taken in so much, that it no longer seems in control of people, like it just controls itself. The city is a mix, a complete mess of foreigners with the strange beauty of its old buildings, its history.
Now in Dakar: I was insanely nervous flying back into Dakar, last time I flew into Dakar the airport exit was packed with so many people hastling me, asking for money and trying to get your baggage. I hadn't told anyone I was coming back that night, not even the other American students, so I had to leave the airport with my four bags all alone. I actually had a better time than expected. The airport is a lot better know. The baggage handlers don't seem to ask for as much money when they give you your bags and people can no longer stand directly outside of the door waiting for passengers. Life has been slow but it has been nice. Its nice to just talk, just be with people without having to do anything. About twenty or so American students just arrived from the U.S. through other U.S. programs. Its kind of interesting, annoying and fun to watch them stumble through their first time in Dakar. They are so nervous, understandably, but they seem different than our group. Everyone in our group seemed open to living in Senegal, seemed less pretentious and more willing to think about Senegal. Some of the students here are refusing to give up their vegetarian lifestyle (which I gave up the first day I was in Senegal, the first night even) and othesr have asked the program directors how serious it would be if they got caught smoking pot. It just seems weird, less like a study abroad option and more like tourism. I can understand that different people want to guard their different believes but to come to a country, especially a third world country, and expect people to change their habits it a lot. Food especially. Often people eat in specific ways because it is less expensive, the reason that people eat a lot of rice, a lot of fish and little vegetables. People can survive only this diet, recieve a somewhat sustainable amount of nutrients by doing this. Often, because of the dry seasons, vegetables are expensive. I don't know but it seems inappropriate to expect a family to change their diet, especially if it is going to cost them more money that they don't really have, so that you can stay vegetarian. This is not to say that I am against vegetarianism in Africa, or any third world nation, but just like any habit, it all depends on the apsects of the environment and the culture. Coming here means leaving behind all the fancy soy products, even the majority of vegetables rich in protein (I have eaten beans here probably 3 times in 4 months). A vegetarian diet for a Senegalese person, if they didn't spend more money than they normally would on a meal, would mean eating plain rice with oil, and some vegetables, if they were lucky. Its just the whole consumption process in the U.S., we eat what we want, when we want, regardless of seasons. Here you are forced to pick and choose. There are no longer mangoes here because the season ended in September. Here it isn't a choice, but that doesn't mean since its available in the U.S. it's necessary. I am ranting so I'll stop. I love being back here, I feel like this is a second home for me. The other new American students look at us (the three of us who decided to stay in the U.S.) like some strange hybrid. We talk in wolof, have a Senegalese sense of humour and do things slowly. I can imagine they think of us as the hipster of taking on African culture, but I don't feel like that, I feel just like I try to live here. Not like I would in the U.S. but like I would so that I can live easily with the most people here as possible.
Now in Dakar: I was insanely nervous flying back into Dakar, last time I flew into Dakar the airport exit was packed with so many people hastling me, asking for money and trying to get your baggage. I hadn't told anyone I was coming back that night, not even the other American students, so I had to leave the airport with my four bags all alone. I actually had a better time than expected. The airport is a lot better know. The baggage handlers don't seem to ask for as much money when they give you your bags and people can no longer stand directly outside of the door waiting for passengers. Life has been slow but it has been nice. Its nice to just talk, just be with people without having to do anything. About twenty or so American students just arrived from the U.S. through other U.S. programs. Its kind of interesting, annoying and fun to watch them stumble through their first time in Dakar. They are so nervous, understandably, but they seem different than our group. Everyone in our group seemed open to living in Senegal, seemed less pretentious and more willing to think about Senegal. Some of the students here are refusing to give up their vegetarian lifestyle (which I gave up the first day I was in Senegal, the first night even) and othesr have asked the program directors how serious it would be if they got caught smoking pot. It just seems weird, less like a study abroad option and more like tourism. I can understand that different people want to guard their different believes but to come to a country, especially a third world country, and expect people to change their habits it a lot. Food especially. Often people eat in specific ways because it is less expensive, the reason that people eat a lot of rice, a lot of fish and little vegetables. People can survive only this diet, recieve a somewhat sustainable amount of nutrients by doing this. Often, because of the dry seasons, vegetables are expensive. I don't know but it seems inappropriate to expect a family to change their diet, especially if it is going to cost them more money that they don't really have, so that you can stay vegetarian. This is not to say that I am against vegetarianism in Africa, or any third world nation, but just like any habit, it all depends on the apsects of the environment and the culture. Coming here means leaving behind all the fancy soy products, even the majority of vegetables rich in protein (I have eaten beans here probably 3 times in 4 months). A vegetarian diet for a Senegalese person, if they didn't spend more money than they normally would on a meal, would mean eating plain rice with oil, and some vegetables, if they were lucky. Its just the whole consumption process in the U.S., we eat what we want, when we want, regardless of seasons. Here you are forced to pick and choose. There are no longer mangoes here because the season ended in September. Here it isn't a choice, but that doesn't mean since its available in the U.S. it's necessary. I am ranting so I'll stop. I love being back here, I feel like this is a second home for me. The other new American students look at us (the three of us who decided to stay in the U.S.) like some strange hybrid. We talk in wolof, have a Senegalese sense of humour and do things slowly. I can imagine they think of us as the hipster of taking on African culture, but I don't feel like that, I feel just like I try to live here. Not like I would in the U.S. but like I would so that I can live easily with the most people here as possible.
Friday, January 4, 2008
Update
I should start this thing apologizing to anyone thats been trying to keep up with my experiences. I was surprised to find out the large amount of people that actually read my blog, so now I am going to try to bring my blog up to date before I start another semester in Senegal. Its been interesting to be back in the states, even though its been such a short amount of time. I feel excited to go back, a little more confident, but at the same time a little wary. The airport always worries me. When I left Dakar last time I was nervous the entire way to the airport. Getting out of the taxi is like stepping into a microcosm of all the terrible things about Dakar. As soon as I pulled up people crowded around the taxi trying to help me with my bag (which they would try to grab from my hand) just so they could ask for money afterwords. After that all the money changers would hassle me to change money (They do this by just shouting nationalities at you and then flashing the dollars they have, hoping to cheat you on an exchange rate). Finally, the beggars trying to grab onto your hands hoping that you'll give them the last of your CFA's as you leave the country. Its kind of a starch reminder of the foreignness of Senegal. All of these people pressing themselves to get whatever they can from you before you leave the country, makes you feel so completely foreign, not unwelcome but always different. Although, I feel like they single all tourists out, or foreigners for that matter, I remember my host mother's story about returning from France. She described the same maze of beggars and hasslers trying to latch onto her as she got off the plane and tried to find a taxi. The assumption that all foreigners are rich (and in Senegal if you can travel you are considered as rich as a foreigner) is everywhere. I am by no means poor, but at the same time I have my own financial problems. I feel like I want to blame the U.S. media, that its the fault of all those shows like CSI, Prison Break and 24 that these people think this way. I've had so many conversations with people talking about the portrayal of Africa in foreign news reports. AIDS! WARS! EPIDEMICS! Its the hype of seeing something terrible on the news, the distorted realities that show Africa as a breeding ground for pestilence, wars, corruption and serious diseases. Back in the States, I could watch entire news segments without hearing a word about South America, Africa and Asia, unless a disaster hit. A good example is the current problems in Kenya. Kenya has been all over the news for all the killings going on their, all the problems. Again, one thing: war and corruption. But nothing ever about Senegal, nothing about the African nations that had no national disasters, no terrible ethnic cleansing, but just enjoy a stable way of life. Its rare to see reporting about the progress, even if it is considered small, in any of the relatively well off African nations. Egypt gets in the news only in relation to what it says about Israel. The same thing happens with the U.S., people hear nothing about the U.S. except for a few reports about deaths in Iraq. The rest of what they understand of America comes from sitcoms and movies. One particularly funny incident occurred when a stranger, upon finding out that I was American, asked me: "Are there vampires in the U.S.?" He later explained that he had recently seen a movie about vampires in the U.S. and took it for a true story. Some people will immediately interpret this as ignorance on the side of the Senegalese, and for that matter the Third World population, but with all the difference can you blame him. I could try to say that he wasn't educated (which he wasn't he was a fisherman who was both illiterate and relatively weak in French, even in terms of speaking). I could also blame it on his sources, he only processes what he hears on the T.V., which isn't usually news reports about the inner workings of America, its not about politics, culture, the newest presidential races in the U.S., instead its always a T.V. show showing some drug dealer with three houses, super model girlfriends and money, driving around killing people and getting into firefights with the cops. Some people will say that it is ignorant to assume, but what else option do most people there have? The lack of infrastructure means most people have no access to libraries (which basically do not exist), the internet, or news sources that are broad reaching and concern global politics. Although Africa started history it feels like its being left out of the consideration of historians besides inside of Africa itself. No country seems to want to fully embrace cooperation and co-development with Africa, instead they just dump a lot of money with strings attached and hope the situation cures itself. I don't know where I fit into all of this, this whole struggle to better the country and become an economically global player. It was the president Abdoulaye Wade who said, "One must work, still work and work always". In terms of GNP the country has been growing in the last couple years but as I've been talking with the country people (the people in the small towns) I get the impression that things are getting worse. People always tell me about how things are harder, food is more expensive, that they work harder and get less money. One has to always work, but what happens when all your work gives you only enough to barely feed you for the next year. The farming situation in Senegal seems like an endless loop; each year the farmers plant as much as they can just to get by for the next year, but each year the crops yield less and less. They don't have the access to irrigation systems, fertilizers or machinery, so every year the grounds become less fertile and so on and so on. I remind myself of all of these things was I am packing to head back, backing to head into another world, basically. I can only wonder the things I'll see and the things I'll understand the second time around.
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