Wednesday, November 12, 2008

An update, at last!

Dear blog readers,

I know that it was been what seems like FOREVER since I have updated my blog. Perhaps I should explain what's up:

We went to Kedougou in the Southeast region of Senegal. I caught malaria. I rested in bed with an I.V. for three days. Seemingly recovered, I traveled back to Dakar with the group. Three days passed. I woke up at 3h feeling terrible. I went to school anyway. I kept feeling worse and worse throughout the day. I visited a doctor that night who prescribed a few more pills. I stayed at the school for two days until deciding that I had better go see another doctor. I went to a clinic, then to a hospital (which they called a clinic) in Dakar. I stayed there for three days before the insurance company decided it was in my best interest to be evacuated to Paris. I came to Paris on a commercial flight with a doctor and have undergone countless blood-tests, ultrasounds, urinalysis, etc. Though I don't feel any better, the doctors in Paris are convinced that I have recovered. They are sending me back to Dakar on Friday. Once I get there, I am not sure what I am going to do, because they recommend bed-rest for several days. Needless to say I am very discouraged and wish it would all be over.

Please excuse the negativity of this entry, and the inexcusable intervals between updates.
-Ryan

Friday, October 17, 2008

Hit the ground running!!!!

I know I've been a terrible blogger, but not without good reason. Since the return from St. Louis I have been taking tama (talking drum) lessons with Massamba Diop, who is arguably the best tama player (and maker) not only in Senegal but in all of Africa. Between working with him, practicing, and keeping up with schoolwork, there hasn't been too much time for blogging. Hopefully I will be able to re-establish my regiment of regular updates. In the mean time, please enjoy a few pictures from my recent escapades!


Tortoise Face



Zebra butts



Giraffes



The Griots, a Senegalese caste of historians, musicians and poets, used to put their dead inside the often hollow trunk of the baobob tree. Here you can see two skulls (a man and wife?) in the trunk of this massive tree.



Touba is the sacred city of the Mouride sect of Islam, which houses the impressive mosqie that was founded by Cheikh Amadou Bamba (Marabout, or holy leader, who brought Mouridism to Senegal).


Anterior hallway of the mosque in Touba. Most of the work was done by Moroccan craftspeople in three waves; the first came in and plastered the ceiling, columns, and walls; the second came to carve the elaborate shapes into the plater; the third came to paint. The entirety of the mosque and its grounds are as impressive and ornate as this hallway. Wow!



These sexy ladies were my mothers (yes, mothers - my father has two wives) in the village of Ker Sedaro, outside of Thies. And they gave birth to....



they gave birth to...THIRTY TWO children!!!!!!!! Scary!







Thursday, October 2, 2008

As promised - pictures. Also a revelation

Dear readers,
The last post, though not published until this morning, was actually written and saved as a draft on Tuesday when the group returned to Dakar. To shorten a long story, its really REALLY REALLY difficult to maintain a blog that features photos (and hopefully videos) when 1. the bandwidth of the connection is slower than dial-up and 2. the power (and therefore the connection) goes out on a regular basis. But at last my patience has been rewarded by an unusually fast bandwidth and enduring electricity. 



The beach, facing away from the water. This sort of grassy sand continues on for MILES and MILES without interruption. 

The beach, obviously from within the water. 
Two minarets from the mosque in Saint-Louis, completely surrounded by smog and dust from the Sahara.
Traffic in Dakar. This is a two lane road - notice folks drivin' on the sidewalk on the left? See the dump-truck full of sand on the right side of the image? Guess what's on top of it...(see next caption)
Answer: a sleeping man! I don't know if I have the balls to sleep on a pile on sand on a moving vehicle on a highway in rush-hour traffic, but this guy does! He must have had a fun night.
Khadijia - the lady of the house. She is going to eat this watermelon and no camera shall stop her!
Remember the happy photo? This is what was in the bag? BOUBOUS! Yes, at last the tailor finished out boubous. This is the more formal of the two, worn for special occasions like Korite, the end of Ramadan. 

And speaking of Korite, let me announce that my feet hurt. They really and truly hurt. Not only was I bitten by a poisonous spider on the underside of my right foot, but that same foot has open wounds from foot fungus. Three of them in fact, that congeal with sand, dirt and road-scum every time I take a step. How does this relate to Korite? Yesterday, a few of us in the group visited 7 different households (not including the housed I visited earlier in the day with my host brother, Abdou) on foot. Yes, we walked all over Dakar on our blisters and bites to salute the families and say "Bon Korite" to everyone. I will probably have more positive, culturally inquisitive, intelligent things to say about Korite at a later time, but as for now, its off to the pharmacies in search of Neosporin. But before I go, the last comment I would like to share, is that I am eternally grateful to come from such privilege that I can walk to a pharmacy and buy antibacterial ointment for my bleeding foot, or ailments for any other malady that may arise. The majority (meaning MOST people, not meaning more than 50 per cent) of Senegalese would not be able to dispense money for such creams, let alone pay for health-care or doctors. The fact that I can reach into my wallet and buy Neosporin, without having spent my last two weeks' pay, without even thinking twice about how this seemingly small sum will be replaced, without having to make a decision between feeding my children or dressing their wounds, is indeed very humbling. In the face of situations like this I can't help but feel slightly guilty for my selfishness and privilege. At the end of the day, I realize that I cannot feel guilty for what someone else's hard work (especially that of my parents and grandparents) has yielded for me, but that it is of crucial importance to be in a constant state of gratitude for seemingly small things (anti-bacterial ointment, to name one) that are easy to take for granted. Though I haven't always shown it, I have always understood and agreed with why I should be thankful. Now my eyes have been opened even wider - I have found a profoundly deeper appreciation of blessings to whom I was already beholden. Thank you all for what you have so generously shared with me!









Back at last!

To all my faithful and loyal readers:

Please excuse my extreme neglect of this blog within the last 6 days. The SIT group went to Saint-Louis, the first settlement in Africa of European explorers/sailors, for a six-day adventure/vacation. First, please allow me to summarize the last 6 days:

 

Thursday:

9h – everyone gathers at the school. We load luggage, eat, get on the bus, nothing special. On the way out of town we stop for fuel, drinking water and snacks. 12h30 – we stop in Thiès for lunch. The restaurant is called, “Pamanda,” after the French emigrant proprietors’ daughters. Our salads have vegetables, and raw ones at that. How long has it been since I’ve eaten raw veggies? Since living in the states? 14h30 – some people need to relieve themselves so the bus pulls over under a baobob tree. If you’ve never seen a baobob tree, or a picture of one, try to find a picture online. (I will be posting pictures of the boabob tree with the bus parked under it as soon as the Internet becomes fast enough to do so.) 14h40 – we return to the bus, picking the thorns from the brush out of our pants. 16h – the bus arrives in Saint-Louis at the hotel, which is a vibrant red with blue accent colonial remnant right on the Sénégal River. The ornately decorated yellow room, which is on the 3rd floor, looks across the river to the historic bridge and mosques on the continent. 18h – the group goes to the beach. From the parking spot, the waterline is nearly 50 meters. The beach, though polluted and partially developed by grass-huts and small villas, is beautiful in its own way. Sand, complete with little crabs and seashells, extends as far as the eye can see. At first, we are taken aback by the breathtaking images of the ocean, then the vendors come out of the huts en masse like crabs from their shelters. Though they claim merely to want to present their goods, they will try to talk to beachgoers until they buy something. If a person is so audacious to tell a vendor that they are not only uninterested in their products, but also uninterested in a drab, broken-English pseudo-conversation, this person will quickly be dubbed “rude” or “cruel”. This sales culture is one small aspect of being a foreigner that is both difficult and obligatory to accept and patiently ignore. 20h – an upscale dinner on the hotel’s dining room – a lavish deck that extends 20-25 meters out onto the river, complete with tables, sitting areas and even two yachts. The meal, which was a choice between chicken, beef, or vegetables, was served in three courses, including two scoops of ice cream for dessert. Compared to the delicious yet monotonous ceebu jen (Senegalese dish with fish and rice) most of us have been eating on an almost nightly basis, the restaurant’s offerings were a more than welcome surprise. 23h – the group retires early to their (air-conditioned) rooms for rest and recovery.

 

Friday:

8h30 – breakfast. Plain croissants, chocolate croissants, coffee, tea, orange-mango juice. 9h – class starts. We are privileged enough to have a guest lecturer, a historian, who talks about the role Saint-Louis played in colonial history. Many of the players and historical sights are topics of our research projects. 12h – free for lunch. We find a hole-in-the-wall greasy spoon type place in the central most part of the island. The food is terrible but cheap. 13h – my group is assigned to “L’école Khayar Mbengue,” a school started in the Colonial Era by Gouverneur Faidherbe whose frequently changed name and function has played a major role in Senegalese education since the early 19th century. We go to the school to take photographs and conduct interviews. Taking photos and conducting interviews on a school whose front gate opens onto a major street is no easy task. I stand in the middle of traffic, receiving ridicule and scorn from Saint-Louisians, endangering my safety, all for a poorly taken photograph that doesn’t truly show the stature and striking elegance of the old building. Interviewing is always the same. Kids come and try to snatch your notebook or your water bottle, people see your water and ask why you aren’t fasting (it is custom to fast during the month of Ramadan), guards or interviewees demand money for their answers and time, etc. This process, though cumbersome, becomes a little more efficient each time it is practiced. 16h – we wrap up work for the day and drive (on the bus) to a remote spot on the Senegal River. From there, the group boards a Pirogue (a Senegalese fishing boat made from wood, painted with vibrantly colored images and texts of “Alxumdulilaye” [thanks be to God] and the name of the boat), drives 10 km down the Senegal River (down is North in this case, but closer to the river’s mouth) towards a remote beach.  INCREDIBLE! There is not a single person nor piece of trash to be seen for miles. The water is clear – no cooler than 80 degrees Farenheidt. The man-made banks with evergreen trees, installed to protect both the river and the beach from erosion, provide a ‘natural’ barrier between the group and the rest of reality. For 2 hours we are in complete, undivided euphoria. 20h – the group returns, we eat dinner and continue work on our project. The roommates and I have a few drinks before a dull but necessary Wolof study session.

 

Saturday:

9h – class starts with another lecture, this time from an established Saint-Louisian author. His lecture recounts the evolution of the Saint-Louisian novel, from the Colonial Era to present. 12h – free again for lunch, nothing delectable but who cares? We eat for next to nothing. 14h – research on the history of L’école Khayar M’Bengue, as well as on Khayar M’Bengue himself, at the neighboring museum’s library. We decide to prepare a skit for our presentation. 16h – back to the beach we visited the first day. 20h – A sub-group eats dinner in a French restaurant. Without a doubt – this is the best meal I’ve eaten since I ate at Watercourse the night of my departure. Cheese salad, mustard olives, bread with oil and black pepper, lobster ravioli (yeah, you read correctly, we sure did have lobster ravioli) in a rich herb cream sauce, ice cream served in a wooden boat with sprigs of mint, beer and wine, and finally miniature espressos. If the fine food wasn’t enough, the smiles on the sun burnt cheeks of my colleagues, the laughter, the winding down after a few very intense days, and the shimmer in everyone’s exhausted, drooping eyes, was enough to make this night a very special one.

 

Sunday:

We are technically free; however, my group hasn’t finished preparing for our presentation. We rise relatively late – the sun lazily peeks over the combination of smog and an October dust cloud the Sahara has sent across the mainland. We work slowly but with determination. Luckily we finish early enough to have not wasted an entire free day. Another visit to the beach leaves our skin slightly darker, our nostrils swept clean and our spirits optimistic. Dinner is average.

 

Monday:

9h – presentations take place until… 12h –presentations are finished. We all learn about the history of the island through our studies of particular buildings and historic sights. Lunch comes, cheap and tasteless as usual. The ominous dust continues to lurk above the darkening continent. The group is collectively tired and sleeps until dinner. 20h – we eat dinner out on the deck above the Senegal River: vegetables, fish, meat, chicken, fruit, wine, bread, etc. The group recounts its time in Saint-Louis.

 

Tuesday:

We rise early and start the drive home. 11h30 – we arrive in Thiès and eat pizza at the same restaurant from earlier. 13h – the drives continues. 17h – We are still driving! We have returned to Dakar but the traffic is striking. The driver tells us that there have been rains and that since our departure gas prices throughout Senegal have doubled. This is quite normal. Bus drivers are advised to refuel the night before their departure, in case of such a rapid economic shift. A professor recounts a previous village stay in which the group was stranded until gas could be delivered because the morning of their scheduled return, gas prices has sky-rocketed above and beyond the group’s feasible costs. 19h –ish – finally we are back at the SIT office in Dakar. We check our e-mail and return to our respective families. 

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Super short update

Tomorrow we go to Saint-Louis and 9h couldn't come sooner! We only have 1.5 hours of class this morning, then the rest of the day is free for shopping, beaching, catching up on homework, packing for Saint-Louis, etc. More to come later, and happy Wednesday!


I'm happy!

Guess what's in the bag? Revelation to come...

Saturday, September 20, 2008

What a day!

Yesterday (Friday) a portion of the group went to Goree Island, off the coast of Dakar. In addition to being a popular French vacation spot, it has a rich cultural history, too. The island was used by slave owners/traders to hold slaves before they were shipped to the Americas. As you might imagine, the conditions were worse than terrible. We toured "La Maison des Esclaves," which was essentially a pre-Atlantic-journey prison. The slaves were kept in small rooms, with between 20-30 people all living in one room. Having been separated from their mothers, children were also kept in La Maison des Esclaves. La Maison held hundreds of slaves in what is literally just a gutted house. The rest of the island is completely colonial. The houses are all stately, built for wealthy French families and their slaves. They are all painted in vibrant reds, pinks, oranges, greens, etc. Now, the island has become rather touristic. Vendors perch on every corner waiting to sell their products. I am a HUGE sucker and couldn't resist buying some shakers. If anyone reading this blog knows how these things work, please PLEASE tell me. They are two balls each at the end of a rope that is about 6 inches long. They have grains of rice in them so they act as shakers all on their own, but can also make a 'clack' sound when you throw them from between your thumb and first finger to underneath your pinky. This probably isn't a very good description, but if anyone thinks they know what these instruments are called or how to properly play them, I would like to find out. 

After we toured "La Maison des Esclaves" we ate lunch on the beach and listened to Kora music and singing at the table. Following lunch there was another tour of the first and only exclusively-women museum. (Of course men can enter the museum, the exhibits are just about the progress and role of women in Senegalese society.) There, we gained a deeper understanding of exactly what it means to be a woman in Dakar, in a village, in Africa, in the workplace, etc. Several exhibits featured Senegalese "firsts" - the first Dakaroise to study in France, the first female senator, the first female member of the judiciary cabinet, etc. 
We then got to tour a museum that had been built in a sort of Goree guard-house at the end of the island. All around the circular roof there were cannons angled in every direction - perfect for intimidating attackers. On the main floor, inside the museum, there were several interesting historical artifacts about the island, Dakar, the port history, etc. There was no formal tour of this museum, which made it harder to imagine the uses/functions/history of every single object. In my opinion, the coolest exhibit in the museum was the only known photograph of Cheikh Ammadou Bamba - the muslim leader who brought the Mouride sect of Islam to Senegal. This photograph has been replicated in paint on countless walls throughout Dakar - especially on the walls of the Corniche and on walls of Koranic schools. 
Here are a few photos from the island.

This door has phrases and messages on the nature of life in "La Maison des Esclaves"
Here I am, standing in the most awful door that exists. Through this door there was a plank that led  directly to a boat that would cross the Atlantic. Those who passed through this door would never pass through it again - would never return to their maternal continent, etc. 
The statue of the liberation of Goree.


The harbor. Fishing boats, barges, etc. (View from the ferry.)


Eew! Flies are all over the dish! Gross!

The nice part about the visit to Goree Island was the swimming in the ocean! After we came back to SIT we all decided to go to a club en ville. A few friends from CIEE, another study abroad program where in Senegal, had amused themselves at a place called Le Mex. Hungry for the tastes of home, we were all more than excited about eating Mexican food. What a horrible idea! After getting lost in a taxi-cab, we FINALLY arrived at Le Mex at 21h (9:00 pm). The doorman told us they didn't open until 22h. Fine. Fine, that's fine! We wanted Mexican food so bad that we decided to wait. We crossed the street for beers at a Vietnamese restaurant. At 22h, we returned to the restaurant, only to find out that it is NOT a restaurant. The 'amigos' who told us they had eaten there were obviously lying. HOW COULD THEY DO THIS TO US? We then walked around central Dakar, in the middle of the night, looking for any place that might have food that wouldn't kill us. We found Cafe Roma, an upscale French restaurnat whose plates started at about $22 (American). Forget it! We went back to the Vietnamese restaurant, which was also overpriced. Finally we were full. Then we decided to go to Le Mex, to meet all of our other friends who were there. Little did we know we were walking into a brothel. Yes, prostitutes and old French men. This was difficult for many people in the group. I'm glad we went, though, and confronted the sad reality of many women in Senegal and throughout the world.  Needless to say, we will not be returning to Le Mex. Hopefully, when Ramadan is over, we won't be forced into the sketchiest clubs on the city because they won't be the only ones open. 
After an exhausting night searching for somewhere to eat and fighting our way through crowds of prostitutes, I got a great night's sleep. 


Thursday, September 18, 2008

A quick update

Hello readers of Au Senegal,


My blog! My precious, precious blog! It seems like I haven't been able to log on to the internet in years. Really, its been since Monday. The power in Dakar is as consistent as the printing of a 1st-grader. Even in Point-E (the upper-class neighborhood where SIT is located), the power will be cut randomly, sometimes for up to 6 hours. When the power gets cut, the Wi-Fi gets cut. When the Wi-Fi gets cut, the blog doesn't get any attention. Of course there have been times when the power has been on, but spending the afternoon hours in a shack with a tin roof and no water tends to make the bed more appealing than the computer. 
In any case, today was the last day of our week of visits to Village Des Arts. As I mentioned, I chose to spend the week working with clay. Regretfully, in the rush to catch the bus, I forgot to bring my camera. This is not the end of the world, though, because none of us (three students who chose to do ceramics) have any clay-working skill. 
Though we are no where near the artistic level of our artist/teacher, we did have fun working with the clay. After the first day, things started to improve. The second day, we were instructed to use the techniques we had learned the previous day to construct something of our choosing. Obviously I chose to make a rhino, the most difficult animal I have ever sculpted in Africa. It turned out looking like a mangled beast - somewhat triceratops-esque, gnarly none-the-less, so I beautified it by adding a basket to its back. The third day was spent at the wheel. We learned how to change a ball of clay into a beautiful pot. Well, I should say, we watched a gifted artist turn a ball of clay into a beautiful pot, then tried unsuccessfully to copy what he had made seem so easy. The fourth day was the same as the third, except our pots didn't fall over or self destruct under our hands. (They were still ugly, of course.) 
The whole experience at the Village des Arts was amazing in many ways. All of the artists we worked with (bronze-sculptors, glass-painters, sculptors, batik-ers) are internationally known. Many are showing their works in big name museums in Europe and the States, including the Loeuvre (sp?) and the Met. It was so interesting to get a glimpse into the African artistic community, especially since they are almost entirely Muslim. On this note, the artists were not only taking time from their work to teach us, but they were doing it all without having eaten or swallowed water. This combined with the heat is enough to make anyone grouchy. Instead of focusing on their hunger and the heat, they calmly taught us their craft, occasionally recalling stories of other grueling conditions in which they had worked in other countries. 
On a less positive note, the dead-rotting-animals-we've-seen-in-the-street count is up to more than 12 and includes horses, sheep, cats, dogs, and rats. I can't remember if I've said this before, so I'll say it again. Trash in the streets is incredible. Incredible isn't even the right word. It is completely baffling. There is trash all over all parts of all roads. This includes the slums, the middle-class neighborhoods, the upper-class neighborhoods, the markets, downtown, and everywhere else. Trash! Trash! Everywhere. On the same street that the school is on, there are probably 10 piles of trash, each at least 5 ft tall, within one block. Trash gets removed once weekly, but why wait for the trash service to come when you can just augment the pre-existing pile in your front lawn? Sadly, Senegal's sanitation problems will probably get worse before they get better. 
Ok, really, I promise to be more diligent about updating. And there might even be videos in the near future. Now I'm off to have Ceebu Jen for the 10th night in a row, hoorah!
Love Ryan