also known as the second biggest distraction:
mardi 18 janvier 2011
jeudi 13 janvier 2011
“It’s not your day.”
That is what the guard explained to me, as I stood outside the office in the dusty air trying to figure out from where exactly all this strangeness came. As he said these words it started to make sense…one doesn’t feel hungry, one doesn’t speak much, one feels distant, expression has a hard time coming to fruition. I had to turn my face to secretly wipe the little tear that was sneaking out of my eye.
Soon, I was smiling. Laughing at the thought, that today just wasn’t mine. Another colleague came out from the office and asked me what was going on, how I was. I replied cheekily, “C’est pas mon jour!” as he walked over to his moto. He shook his head and nodded in understanding, but without saying anything.
I looked over at the guard and we began chatting about this phenomenon. Usually when someone tells you it is not your day you go home, come back tomorrow. You stop trying to accomplish things and you just relax. He also mentioned that you never tell people it is not your day, if they know you it will be apparent and if they do not know you they also do not need to know it isn’t your day.
My first question after this is “What do you say to people then?” And in my situation, it was more about how do I tell people why I was not eating around the bowl… He said to simply tell them I was not hungry, case closed.
This entire conversation made me feel silly inside, but surprisingly more like myself.
When I went inside and talked to two other friends, one of who is Senegalese, about discovering it was not my day, I was told that I should go home and relax. The same advice! I laughed to myself and said, “Ok, perhaps you should go home and relax.” After making an agreement that I would leave once I finished my translation the strangest thing happened….
mardi 21 décembre 2010
what almost happened. but didn't.
it was a day. i fell asleep around three am. woke up a few hours later. accidentally slept in.
rushed into clothes, brushed teeth, and out of the dark house (the electricity had decided to disappear). my dear el and i had decided to walk to work together and have a nice chat about her upcoming plans and the dinner we would be making to celebrate christmas and the arrival of her love. we were so close to work, when something strange happened.
someone had shaken el's bag and shoulders. i assumed it was a friend of hers and suspiciously eyed his eeire gesture. but el, too, seemed a bit put off and in the moments that followed this youngish man went to steal her wallet from her bag. she pulled away and then he attempted to run.
me being in some minds foolish and in some minds courageous...in my mind protective and instinctual...turned towards this guy and grabbed him by his shoulders almost throwing him to the ground until i realized that he hadn't managed to actually steal anything and that el needed my arms to hold her and let her know that everything was ok.
she was prepared for such an attempt and had her wallet chained to her bag.thankfully.
but nonetheless was completely shaken up about it. and rightfully so.
people down the way saw the spectacle and came rushing to make sure everything was alright.
i explained that this failure of a thief had tried to steal my friend's wallet. and that we were ok, but it was very unsettling. they agreed and tried to have us search him down by looking at his tracks in the sand...we just waited there for a second for el to catch her breath and calm down...then continued on our way to work.
the uncomfortable thought remained that in this sea of faces and having not had a good look at this fellow, we could pass him in the streets...and he would always know us by our distinctive looks and we would never know him by his chameleon shades.
not the best way to begin the day...but a much needed lesson in terms of awareness. perhaps.
rushed into clothes, brushed teeth, and out of the dark house (the electricity had decided to disappear). my dear el and i had decided to walk to work together and have a nice chat about her upcoming plans and the dinner we would be making to celebrate christmas and the arrival of her love. we were so close to work, when something strange happened.
someone had shaken el's bag and shoulders. i assumed it was a friend of hers and suspiciously eyed his eeire gesture. but el, too, seemed a bit put off and in the moments that followed this youngish man went to steal her wallet from her bag. she pulled away and then he attempted to run.
me being in some minds foolish and in some minds courageous...in my mind protective and instinctual...turned towards this guy and grabbed him by his shoulders almost throwing him to the ground until i realized that he hadn't managed to actually steal anything and that el needed my arms to hold her and let her know that everything was ok.
she was prepared for such an attempt and had her wallet chained to her bag.thankfully.
but nonetheless was completely shaken up about it. and rightfully so.
people down the way saw the spectacle and came rushing to make sure everything was alright.
i explained that this failure of a thief had tried to steal my friend's wallet. and that we were ok, but it was very unsettling. they agreed and tried to have us search him down by looking at his tracks in the sand...we just waited there for a second for el to catch her breath and calm down...then continued on our way to work.
the uncomfortable thought remained that in this sea of faces and having not had a good look at this fellow, we could pass him in the streets...and he would always know us by our distinctive looks and we would never know him by his chameleon shades.
not the best way to begin the day...but a much needed lesson in terms of awareness. perhaps.
mardi 2 novembre 2010
au daara
Our rendezvous with the daara was scheduled at 10, but like most things here, we were unable to be there on time. Waiting in the office to hear the car horn honk to tell us it was time to go, I made lists and went over questions I thought to ask, preparing for the unknown and and assumed expectations. My idea of what would happen entailed a romantic vision of me as a new journalist getting to the quick and dirty of this daara world, exposing and questioning, making people uncomfortable but unable to escape without giving some sort of opinion! Yet, upon arriving I was stunned.
We drove down some small alleyways, towards a cinder-block building that was still, essentially, being constructed. Through a metal gate into a courtyard area I noticed clothes drying on wires and typical bits of rubbage that unfortunately characterizes the third world...mis-matched pairs of shoes, torn pieces of cloth, bones, broken bottles, shards of plastic, rubble, I could go on for days. The wall had holes in it that were stuffed with strangely colored clothes, one of which seemed like women's panties, but that sort of gender distinction is often lost amidst such poverty. Taking a few steps forward through dirtdust into the open-air common area, we encountered the students, separated into two groups (older kids in back at the desks, younger ones sitting on the floor in front), curiously eyeing our presence.
After initial Senegalese greetings, the class recommenced and we were left to watch the progression of the lesson. French grammar and phonetics, reading, writing, math. All these little talibe children eager to attempt to answer questions, eager to be called to the front. All of them acting like young boys who, if evaluated only by their manners, would be untraceable to any specific culture. They were picking their noses, touching their neighbors, laughing, drawing on each other...all those charming things that 8 year old boys do. Every now and again the teacher would become upset at their hijinks and threaten them with a whip. Only once did he use it, which was hard for me to watch. My co-worker said that for the rest of the class he shouldn't do that and he consented. I figured it was because of me.
My questions about the daara were answered by my co-worker. She said that the marabout was visiting in the village and left the 24 talibe children in the hands of the 20 year old Amadou. There were five rooms in the daara: one reserved for the marabout, one for storage and their sheep, one as a kind of catch-all kitchen/bathroom, and the last two were their sleeping quarters. On the walls of their bedroom hung their little bags of belongings, on the floors the thin sheets where they rested their heads. I took pictures of all this, of them, of their situation.
Two of the boys were absent from class. One was sleeping, tossing and turning, really really ill looking and feeling. Another was pretending to study the Koran in the bedroom, but looked just as miserable and seemed equally as ill. We ended up skipping our lunch to take them to the hospital. The first boy was being carried to the taxi. He could barely stand and kept falling over, his skin burning to touch, unable to even drink anything. The other just weak and depressed. Upon reaching the clinic they were taken back and given malaria tests...the terribly ill boy had positive results. I am unsure about the other little one.
After procuring their medicine we had them taken back to the daara, while we went in search of food. We bought bananas, sugar, limes, and a peanut sauce dish called mafe. Dropping off all these supplies and giving instructions to the head boy we left. . . I wanted to cry. I wanted to hold them. I wanted to give them everything. These children pushed into beggary by parents who were under the impression that this would be a way to provide a better life for their kids. These young boys who spent their time on the streets with little care bestowed upon their small frames. I began to realize that if we had not gone to the daara that day, that young boy would have died. No one was there with enough money to take him to the hospital, no one would have considered that the thing to do.
That is life here coupled so indifferently with death. As if neither had any weight on the other, as if neither were worth the trouble of preventing or experiencing. Who cares to live when it is under such a neglectful eye, who cares about dying when living doesn't offer anything better than an existence so close to death that they are one in the same.
I swallow my discomfort. I breath in deep my tears. I will go home and hold myself trying to prevent the sobs that surface from knowing I can only do so much...from knowing that their are so many many many more that will not be given the chance. I will comfort myself in Darwinism and feel guilty for my privilege. I will give alms to anyone that I cross tomorrow in a pitiful attempt to try and alleviate in some way the disparity that exists between my culture and the one in which I find myself, knowing that really it doesn't much help...anyone but me.
vendredi 22 octobre 2010
sleepyface.
yes. it was only one day this week where i was able to manage not to reset the alarm and make it on time to work. that was wednesday...and i didn't have a choice...i was going to dakar.
today was like all the rest. slowly melted into ten minutes past the hour when i should be more than half way to the office. i took breakfast at lena's little stand and sipped my coffee in a causal jaunt through the maze of stairs and salutations that one must navigate before getting up to work. And inspite of being assigned a report translation and village portrait and meeting my other supervisor and all those other things...all I can really remember solidly is the most amazing blue-bird with hot-pink cheeks flying by me reminding me that i am so so free.
today was like all the rest. slowly melted into ten minutes past the hour when i should be more than half way to the office. i took breakfast at lena's little stand and sipped my coffee in a causal jaunt through the maze of stairs and salutations that one must navigate before getting up to work. And inspite of being assigned a report translation and village portrait and meeting my other supervisor and all those other things...all I can really remember solidly is the most amazing blue-bird with hot-pink cheeks flying by me reminding me that i am so so free.
confused tea.
i wandered off alone. first time. what used to be rare form has become my true being. and i suddenly found myself laughing and smiling and saying hello to each and every person i encountered. when what they were saying stopped making sense, my mouth would bust forth with a giggle and my shoulders would give a shrug...as if to say "yes it is true i have no idea what you are saying, but i like you and what you may or may not be saying, nonetheless."
eventually i came across a group of faces and greeted them proper. one lady looked at me and said something that sounded hostile. i stopped without reason to understand further. the others repeated what she said in french. she asked if i drank tea. culturally this an invitation, but to me at this moment it is only a question of habit. of course i replied yes, i do in fact drink tea. and the lady looked at me when they finished translating my response, got up, yelled something in wolof, and pointed to the chair. not knowing what was going on, i just sat down. and for the next few hours i drank tea made conversation learned names and made a promise to return that saturday for lunch.
when the big day rolled around i was nervously tossing and turning. there are so many things one must do to demonstrate appreciation to your hosts. i needed to wear my finest clothes, bring a gift of sorts, arrive slightly late...remember my wolof greetings, remember where their house was exactly, etc...
on my way i purchased some tea and sugar, perfect gifts around these parts. when i arrived i knocked and knocked on the door hoping that one this was their house and twp that they were serious about the invitation whilst beginning to second guess my understanding of what was actually said during the conversation. suddenly david opened the door and led me to the others, all of whom i greeted properly and were delighted with my charming gift.
soon like royalty they ushered me into the sitting room where the placed the fan to blow directly at me and only me. a few chosen others were allowed to enter the room and have conversation while sofia, my new best friend, began to make lunch. they were so delighted and surprised that i showed up and they kept telling me so. they asked questions about my being unmarried and if i was considering taking up a senegalese husband. i deflected these questions but i knew they were not entirely gone and i would have to revisit them again. and again. and soon.
i was given many photos to look at and express approval over and heard many stories of their family. when the food came it was obvious that much care had gone in to the preparation and that it was a very special meal. most of us ate with spoons but two of the sisters ate with their hands. all the choices bits were passed my direction and i found myself eating more and more as i felt bad for refusing the most prized morsels. when this was just not a possibility anymore i stepped up and away from the bowl expressing how the delicious food had filled me full. they offered me orange soda which i drank and water which i also drank and then more tea which i could not refuse.
the conversation commenced again and morphed itself into ousamane's free flow rap demonstrations and then again into group dancing. other guests came and went. another round of exhaustion set in along with a power outage forcing us all to collapse onto the couches or cool floor tiles. hours, hours, hours had passed and my lunch date was soon evolving into dinner invitations. i had used up every word and grammar construction that had ever crossed my path in these two foreign languages and my head began to hurt from so much thinking.
i thought it was time to head home. after much resistance, they said to stop by anytime and hopefully that it would be in 45 minutes for dinner...or the next day...but that it was not necessary to call or make a date. it felt freeing to have such lax etiquette concerning relationships and i made good on my word, i stopped by unannounced and passed another set of hours. they made good on their's, the welcomed me like they had been expecting me for days. which, to find out later, was not so far from the truth.
eventually i came across a group of faces and greeted them proper. one lady looked at me and said something that sounded hostile. i stopped without reason to understand further. the others repeated what she said in french. she asked if i drank tea. culturally this an invitation, but to me at this moment it is only a question of habit. of course i replied yes, i do in fact drink tea. and the lady looked at me when they finished translating my response, got up, yelled something in wolof, and pointed to the chair. not knowing what was going on, i just sat down. and for the next few hours i drank tea made conversation learned names and made a promise to return that saturday for lunch.
when the big day rolled around i was nervously tossing and turning. there are so many things one must do to demonstrate appreciation to your hosts. i needed to wear my finest clothes, bring a gift of sorts, arrive slightly late...remember my wolof greetings, remember where their house was exactly, etc...
on my way i purchased some tea and sugar, perfect gifts around these parts. when i arrived i knocked and knocked on the door hoping that one this was their house and twp that they were serious about the invitation whilst beginning to second guess my understanding of what was actually said during the conversation. suddenly david opened the door and led me to the others, all of whom i greeted properly and were delighted with my charming gift.
soon like royalty they ushered me into the sitting room where the placed the fan to blow directly at me and only me. a few chosen others were allowed to enter the room and have conversation while sofia, my new best friend, began to make lunch. they were so delighted and surprised that i showed up and they kept telling me so. they asked questions about my being unmarried and if i was considering taking up a senegalese husband. i deflected these questions but i knew they were not entirely gone and i would have to revisit them again. and again. and soon.
i was given many photos to look at and express approval over and heard many stories of their family. when the food came it was obvious that much care had gone in to the preparation and that it was a very special meal. most of us ate with spoons but two of the sisters ate with their hands. all the choices bits were passed my direction and i found myself eating more and more as i felt bad for refusing the most prized morsels. when this was just not a possibility anymore i stepped up and away from the bowl expressing how the delicious food had filled me full. they offered me orange soda which i drank and water which i also drank and then more tea which i could not refuse.
the conversation commenced again and morphed itself into ousamane's free flow rap demonstrations and then again into group dancing. other guests came and went. another round of exhaustion set in along with a power outage forcing us all to collapse onto the couches or cool floor tiles. hours, hours, hours had passed and my lunch date was soon evolving into dinner invitations. i had used up every word and grammar construction that had ever crossed my path in these two foreign languages and my head began to hurt from so much thinking.
i thought it was time to head home. after much resistance, they said to stop by anytime and hopefully that it would be in 45 minutes for dinner...or the next day...but that it was not necessary to call or make a date. it felt freeing to have such lax etiquette concerning relationships and i made good on my word, i stopped by unannounced and passed another set of hours. they made good on their's, the welcomed me like they had been expecting me for days. which, to find out later, was not so far from the truth.
vendredi 15 octobre 2010
finding.s
a pack of wild greyhounds
dance without beats
tri-level shovel pulley
spiderscorpionsmash
insects
litter
scorpions!scare
charcoal in food?
swallowed bone
night breeze~
islamic prayers
heatdreams
multiple wives
truth is truth and not truth
breasts
clickyes
fishpuree
senegalesename
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