numb.

walking to the sen marche i see a woman sleeping in the street without a shirt covering her face with her arm that is missing a hand. it doesn't even phase me.

the long drive.

begins early and with a circle that takes us from the beginning and back and then onto the true route.

the city is not yet awake but working towards day.

so much anticipation. i watch out the windows and am impressed by the beauty. invisible tears stream down my eyes. 

in me builds a sense of numbness but over extraordinary sensation.

to see such death and life dancing together along the roadside like old lovers who have never lost the new love smell. seated neatly in the pain of destruction and hopeful rebuilt.

the road is long and often unkempt. sleeping stretches marked in time by the length of proper paved and pot holes. silences fill most of the unused space. 

small town later we eat and watch how the night’s previous rain has overtaken the streets and created a confusion in the cars. people moving and yet entirely motionless.

to be free of that chaos…and on to the next version. 

a smile upon arrival. two new little friends. braided hair and precious fotos.

a lone horse. and missed sunset.

villages spot the region coming out of the flat where you can see for miles through forever forest. there are huts and numerous bovine.

I stayed in my own hut with a very large bed and other luxuries of western living.

we tread on the road off the road up and down in and out next to and upon the dirt, an adventurous route, to a less than adventurous meeting.

people scatter the sides in the shade of trees that will hold no leaves come november waiting for rides or passerbys who may take interest in their wares.

sky is endless blue and clouds give the illusion of mountains, as if to casually remind me that somehow i’m not far from home.

cool african breeze. rare.  almost more appreciated than water.

everyone in variations of slick shine. soft circle of conversation debate decision. important things regarding the declaration.

the other day,  rooms were changed from large and spacious to small and cramped solely to take advantage of better cooling mechanisms, and thankfully so.

refuge today, now found in a strange abandoned hexagon.

words fly. sudden lift of bodies out of chairs and through the doors.

time to make the trek back to the other town. some of us ride in the back of the truck.

a side stop that lasts for hours after the brief afterlunchtime lunch meal. 

i wait outside and watch an electric orange bird build a nest, watch the moon rise, watch the village go from dead to alive, watch numerous people stroll past, watch my head fall with heavy. we’ve lost two of our party to the length of the errand. i learn about famous senegalese singers and tell of differences between countries. 

my names are tossed about erratically sometimes the one i was given at birth, sometimes the one they’ve adopted to me. both to which i respond.

he asks me to help. i do. he tells me to eat so I become as big as a large building. i laugh. they ask me to tell a little story.  i try.

the moon is out full force with slight cloud cover.

we all enjoy the mixed tongues. Dou dou dou and nyum nyum. 

the polaar word for bravo, choum…and in double time, burn.

thirty mosquito bites later with numb feet and other swollen extremities.

playful exhaustion and well needed sleep.

my first mission.

so many lovely ways to end the day. and begin the next.

the lovely push home. taxi cab rain drops.
out in the mud. stuck in the path. hop out the car and get the thing going.
all of us hands on back. this is the way to make friends.

after drinks and dinner. french and other tongues.
separate ways.

proprietors, new friends.
beach dates.

flood. and other overwhelms.

dreams of dancing.

BRUNCHplans.

halftime.

it was a fresh pour. i found myself walking towards the thunder.

auspicious.

all the mosques pronouncing from megaphones. stereosurround. the whole city is saturated.succulence. FaDiNg in AND out. 

the soundtrack of life. at 13:30. 

a first week of work, finshed...or rather slowly prepared to begin a second and third and other subsequents.

i regard the ground and the way the rain has impacted its surface.

fuzzy. softsandturned to fur. footprints only change the illusion.

i weave in and out of my native tongue and my host language(s).

not with ease, but with beautiful stutter. 

Oui, c'est true that j'ai dit SalaamMalekum to you.

awkward. although this new creole is more appropriate than any of the three. 

soon, to Podor. la Fouta. on mission. to do what we do. 

this is where my interests find themselves.

moving forward. daytime exhaustion. friday evening nap. 

rainrainrain. and barelypack.

sevendays.

life under the net is starting to feel normal. the world around me in various states of decay and damp.
all my papers are in limbo...the moment between having just been drenched with water and almost dry.
curling at the edges. soft. but at the heart flat.


a week has passed since my arrival. and i reflect on that.
the differences in life are startling. invigorating. enlivening.


having a beer in a downtown Thies eatery i go to pay...gustave is there and we have ourselves a chat about my existence here in this city. he gives me his number and email to keep in touch, if i'd like. in my brisque american confusion i hastily tell the lady at the counter that i would like to pay for my meal and drink...
and immediately i say oh! goodevening! she laughs at my faux pas. and we share a little conversation while the machine acts up,  i help her try and fix it, but to no avail. she adds together the cost on a calculator and i give her the sum. after a goodbye to gustave i join my friends in hailing a cab back to the house. it is all a bargaining game here.


soon some days later we finally go into town to buy supplies. food mostly, but for me i have my heart set out on finding my favorite treat. peanut butter...here they are called arachides and not cacahuetes...i have become more aware of greeting people. (it is about acknowledging the other persons existence which exceeds the importance of whatever needs to be done...and everyone deserves such respect) i see a woman near me and we exchange eyes, i say Salaamaalekum to her and she replies Maalekum salaam. i then proceed to say nanga def? and she replies maangi fi rek..and then says something i haven't yet learned proper. i tell her i do not understand and she says what is your name?...Nanga tudd? and i say sadie. i repeat the phrase back to her and she replies Jeame. we chat about where i live, which i could not explain as i had only been there a few days and about our jobs. she works at the bon marche and i tell her i will see her often because i liked the place. we talk about peanut butter and the difference in terms...and i learn how to say it in wolof...we exchange goodbyes and i finish my purchases. the beggars surround me while i wait outside for my friends...finally on the way home, the day feels successful. 


i begin to enjoy the life i have begun out here. all its oddities and delicious cultural crumbs really tickle me. i'm beginning to make plans...for my time here, for my return home, for my life...things just feel like they are gaining perspective and for the first time i feel the present and am content with that. 

upandaway.

i stumble awake. knowing full well that i am not ready to move from sleep. but the electricity has given way, meaning the fan has stopped blowing, meaning that under the net has become like a little greenhouse. there are so many people here at the moment and half of them are on their way to leave. to go back to where they came from, tambacounda, dakar or the gambia, or even  home to the states! 


it has been raining all day making us all hide inside. although right now it has stopped...for how long...who's to say.
i hear roosters crow. and movements outside. birds chirp. and we are silent in the house. doing our things. 
life is rather amazing.


to think that for the next six months until i leave that these ladies will be my closests. that we will be sharing these spaces. and to think that when we leave, tears will possibly most likely streak our faces. 


i look down and see my foot, covered in some mud. wearing away under the sand and other elements of life. 


for the past while i have been "in training" covering crash course Wolof and cultural aspects to ease our transition into
our new world. on top of that we have been learning much about the organization itself...


the village visit was a definite highlight. to see and meet so many amazing faces. shaking the chief's hand meeting other village elders taking little photos of the children. so magical. so inspiring. a remark on the absolute beauty  of humans. 


after which we came to rest at the volunteer house, which by senegalese standards is a palace and also my new home.
there are two guards on constant duty. keeping us safe. 
there are three terraces staggered on the second and third floors. 
there is a little garden in the back around the patio.
there are so many rooms to sleep in. so many spaces to be in.
it is maybe a palace by american standards even.


all my former ideas on life here in senegal, africa too perhaps, have been shaken out.
certain things are true...especially concerning the time and distance...or lack there of.
but other things...not so much. 
one can find beer and wine here and they are very very cheap. 
clothing is not as rigid as you would believe. 
there are just too many things. 


life here is relaxing. lovely. strange. 
one learns what they need. and the difference between that and what they want.
your priorities change. and you find yourself relishing in your discoveries. 


to learn about yourself and what makes life life.
to learn about others and what makes life life.
to learn about life and what makes you you.
to learn about life and what makes them them.
to learn about the combinations and how to enjoy them proper.


so much. so much.
watch me grow.

is this really only day two?

today. i woke up under mosquito nets like normal.

ate some bread. and went with some other girls to ile de goree.

we bargained for a cab and it took us FOREVER to get there. 

but we arrived. paid tourist price for the chaloupe across the water. the vessel's name was beer.

we made "friends" with a lady who sold jewelry. walked around the ile until we felt some light drops. 

watching the sky go from light to instant dark and all the fishermen and their boats swarm into harbor.

suddenly trapped under pouring rain we found refuge under some tents with a handful of others.

in two minutes of downfall there was almost three inches of water. wow.

when things lightened up and the ground began to dry we proceeded on with our walk.

intimidated by goats we found another way to the castle.

made some other friends and ate lunch with them.

the food tasted like spaghetti-os. not bad but i wouldn't order it again.

on our way to catch the ferry our former "friend" coerced us to look at her goods and "convinced" us to buy something...

on the ferry some rad dudes were beating some rad beats and belting some rad vocals. 

their instruments and ability to play while the boat rocked rocked on and over...was impressive...

back on the dakar shore our other friends proceeded to help us obtain a good price for a taxi.

and then pawned us off with a Wolof stranger who was going our direction...and proceded to try and finish the job of taxigetting.

about an hour later and some rough traffic we finally caught a cab...and then spent another long while getting home.

so much traffic, everyone was in a hurry and get home before sundown so they could finally eat.

took my first shower...and have never felt so alive.

Day one.

It is true. I have arrived. Early in the morning. The man sharing my row mentioned to me upon finding out that I was going to Dakar/Thies that I would feel at home. He was not far off. Disembarking and going through the motions of customs bag xray smallglassroom meetinggreeting walking through muddyrainstreets shakinghands riding to chambredepassage at 6am when everyone is asleep finally falling asleep myself...it is real. AND like I said before, I have arrived.

My moments here begin in the rainy season. Everything was soaked with prior moisture. I awoke to humid heat and bright sun(shine). I rolled around wiping the dreams from my eyes. Life has suddenly become surreal versions of linguistic customs and other obscure oddities. My new roommates, some of which are staying, others which are going, invited me to join them for brunch...I dress in a lesslong skirt and a light white-t-shirt...slap on sandals and prance downstairs...the sun is so intense and bounces off the rubble. The piles of rocks and tile that are strategically placed so as to improve the drivability of the roads during the rain often are nuisances when the rain is gone. My first taxi ride...the two veteran girls bargain get a decent price and we hope in only to hope out two seconds later when the driver changes his mind...new cab and we are on our way...brunch yum, honey pancakes freshpressed apple juice. Then N'ice cream...obama flavor delicious. And I was under the impression you couldn't get good icedtreats here...The lighthouse next where we sat on the cliff face soaking in sun listening to the waves looking out over the city. It was a long walk but so worth it! Right next to here is the symbol of African Renaissance...the largest sculpture in the world. Yes, the largest...and at the same time slightly ridiculous, but totally amazing. Back home in time to skirt the rain...sitting on the rooftop with the girls listening to the loudspeakers shout islamic prayers. Buying some bread and yogurt...then time for sleep...