Dem ak jam ak ñewaat ak jam

'Go in peace and return in peace.' Of course this post is long, long overdue. But I'm not going to try to say everything; just the flat facts. I'm hoping that after this, I'll fall into a more regular writing routine.

CIEE's Fall 2005 program in Dakar is over and done. 25 of us have gone home to the U.S., 3 of us jumped to other African countries, and I've heard rumor that one person never left Dakar. From what I saw, everyone's last few weeks in Dakar were perhaps inexplicably wonderful. We fell in love with this city, in love with our families, and a few of us fell in love with Senegalese significant others. In fact I know of at least two people hoping to raise children here. If it's one of you reading this, all my love and support. It might seem totally mad to anyone who hasn't spent time in Senegal, and to any of us when we arrived, but today it makes a bit of sense. My time in the village of Ndiaguene hinted at how hard it is to leave this place without promising to yourself and to others that you'll come back some day. 'Damay ñewaat, Insh'allah.'

(Evening at the infamous 'On the Run' by the Route de Ouakam)
My last few weeks passed really well too, and all too easily. I finally realized what an incredible family I'd been living with; the best I could possibly ask for. In fact we all sat down and talked out every little fault we'd held against each other in the previous months - what hadn't been sufficiently washed/flushed, what was being left in the wrong place, which routines had been forgotten, and when I was coming home too late for dinner. Then we laughed a lot about all of these and talked about how much we'd miss each other.

In these same weeks I also faulted my family once more - I spent more and more and more time outside the house with friends, American and Senegalese. The pressure was on to get to all the restaurants we'd talked about checking out, have all the boubous and assorted clothings that we'd dreamed up made, and record the songs we'd put together with a certain street-corner gang. We also had to cram in the last of our old favourites: attaya, Mbalax/Cap Verdian dance parties, patisseries, and Dakar fast food. Not to mention, of course, seeing as much of each other as possible.

So that explains, though doesn't really justify, why I hardly wrote a blog or email throughout December. Then gradually everyone filtered out of Senegal on various late night flights. I myself went to South Africa to spend Christmas with my grandparents.

I'll give a quick rundown of my journey: My parents came to Dakar for three days to check out 'my life in Senegal.' On the whole, all went well. The hotel was fancy enough - AC, hot water, even jam and real coffee for breakfast - but it still had that vital touch of Senegalese-ness. There was plently of Wolof, a screwy reservation, and a massive over-charge on the rooms when we tried to check out. Being with my parents newly reminded me of the pollution and filth, the broken pavements, and the overwhelmingness of Dakar. But showing someone around also affirmed my confidence here. By the end, though my family was definitely more than sick of hearing me yelling in Wolof while waving my finger at cab-drivers, merchants, and hasslers.

(Classic Senegalese cart and pirogues along la plage de Yoff) The experience was capped off when we showed up at the airport at 4 am only to be imformed that although we held valid tickets for the flight to Johannesburg, we would not be allowed to get on. Of course this was all due to some screw-up 'in New York.' My attempted Senegalese negotiating, from false anger and threats to arm-linking friendliness and finally attempting to offer a bribe got us nowhere. Then a few minutes of my Mum screaming in French and English got her right on the flight. As 'componsation,' my Dad, brother and I were shunted off to the hotel Meridian President, spoken of with wide-eyes as the fanciest in Senegal. President Abdoulaye Wade even takes his motorcade there some mornings for breakfast. The place was nice, but not that nice. I did, however meet half the staff, who couldn't believe they were seeing a Wolof-speaking toubab. It seems only the fabulously wealthy and insensitive dain to stop at the Meridian. Fortunately, I was able to sneak out goodies: stationary, pens, soap, shampoo. Distributed to friends at Sadjo's corner, along with mythical stories about the rooms and service, these drew grins and rapt attention. Senegal finally let us go the next morning, on a plane that was for some reason half-empty.

South Africa was surprisingly normal - just as our other family trips. A few months in Senegal had given me a host of false expectations, however. I'd thought I'd be able to make all sorts of comparisons about food, language, dress, and culture. In the end, I was left a little shocked by western dress, well-maintained and garbage-free streets, functioning cars, segregation of race and class, and the looming threat of violent crime that made me uneasy about walking down the street. Perhaps most of all, couldn't believe how many white people there were and was disconcerted by the extreme lack of sheep. Though visiting my grandparents was at least as stressful and worrying as before, it was really good to touch back with my real family, 'sama wa ker degga degga' as I say in Dakar. Few Senegalese would question the value of spending much money and travelling far to see the family. Maybe a bit of that has rubbed off on me.
(I've posted some photos and explanations on my Flickr album, which is linked to the colourful, shifting photo box above in the right-hand column.)
(Christmas lunch with my grandparents in Durban, S.A.)

And now, I'm back in Dakar. It was strange and satisfying and lonely to come back. Things certainly feel quiet here. The good friends with whom I learned Dakar and through whom I understand Senegal are gone, and that's obviously a little hard. I guess I, like their other friends and family here, am clinging to their promises to come back. (Degg ngeen? Hear that guys?) But my family's overjoyed to see me and Sadjo and the gang are still out there all night - he'd missed two nights of sleep and was totally overexcited by music, fireworks, and people everywhere when I saw him at 4 am, New Year's morning. My January 1 was saved by my hair-cutting friend Delphine, who invited me to Goree Island for the afternoon. It was quiet and lacking tourists and hastlers, so we walked all over the island. Now I've got a bit more time to see my family, excercise, and check out a few more spots in Dakar. Yesterday I ran all over town to organize Pular lessons, and talk to a group called EcoYoff about volunteering/doing research in the Kedougou area for the next 4 months. But more on those plans later. Ba baneen yoon - see you next time.

(Hari Krishna temple / fabled vegetarian restaurant in Durban.)