Salaamalekum! (malekusalaam!)
A new, improved, sun burnt, fishy-smelling, sandy, exhausted, and awed Meg writes to you today. While my last blog was only 3 days ago...(3? 4? 2? Senegalese time confounds me), looking back at it I realize in a quiet moment of despair that there is no possible way to even skim the surface of what has come to pass so far. Overwhelmed is not the proper world...I' m not sure I have one yet. Big. Intimate. Messy. Beautiful colors everywhere. Goats everywhere. I should be married. Why am I not? My knees are shameful. Americans don't smile enough. I am nice because I said hi when no one else did. Will I give money? An apple? I am so pretty. I want to pet a cat and can't. I'm holding hands with a child even though the health book told me not to. Bread and chocolate is an excellent breakfast.
- First off: Given an urn and told to use my people-skills and French to discover its significance, use, and occasions when one would use it. An older man says: "It is an incense pot used by women to embalm a room with scent after the rain, or to seduce her husband. You are married?"
- Discover that fortunes can be told with seashells. Gather ten in your hand. Open hand in sweeping motion to spread them across floor. Interpret.
- Find myself in the unexpected role of comforting a child who speaks only Wolof. Handholding commences. -One of my favorite Senegalese bands (L'orchestre Baobab) plays at a local club! SIT students and CIEE students band together to form mass of 25 white students. We take up half of the miniature nightclub, noting that the other half is frequented by very well dressed Senegalese officials. Wonderful music...band spilling off the tiny stage into the dark red and glowing yellow room. We danced conservatively but vibrantly...still noting that the Senegalese always managed to look more elegant. They danced in pairs - beautiful, old, subtle ballroom dances adapted to the pulsing jazz
- French interview and placement exam went well. I think I'm finally becoming comfortable truly speaking my mind in another language. The women interviewing me were charming and lively. Stunning moment: 2 Senegalese women complimenting me on my clothes! These means quite a lot coming from a culture that says: "Eat what you like, but dress according to us". Quite the confidence boost.
-Before meeting a member of my host family for an initial introduction, I felt more nervous than I even felt stepping onto the Africa-bound plane earlier this week. Interesting internal response to an event that I hadn't mentally considered to be much of a big deal.
- Met my host brother! (moving in with family on thurs). His name is Momo (spelling subject to change), he is 22, and he is extraordinarily gracious. I am somehow now directly related to the Minister of Industry and Arts of Senegal (my mother? aunt?...family trees here are like baobabs...big, windy, and impossible to fit your arms around! (let alone your head...)) I will live under the care of Grand mere...who speaks only Wolof. Salaamalekum. Malekusalaam (peace be with you. and also with you.)
- Wolof classes began yesterday. I sound a little like Fozy from the Muppets: "Naka wa ker ga?" I also realized that not only do I need to know French, I need to learn another language in it! Oy gevalt. -Today I turned 20! In celebration, I was dropped in the middle of Central Dakar with a buddy and 5000 CFA ($10) and told to complete a scavenger hunt, eat lunch, find out how much a banana costs, etc...then make my way home via bartering with a taxi driver. (ok, so this wasn't a birthday celebration per se, more like the class assignment for the day.) In the center of the city the roads are covered in taxis, mopeds, men selling newspapers and rags, children begging for donations for Arabic school (a daily ritual teaching humility), goats, cows, trash... and 2 Americans. We met a man named Monsieur Mane (mahnay) who told us about his hometown of Casamance, relations between Muslims and Catholics, the solidarity of Senegal, and his love for watching French horse races on TV. He ended up being a wonderful guide, who took us to his favorite restaurant, introduced us to the owner, and then accompanied us to the bank for security. Truly a wonderful man, with an altruistic heart! When we said thank you, he responded with (loosely translated) :"why are you thanking me? I am to thank you. Welcome to Senegal."
A new, improved, sun burnt, fishy-smelling, sandy, exhausted, and awed Meg writes to you today. While my last blog was only 3 days ago...(3? 4? 2? Senegalese time confounds me), looking back at it I realize in a quiet moment of despair that there is no possible way to even skim the surface of what has come to pass so far. Overwhelmed is not the proper world...I' m not sure I have one yet. Big. Intimate. Messy. Beautiful colors everywhere. Goats everywhere. I should be married. Why am I not? My knees are shameful. Americans don't smile enough. I am nice because I said hi when no one else did. Will I give money? An apple? I am so pretty. I want to pet a cat and can't. I'm holding hands with a child even though the health book told me not to. Bread and chocolate is an excellent breakfast.
- First off: Given an urn and told to use my people-skills and French to discover its significance, use, and occasions when one would use it. An older man says: "It is an incense pot used by women to embalm a room with scent after the rain, or to seduce her husband. You are married?"
- Discover that fortunes can be told with seashells. Gather ten in your hand. Open hand in sweeping motion to spread them across floor. Interpret.
- Find myself in the unexpected role of comforting a child who speaks only Wolof. Handholding commences. -One of my favorite Senegalese bands (L'orchestre Baobab) plays at a local club! SIT students and CIEE students band together to form mass of 25 white students. We take up half of the miniature nightclub, noting that the other half is frequented by very well dressed Senegalese officials. Wonderful music...band spilling off the tiny stage into the dark red and glowing yellow room. We danced conservatively but vibrantly...still noting that the Senegalese always managed to look more elegant. They danced in pairs - beautiful, old, subtle ballroom dances adapted to the pulsing jazz
- French interview and placement exam went well. I think I'm finally becoming comfortable truly speaking my mind in another language. The women interviewing me were charming and lively. Stunning moment: 2 Senegalese women complimenting me on my clothes! These means quite a lot coming from a culture that says: "Eat what you like, but dress according to us". Quite the confidence boost.
-Before meeting a member of my host family for an initial introduction, I felt more nervous than I even felt stepping onto the Africa-bound plane earlier this week. Interesting internal response to an event that I hadn't mentally considered to be much of a big deal.
- Met my host brother! (moving in with family on thurs). His name is Momo (spelling subject to change), he is 22, and he is extraordinarily gracious. I am somehow now directly related to the Minister of Industry and Arts of Senegal (my mother? aunt?...family trees here are like baobabs...big, windy, and impossible to fit your arms around! (let alone your head...)) I will live under the care of Grand mere...who speaks only Wolof. Salaamalekum. Malekusalaam (peace be with you. and also with you.)
- Wolof classes began yesterday. I sound a little like Fozy from the Muppets: "Naka wa ker ga?" I also realized that not only do I need to know French, I need to learn another language in it! Oy gevalt. -Today I turned 20! In celebration, I was dropped in the middle of Central Dakar with a buddy and 5000 CFA ($10) and told to complete a scavenger hunt, eat lunch, find out how much a banana costs, etc...then make my way home via bartering with a taxi driver. (ok, so this wasn't a birthday celebration per se, more like the class assignment for the day.) In the center of the city the roads are covered in taxis, mopeds, men selling newspapers and rags, children begging for donations for Arabic school (a daily ritual teaching humility), goats, cows, trash... and 2 Americans. We met a man named Monsieur Mane (mahnay) who told us about his hometown of Casamance, relations between Muslims and Catholics, the solidarity of Senegal, and his love for watching French horse races on TV. He ended up being a wonderful guide, who took us to his favorite restaurant, introduced us to the owner, and then accompanied us to the bank for security. Truly a wonderful man, with an altruistic heart! When we said thank you, he responded with (loosely translated) :"why are you thanking me? I am to thank you. Welcome to Senegal."
posted by Meg at 12:29 PM
4 Comments:
!
I love the way you write your posts, all excitement and colorful adjectives. I always want to know more.
-How much DOES a banana cost?
-Now that your world is in French and Wolof, is it comforting or disturbing to come here and post en Anglais?
-What of your SIT compatriots? Who are they, and are they holding up as well as you are?
Love and prayers go with you, from the People's Republic of Boulder.
Meg,
Happy birthday. I hope you ate a banana.
Love,
Jenny
P.S. Caitlin says hi. We love you. :)
oh honey, happy happy day! A smile. A child's hand. A brother and grandmere. A taxi. Generosity of spirit. A blessing. A smile. A challenge. Grace. What more could I want for my daughter on her 20th birthday?? sun, moon stars! Mumsy
my darling meg. i am so terrificly excited for you on your 20th birthday, experiencing something that i can only begin to imagine. you are as amazing as the beautiful pictures that your life and stories paint. happiest of birthdays to you, my love.
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