Firing up the ol’ Gene Pool again to share a few musings on my West African travels thus far. Will be heading out in a few hours with my faux wife and anthropological adventure buddy Juliana to a much more remote area of the country, so wanted to get an update out to those who requested one before internet gets questionable. Kind of trippy to reread (well, skim) all these emotional posts from Nicaragua I wrote three years ago while traveling through another developing country that is in some ways very similar and in some ways a polar opposite...
Anyway.
I’m three weeks into my two month sabbatical/leave/self-exploratory-journey (shabbatical?), and have been having a rather disconnected but incredible series of experiences. Straight off of a series of nutty last days at work, I headed off on a 5-day resupply mission with my buddy MIke to bring our friends Hannah and Noble some fresh goodies and fresh company as they made their way down the 220 miles of the wildly beautiful John Muir Trail. Going from nonstop work-computer time to the most remote wilderness I’ve ever visited was jarring, to say the least, but I haven’t felt so free in ages. On my way to Dakar, stopped off in DC for a series of too-short lunch dates with some of those hardworking DC folks and a “glamping” (glamour camping aka car camping for the uninitiated) trip in Shenandoah National Park (I got the party tent!). Then NYC for a quick send-off from a few friends and my parents, and then...Dakar (via a 22-hour journey by way of Frankfurt and Lisbon). Phew!
Instead of a “blow-by-blow” (likely tedious), thought I’d break up some on my thoughts on Dakar thus far into a few themes.
Manga janga Wolof, tutti rekk (I’m learning Wolof, a little bit)
This is the first extended trip I’ve been on where I haven’t had passable language skills in the local language. Juliana could explain the complicated relationship between all the languages used in Senegal far better than me, so I won’t try. Suffice it to say that, despite my best Rosetta Stone-assisted efforts to teach myself French the past few months, I’m basically still at the “greetings/where is the bathroom/thanks!” level with some additional (and usually chuckle-inducing) phrases bastardized from Spanish. Which would be sort-of fine, except that (despite being the official language of the country), French isn’t the native language of anyone here, except tourists, expat NGO workers, and maybe some super rich folks. Everyone else grew up speaking Wolof or one of the other 20-odd regional/tribal languages that get thrown around in the street.
And Wolof is HARD - no sound-the-same-as-English words + nasalized consonents (ng, nd, mb...) + no standardized spelling + not much internet documentation makes for a rather steep learning curve. Juliana’s near-fluency is impressive and totally essential...people open up so much more when you address them in their native tongue, rather than the forcibly-educated language of their past colonizer. She’s been a great teacher, and now that I’ve moved slightly beyond the one exchange every tourist learns (nanga def/maangi fi - how are you, i’m fine/here [convenient combination for a blog title]), I get a lot more smiles (and slightly cheaper cab fares). My crowning acheivement thus far is “ndax am nga dox” (is there any water). Of course, my 10-phrase vocabulary will likely become obsolete as we head out tomorrow towards Kedougou and the aforementioned 20-other tribal languages...
Urbanism Stuff
Putting on my Urban Studies hat, Dakar is a fascinating city. It’s come pretty far along, development-wise (lots of cell phones, computers, Western-style interiors, cosmetics, etc...), but you wouldn’t know it to look at the roads of the fairly well-off neighborhood I’m staying in with Juliana’s homestay family. Garbage is everywhere, the streets are intermittently paved, donkeys share the road with cars, the “soccer field” is a pile of dirt. Mid-sized expensive homes sit next to ruined empty lots or giant construction projects.
Also, the taxi situation is nuts. It’s basically Lyft on steroids (for those Bay Area folks). Literally every third vehicle on the road is a taxi, albeit a taxi with a good luck hair charm dangling off the back and a barely held-together body. I’ve never waited more than 30 seconds for an available cab, even in Dakar’s sprawly/”suburban” neighborhoods. Sounds like basically everyone with a decent job doesn’t bother with a personal car, and just cabs it around...wouldn’t you, if you could get directly where you wanted to go for cheap whenever you wanted?
Teranga (generosity/hospitality/Senegal’s claim to fame slogan)
Even with my overuse of the colonial overlord language, people here have been overwhelmingly friendly and open. The feeling of community is pervasive, especially as it’s Ramadan, and everyone has an excuse/need to gather together in the streets every night and share food, drink, and laughter. Juliana let me tag along when she visited some of her closest Senegalese friends for ndogu (break-fast) one night, and it was a rollicking seven-hour affair including massive plates of food shared between ten people, a marathon two-hour chanting session in an adjacent room, and distant “family” members popping in and out. Plus, people are just...outside. All the time. Forget hanging out in the living room, bring the TV out to the curb, and chat with the dozens of people who pass by your house every minute.
Whoof, it’s way late...kissing my luxurious home stay goodbye (the self-directed mobile bidet thing is actually quite refreshing) in three hours and grabbing an early morning sete-place (seven seater car) across the country!
Much love, and I’ll post again when I can, inch allah (mandatory for ANY statement that references the future...I ain't gonna post if G-d doesn't will it).
Gene
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