TIGblogs - Lea Lupkin's TIGBlog

T-1...

Thu, 15 May 2008 09:05:00 EDT

Sama biir dafay metti.

I've rarely drank milk since arriving in Dakar -- a little bit here and there in coffee or tea, otherwise it's powdered milk or nothing. Milk is difficult to keep and expensive. So why did I drink milk today, you may ask? Well, Brighton and I succumbed to our craving for cereal and milk today at the toubab supermarket, caving into some muesli au chocolat and a carton of creamy milk.

With a bounce in our steps we returned to WARC to indulge in our granola-like cereal and heavy milk.

And now I have a stomachache.

I did not expect to have a negative reaction when readjusting to the food I typically eat at home, but apparently the milk is not settling well in my gut. That's what I get for being impatient and indulging in a toubab pleasure before I actually leave Dakar.

Anywho, Andre, the amusing director of the Wells College Dakar program, accompanied me to Goree Island yesterday. It's one of the top sites to visit in West Africa and particularly in Senegal, as it was one of the 3 main sites for the transatlantic slave trade for 4 centuries. National Geographic's sole picture of Senegal is of the Maison des Esclaves, located on Goree. I'll upload pictures to my photo gallery when I get the chance. Here's a couple:

And one from my short trip to Saint Louis this past weekend, taken at a random spectacle at a school we passed by. These dudes ran around simultaneously frightening the children into tears and encouraging them to cheer and clap and dance. Oh, Africa.

I leave for the airport tomorrow night around midnight. On my plate today: finish Lit paper, bake cookies, take pictures of host family, and pack. T-1..!!

The Sunday we visited Paradise

Tue, 06 May 2008 06:05:00 EDT

This past Sunday Hannah, Brighton, and I ventured to l'Île de la Madeleine, a small archipelago off the coast of Dakar and one of the most beautiful places I have ever had the pleasure to visit. iExplore describes it as a, "protected marine park of approximately 480 hectares (1200 acres). The rocky nature of the archipelago, thought to be of volcanic origins, has favored the establishment of numerous colonies of sea birds." We arrived on the island just after noon, took a short tour with a guide (it's very small, so not much to see) then spent 3 hours lounging around a lagoon and climbing over the stunning rock formations. Words and pictures cannot really do justice to how gorgeous this place in all its roughness and purity, but I'm giving it a try.

View from an incomplete rock structure. That's a picturesque baobab tree in the middle ground, and the coast of Dakar in the far background. The guide informed us that a genie protects the island and does not permit men to inhabit it, so this structure by a missionary was never finished because the genie kicked him off the island. Right on, genie.

Red-billed Tropicbirds, Phaethon aethereus: These birds breed here and are a large reason this island is protected and attracts bird-watchers. The guide took us directly to where this mother was hatching her eggs.

The lagoon which we spent several hours admiring and 30 minutes to finally get all the way under, due to it being much colder than we expected.

The clearest water I have ever seen in my entire life.

Climbing over rocks. Stunningly beautiful in its starkness and rough edges, and also a bit painful for the bare feet.

The awe-inspiring work of nature.

2 Weeks

Fri, 02 May 2008 08:05:00 EDT

In 2 weeks I will leave Dakar.

Everyone says they are surprised at how quickly their study abroad semester passes. I’m not. I wasn’t prepared for much, but the pace did not surprise me. The first month went unbelievably slow, the middle period was normal, and the last month has been a blur. All in all, life here is life, just like it is when I’m at school, or it’s the summer, or I’m home in Florida…Life passes, we breathe, people die, babies are born, we move, and life goes on. “Le monde bouge, le monde change,” says Camara Lye in L’Enfant noir. The world moves, the world changes. We move and change along with it. Another change has come and gone in my life. Now I’m moving onto several new changes. C’est la vie.

In 2 Weeks, These are the Top 10 Things I Will Miss:
10. Haggling the price on items – although this is sometimes quite stressful, it can be fun as hell.
9. Weekend adventures to nearby exotic locations…
8. Getting teased relentlessly by my host brothers.
7. Mbalax = Senegalese dance and music.
6. Impressing Senegalese people when I can hold a conversation in Wolof.
5. Bissap and bouye (hibiscus petal and baobab fruit) juice available nearly everywhere here in Dakar.
4. The awe-inspiring limbs of Baobab trees that crawl from the ground right into the sky.
3. Daba, my host cousin = the beautiful and clever little sister I never had.
2. Eating meals with my host family, gathered around a large tray on the floor of the TV room -- particularly theiboujën (rice with fish and either tomato-based sauced or bissap-based sauce), mafé (peanut and tomato sauce over rice), and theiboukétcha (rich with dried fish).
1. Learning something entirely new and foreign every single day, and always being reminded to take life “danke danke” or “doucement” -- slowly.

In 2 Weeks, These are the Top 10 Things I Will NOT Miss:
10. The dilapidated state of cats and dogs that roam the streets of Dakar.
9. Staring at professors in a stupor because they're speaking French at a level I only dream of reaching one day.
8. Feeling guilty for wanting the Senegalese price for items.
7. White bread all day, everyday.
6. Being told point blank that I don’t speak Wolof or French well enough, even though I speak well considering I’ve only lived here for a few months.
5. Taxis honking at me at least several times each day.
4. Getting accused of being racist because I do want to purchase items from vendors or dance with creepy old men in clubs or bars.
3. Men requesting that I take them back to the U.S. with me, "because there isn't enough money in Senegal to go around."
2. Turning away young children in ratty clothing who ask me for my change, because I cannot bear to support the perverted system of Talibes.
1. POLLUTION. The soul-crushing, lung-collapsing, headache-causing air and land pollution that plagues Dakar, namely the disgusting black fumes that come from Ndaiga Ndiayes (small buses run by the Mourides) and the trash that lines nearly every street in this city.

Before I leave I still need to finish 2 papers, visit Isle de Gorée and hopefully Isle de Madeleine as well, get pictures printed as a gift for my family, and purchase a few more souvenirs. I would also like to visit Sine Saloum Delta, but that is contigent on me finding a travel buddy for a couple days my last week here.

Here’s a poll: Should I bring home my djembe (2 ft. tall drum) or a wooden chair? Both are hand-crafted with beautiful designs, heavy amp; bulky (though the chair less so, because I can fold it up into my suitcase, whereas the drum I’ll have to carry on the plane with me), and serve a purpose (music and seating, respectively). What do my readers think? (Check out pictures below. The drum looks very similar to the one here. The chair would be about half the size pictured here and better carving. Don't mind the random child in the picture.)

Gamou

Mon, 28 Apr 2008 08:04:00 EDT

I'm really behind on updating on the events of my study abroad...

Over a month ago I left Dakar for a few days with my host brothers to go to Khelcom, the site of 15 Mouride coranique schools. The occasion was Gamou, the Muslim celebration of the birth of their prophet Mohamed. Louise described the trip best as we sat on the bus waiting to depart:

"Lea, I think this is going to be one of the least fun things we do in Senegal, but one of the most interesting."

That it was -- an extremely interesting and telling Senegalese experience, yet I would hesitate to call it "fun" in any particular way. For instance, we sat on the filled coach bus with dozens of senegalese people for 2 hours before we actually left. It took us around 10 hours to get to Khelcom, arriving around 1am.

The good parts of the trip:
-- Piles of food, including fruit, salad, tuna, beignets (donuts), and real milk in our coffee.
-- Lots of curious children
-- Children chanting in Arabic
-- AMAZING insider view of the Mouride brotherhood, a Koranic school, Islam, and Senegal
-- Visiting the arachide (peanut) fields
-- Practicing my Wolof
-- Visiting the gorgeous Grande Mosque of Touba

The negative parts of the trip:
-- The exaggerated gender boundaries
-- THE ABSOLUTE HOTTEST I'VE EVER BEEN IN MY ENTIRE LIFE
-- Wearing a head scarf, which made it ever hotter
-- Getting treated like stupid foreigners
-- Not quite being up-to-par in speaking Wolof
-- My camera died halfway through the trip
-- Meat, meat, and more MEAT

-- Sitting around the majority of the time not doing anything in particular and not being able to help with any tasks
-- Learning that the Khelcom peanut farming contributes heavily to deforestation, but there isn't much interested parties can do because the Mourides are exempt from many standards.
-- Receiving a lecture from one of the women because I asked where my water bottle went when I woke up Thursday morning and all the bottles were gone. She told me that all is shared, and that individual property doesn't matter. But I was just thirsty.
-- Not seeing my host brothers that often
-- Getting begged by women at Touba for money; them calling us "Mamdara", the mother and most famous female of the Mourides
-- Did I mention that it was F-ING HOT?!?!? I must've said "Dafa tang torop" ("It's very hot" in Wolof) at least 30 times during the trip.

Other occurences that don't quite fit into one of the above two categories:
-- Getting interviewed on camera by a couple of the men, to express our American perspective on the Mourides
-- Discussing polygamy with a couple of the women, including one asking me to set her up with one of my American guy friends
-- Discovering a half dozen people staring at me from a doorway and whispering amongst each other while I was brushing my teeth
-- Visiting the Mouride holy library in Touba

My visit to Khelcom and Touba for Gamou was by far one of the most important experiences of my sojourn in Senegal. The other experiences will have to make up for the unpleasantries.

The National Sport

Mon, 21 Apr 2008 08:04:00 EDT

I'm finally getting around to posting about Lutte, the national sport here in Senegal. I attended a big match at the Senghor Stadium weeks ago. It was nuts. Something like a 50 Cent concert and a WWF match and an American football game and a Senegalese club scene all mixed into one.

The main attraction was Balla Beye vs. Gris Bordeaux competing to qualify for the "world" championship, I believe. Several small lutte matches are held beforehand to keep the crowd entertained, as well as a drumming troupe, balloons, and a really terrible MC.

Lutte is basically like American wrestling except that there's only one round and the fighters wear outfits like sumo wrestlers (man diapers, you could call them). You lose if your back or all four limbs touch the ground.

At this big match, the lutteurs come out and run around the stadium to get the crowd pumped up. And man, oh man, were they pumped up. The guy next to me was losing his mind, I believe. He actually hit my head at one point while flailing his arms around. I moved for my safety, obviously. The guys in front of us were very amusing, dancing and going only slightly crazy with excitement.

There's about 2 hours of pre-game before the actual match, which lasted approximately 15 seconds. Balla Beye won the match. Immediately, the crowd started storming the field. I've never seen anything like it for 15 seconds of fighting.

The match gave me a great view of Senegal's national sport. I'll be happy to steer clear of any others like it, however.

Attitudes toward women

Mon, 21 Apr 2008 07:04:00 EDT

I have had some interesting interactions with my family members over the past few weeks that I would like to recount:

One day my youngest host brother, Khadim (25) , and I approached the foot of the staircase in our house at the same moment. Out of habit I paused out of courtesy, but also out of habit expected the guy to let me go first, as is generally custom in the states. We did the little who-goes-first awkward shuffle and I chuckled and said, "apres toi" (after you) as a joke. He replied (translated here), "Of course I go first, I am a guy and your brother."

He was completely serious.

(I can just here some people out there now saying in an indignant tone, "OH NO HE DIDN'T!!")

I was somewhat floored by the statement, followed him up the staircase, and pondered it as I entered my room. In the U.S., many of my guy friends make sexist jokes in an effort to irritate me and other women. But in the vast majority of cases, they are merely joking, and do not truly hold those sexist opinions and/or value chivalry. I am not describing this incident to say that I am always a fan of American chivalry, for at times it can certainly be condescending and based in true sexism. Nor am I mentioning it to claim that my host brother is a chauvinistic pig. My host brothers are really quite nice and treat me with respect, even with all my Western ways.

The second relevant interaction occurred when I was reading an article for Gender amp; Development in our family room. My oldest host brother, Damai (29), asked what I was reading. I showed him the article entitled, "Les Femmes chefs de famille a Dakar" which was about women as chiefs of their families in Dakar. Damai took one look at it, gave a disbelieving chuckle, and said, in effect, that women are never chiefs of the family in Dakar. Once, again I was floored by his outright belief that women couldn't possibly be the head of the household in his community, just as Khadim outright believed that I should follow him because he is a guy.

These small incidents demonstrates to me a cultural difference between Senegal and America that I greatly appreciate. Women in America really do have advantages over many other women in the world, and it is evidenced in these daily and fundamental interactions. When a man assumes that he has a ride-away, so to speak, over a woman just by the nature of his being a man, this indicates a culture that degrades women just by their virtue of being women. When a man cannot believe, because of his culture and religion and upbringing, that a woman can run a household in his city because men always have to be chiefs of the family, this indicates a fundamental belief in the inferiority of women.

From my experience and studies, I have learned that societies which hold women to high esteem tend to be more tolerant, sustainable, and balanced. I just do not see how Senegal can improve and grow without changing these fundamental attitudes which subjugate women.

Now maybe I can figure out how to say all that in french to my host brother next time he cuts in front of me at the staircase ;-)

Well here's a first

Thu, 10 Apr 2008 07:04:00 EDT

I dreamed in French last night.

Seriously.

I don't remember much of the content, but I know for a fact that I woke up at some point during the night and realized I had been dreaming in French.

Also, the other night I dreamed that I missed my flight coming back home to the States. And my dog and cat were with me at the airport. Bizarre.

Ohhhh dearest Mefloquine, the things you do to me.

BY THE WAY, I'm working on several posts. They're good ones too, pictures and all! Hang in there with me, they're coming soon.

Good Signs

Thu, 27 Mar 2008 05:03:00 EDT

I had a couple great language experiences recently. The Sunday before last we ran out of eggs and bread for dinner so I went with Daba (my host cousin, she's 16) to get more at the corner boutique (perhaps 100 ft from our house). The boutique was closed, however, so we had to walk farther to another, which also ended up being closed. On the third try, we found eggs but no bread. The fun part, however, was that while I was in the boutique and spoke a couple sentences in french, a soldier who was there buying something asked me if I was french or canadian. I told him American, and he said that couldn't be true, because he knows the accent, and he didn't hear it when I spoke. I told him I'm definitely American, he didn't have to believe me, and then spoke to him in English to prove it.

I do not want to give the impression that I have become a phenomenal french speaker -- sometimes I can barely get by, particularly when I'm tired or I'm not familiar with the subject matter or someone has a difficult accent. But it felt damn good to be mistaken for a native french speaker by a Senegalese person.

Then last Sunday I went with Hannah (my new British friend who is doing PhD research here) to Brighton's house for Easter brunch. Her host mother is Christian and my family is Muslim so we obviously were not celebrating at my house. I was very interested to see how a Senegalese person celebrates Easter and also to meet Brighton's family. Her family is small but her cousin had several friends over.

Some of the Easter bunch. Missing Aicha (my "name twin" as she called us), Abdou, Demba, and Hannah.

We had a great time drinking, eating, and talking in a mix of English, French, and Wolof. Out of me, Brighton, and Hannah, I'm the best French and Wolof speaker (Hannah's only been here 3 weeks and Brighton isn't bad but doesn't practice quite as much as I do). Therefore, they were all really impressed and amused by me. Everytime I'd say something in English to Brighton or Hannah, they'd tell me to say it in Wolof or French, and if I could they'd holler praises and shake my hand. Typically I'm around Chris or Louise with my family and they both speak better french, and Chris is phenomenal with Wolof, so this was a nice change. They were also all really wonderful, easygoing people, and I loved the opportunity to interact with Senegalese women in their 20s (its not easy to do around here) and also to see a young Senegalese couple interact (my first time).

In sum, these were some good signs that I'm really learning languages here. Still have a long way to go, but I'm making progress.

Ils m'appelent...They call me...

Thu, 13 Mar 2008 12:03:00 EDT

A few people have asked about which name I chose for myself here in Senegal after collecting votes at the beginning of my trip via this blog and email. Your votes were tied, and I ended up keeping both. My host family calls me Léna, therefore anyone that comes to the house is told that as my name. Yet on the streets of Dakar when guards and vendors demand my Senegalese name, only Aïcha seems to satisfy them. At WARC, Josephine calls me Aïcha. The guardians on Avenue des Ambassades (near my house) called me Aïcha (emphasis on the "a", as it has more attitude that way). Awa, the adorable young daughter of the woman who washes the clothes at my house and whom is fascinated by toubabs, gets innumerable pleasure out of shouting "LÉ

NA!" in her most high pitched voice every week when I arrive at home (she is pictured below).

The other Americans calls me Lea. My brother Khadim likes to call me by my full real name, which is amusing because of his accent when he pronounces the "Lupkin".

In conclusion: I go by many names. I like to think it keeps life interesting.

Shower by candlelight

Thu, 06 Mar 2008 12:03:00 EST

This morning the electricity was out when I woke up to take a shower. The electricity goes out about once a week, yet this was the first time it went out in the morning (usually happens at night around dinnertime, I assume when most people are home and electricity use is highest).

Consequently, I took my shower with a candle in the bathroom. Showers are always with cold water, that's nothing new. Since it's cold water I don't keep the water running I just use it to wet and rinse. Made me feel like I was in a very poorly planned romance scene in some movie or TV show.

Felt like sharing this little event.

Excursions Out of Dakar

Wed, 05 Mar 2008 11:03:00 EST

First of all sorry about the lack of posting the past month. I just really started getting the hang of living in Dakar and was prioritizing that over writing blog posts. But I'm getting back into it...there's so much I want to tell you...!

Almost a month ago we had a "cultural excursion" to BAMBEY and NGOYE. Bambey is a fairly well-populated town 100 km east of Dakar and Ngoye is a Sereer village closeby. Sereer is the 2nd or 3rd largest (statistics vary) ethnic group of Senegal (Wolof dominates Dakar, however there is also Jola, Pulaar, Sereer and others throughout the country). Prior to our weekend, I knew little about sereer culture...except how to say the equivalent of "hello, how are you" which sounds like "nafio". Makes me think of Hook (rufiooooo!). No? I'm the only one? That's OK.

In 2 days of traveling, I took about 375 pictures. When Lea takes that many pictures, she had a good weekend. I could try to reiterate the weekend here in my blog, yet I honestly feel the best anecdote can be told through my pictures. I posted 200 on my photo gallery (link on the right of this page).

The only part I liked to discuss here briefly is the children. Everyone in America has seen the commercials. You know them, you know them well. The one with the children with the big bellies and marks on their faces and flies all around. It's here, it's definitely here. Yet this is not the village of Ngoye. The children look healthy and they are not begging. They are kind. They are warm. They grab our hands and hold them like we're best friends. They don't care that we can't communicate with them except through hand signals and throaty noises. They are obsessed with my digital camera. The girls and boys kept wanting to touch it and see images of themselves in the back of this big black contraption. Absolutely fascinating for them, and for me too.

--------------------------------------------------------

Then almost 3 weekends ago I left Saturday morning for TOUBAB DIALLO, a small fishing village not too far south of Dakar at the northern tip of the La Petite Cote. Notice the name is Toubab Diallo -- toubab is the name for foreigner here. A Frenchman named Gerard opened up a hotel there a few decades ago and started a small tourist attraction at the beautiful coastal village. I'm not sure if there is a connection to the name, but I wouldn't be surprised. I'll have to find out...

The excursion went like this:
--Brighton and I leave 8am Saturday to begin what was purported to be a 1.5 hr trip to Toubab Diallo.
--Trip ended up taking 4 hrs. Very cheap, however doused with fumes from the thick traffic and terribly ventilated bus.
--Beach for the afternoon. Gorgeous.
--Kicked back on the deck of my waterfront hotel to read my african lit book (L'aventure ambiguë) and observe the fishermen and kids on the beach. First time I've watched the entire sunset since I came to Senegal. Extremely peaceful.
--Expensive dinner shared with Brighton.
--Deep slumber in the hotel room (I hadn't slept well the night before. See blog post "More dreams").
--Tasty chocolate banana crepes and tea for breakfast at a restaurant on the beach.
--Bombarded by Americans. Toubab overload.
--Got our asses kicked by some powerful waves.
--Laid down to soak up the sun.
--Other 4 in our group walked on the beach, leaving Brighton and me to exchange stories, only to get interrupted by a Senegalese man who decided we needed company. Made good conversation with him in french and wolof -- about politics, Teranga, traveling to Europe, America. Then the conversation went downhill when he pledged his loved to me, and tried to convince me to be his wife. He said we could move to Europe and live together. How about...no. Brighton looks on in bemusement and irritation.
--Purchased some gifts for folks at home from a women walking on the beach with items in a bucket on her head, only to stop the man from talking to me. Brighton watches me struggle to get rid of him and haggle with the vendor lady.
--2 hours later we manage to finally drag Jack away from his attempts find the guy who failed to give him correct change and get in a Sept Place (station wagon with 7 seats) to go back to Dakar.
--3 hours of terrible traffic and arguing with the driver later, I arrive at home.
--Maman is not happy I have returned home so late. She uses the formal "vous" again with me, after having used the informal "tu" with me for weeks.
--Lather on some aloe vera for my burns, and sleep like a baby.

2 Successful excursions out of Dakar. I have definitely have the taste for travel now, and all of us are realized how much more beautiful and peaceful the other regions of Senegal are than the capital, Dakar. I'm planning to go to the southern region of the country, Casamance, for spring break. My only trouble is deciding to bring my very valuable camera with me or not -- robberies are more common in that region. Any advice?

More dreams guest starring...

Mon, 25 Feb 2008 05:02:00 EST

And one street down from Nightmare Rd., make a right on Strange Street...

Situation: At school, I was completing a PR project for Whitney (my boss in the PR Office).
Setting: uncertain
Freaky factor: I botched the project, which I think was some sort of public event, and everyone was disappointed in me. Then I ended up pondering what I could've done better...in a bathroom?

Theeeen...
Situation: A film screening
Setting: Roanoke College
Freaky factor: Andrew Orr (for those of you that don't know him, a current senior at Roanoke) was guest starring as a rock star. Drew, if you ever read this, I must assure you that in my dream you rocked pretty. And you had your mohawk back.

AND THE FREAKIEST SO FAR...
(Preface: Immediately before falling asleep, I was reading A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers. The portion was about him dealing with a manic depressive friend of his who threatened to commit suicide. The book is comical, but what follows is not.)
Situation: Walking back and forth to school.
Setting: The construction site near my host family's house in Dakar.
Freaky factor: The Bootstrap Bill character from Pirates of the Caribbean, the father of Will Turner/Orlando Bloom. In the movie, he is cursed to live on a pirate ship in the sea for a century, and therefore has barnacles growing on his face and is gray with deterioration from the sea.

As I walk back and forth past the Suma emergency center (this is right near my house in Dakar), Bootstrap Bill is outside, pleading to me that he is going to kill himself if I don't do anything about it. I continue to walk back and forth past him. He consumes paint thinner, as a first suicide attempt. He begins to look quite sick, meanwhile already appearing repugnant from the decades of marine degradation (from the pirate ship, of course!). He keep calling out to me, and I keep walking past. Then, as I walk past for the final time, he points a gun into his chest and shoots. Blood pours from the chest, mouth and eyes. He falls to his knees, trembling, and mutters, "You could have stopped this. This is because of you." I keep walking.

At this point , I woke up. It took me some time before I could drift back to sleep, because the image of Bootstrap Bill, grayed, poisoned, blood pouring out of all orifices, kept creeping into my mind's eye.

When I woke up in the morning and attempted some psychoanalysis of my nightmare, I decided it may have something to do with my subconscious desire to help the beggars whom I pass on the streets, daily features of life here in Dakar. And perhaps a subconscious knowledge that I can't help everyone, but still I want to..?

One thing is certain: the mefloquine is working it's mischief on my dreamscape.

And the freaky dreams begin...

Fri, 15 Feb 2008 11:02:00 EST

When I created this blog on the premise of recording my experiences while taking Mefloquine malaria prevention pills, I feared that the side effects would not take hold enough that I had any interesting dreams of which to tell.

Fear not. The freaky dreams have arrived.

First stop...
Situation: I brought Quinn home to meet my parents.
Setting: I think it was a mix of my home in Florida and my house here in Senegal.
Freaky factor: I set the stove on fire. But my Mom and my stepfather were there telling me just to "let it burn, there's nothing you can do." Quinn went along with the idea, which annoyed me that he was siding with them. We closed the door of the kitchen to let it burn, then realized the cats were in there. I wanted to save them, but again they said just let them be. "They'll be fine."

2nd stop...
Situation: driving in a car with my Mom.
Setting: on a highway in Florida
Freaky factor: Ever seen Groundhog Day? The movie in which Bill Murray kept repeating the same day over and over? Well in my dream (more like nightmare) my mother and I kept witnessing/getting into car accidents. Over and over. One was particularly gory, and actually caused me to wake up in cold sweat. A bunch of cars stopped short and piled up in front of us, a car flipped over, and people were launched out of the vehicle, then more cars kept driving into the pileup and running over the people. We watched all this from another lane -- my mother and I were unharmed -- but she started having a panic attack. I calmed her down and prevented her from getting out of our car, cooing "There's nothing we can do." Anyone see a pattern here?

I've had several more dreams since, but do not have to time inscribe them here today. Un autre jour...

That'll have to do for today.

Best Photo of Last Week

Fri, 08 Feb 2008 12:02:00 EST

Winner: The monkey at the outdoor art gallery at Isle de Ngor made this lovely this face at me when I approached him.

Baking a Cake, Dakar style

Mon, 04 Feb 2008 10:02:00 EST

Since day 1 with my host family my brothers have requested that I bake a cake. I wasn't aware of this assumption about Americans, yet it seems my brothers believe that Americans really like cakes and all American women can bake them.

I don't bake cakes often, and we didn't know how easy it would be to try to do so in Africa, but Louise (my American roommate) and I decided to give it a whirl. Louise found a fairly simple chocolate cake recipe online. This past Sunday we shopped for the ingredients at a supermarket identical to one you'd find in America. Toubabs galore in there. How long did it take us to get a few ingredients for a cake? An hour and a half. And 35 mins for traveling. And we didn't even get everything we needed. Here were most of the problems:

1) we didn't know the french term for baking soda, or really most french baking terms
2) we had an american recipe but needed metric system measurements
3) a small bottle of vanilla was over $8
4) we didn't know the size of the cake pan our family supposedly owned or if they had any measuring utensils
5) we didn't want to spend more than $20 on baking this one cake, but some of these luxury items are very expensive (see #3)

We ended up with most of the ingredients for a recipe that we found on the back of a cocoa powder box (already in french and metric measurements). When we got home, however, we realized that it was much more complicated than we originally understood. We scrounged through the 4 french cookbooks owned by our host family looking for another recipe, but then decided just to try the original one. Two stops at the corner boutique later (for eggs, baking powder, and sugar), we starting mixing. No, they don't use luxury items like electric mixers, wisks, or measuring cups. We did manage to find something that had liter measurement on it, however. Using my handy conversion sheet, we managed to get everything measured, mixed together, in the pans, and in the oven.

Less than 60 minutes later, voila! Two bread loaf-like chocolate cakes (the cake pan wasn't big enough) with chocolate frosting -- Dakar style.

Our family called it a success and absolutely loved it. We took the second cake over to a neighbor's house and saved a piece for Habib, another neighbor who calls himself un gourmand (a glutton). Louise and I honestly felt like the cake wasn't very good -- too dry and not very flavorful -- but our brothers requested that we teach Daba how to make the cake before we leave. We plan to try making a raspberry cake and chocolate banana bread during our stay as well. Although this baking venture ended up quite complicated, what an adventure it was.

Going with the flow

Sun, 27 Jan 2008 02:01:00 EST

[Last summer, Billy Parrish advised me and the other Energy Action summer fellows to send an email every few months to the people we care about/have networked with to keep them updated on our lives. I thought it was a great idea, and have finally started. The following a slightly modified version of that email.]

Dearest readers,

You are probably reading this if in some way or another you have inspired and/or aided me. I planned to study abroad here for over a year. 2007 marked several important milestones in my life – I took risks, I became part of a national movement for clean energy, I started dating one of my closest friends, I lost a member of my family. I had the opportunity to work with and learn from some absolutely amazing people. I laughed a lot, got a little wiser, and gained a little more fire.

Each of you has been a part of that and I thank you.

Now, I am here in Dakar trying to fuel that fire. This experience truly bares the body and soul. I want to challenge myself because the more challenges I can handle, the better equipped I am to fight the big fights in life. And, man, oh man, there are some big ones to fight.

Please keep up with my experiences abroad by checking my blog and my photo gallery (http://picasaweb.google.com/lnlupkin). I try to update both at least once a week. I welcome your updates and comments on my blog. If you would like to contact me, all my information is below.

This isn’t goodbye. It’s hello.

Warmly,
Lea Lupkin
Email: lnlupkin@gmail.com
Mailing address:
West African Research Center
Fann Residence
Dakar – Senegal, BP 5456
Cell: (221) 77-787-6709
Skype: agentgumbi
MSN messenger: lnlupkin@hotmail.com

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Three weeks ago I arrived in Dakar, a fairly developed city on the coast of West Africa. Senegal is considered one of the most stable, democratic nations in Africa. The formerly French colonized country is built on the Muslim faith, African tradition, and French democratic legacy. Dakar is extremely modernized in many respects, but also extremely rough around the edges, so to speak.

The word to live by here is Teranga, which means hospitality. Indeed, my family has been extremely welcoming. Papa, a retired law and anthropology professor from the nearby university, is intelligent and kind. Maman, a teacher at a local school, has a air of power about her. Even though this is a patriarchal society, women here are not dominated. They are sassy...and I like sassy. My three brothers -- Damai, Bass, and Khadim -- are well educated men in their twenties, still living at home. They are quick with the witty remarks, treating me very much like a little sister. Two cousins live with us: Daba, who goes to school nearby, and Mariame, who works at a local bank. Daba and I amuse each other, particularly when she attempts to teach me Senegalese dances and I botch them just to make her laugh.

My host brother Damai with the family "dog" (it's a sheep).

Me with my host brother Bass under the open center area of our house.

The language barriers are daunting -- what with the common use of Wolof, the dominant native language, and my intermediate command of the French language – but I get by, of course. My comprehension of French has already improved dramatically in a few short weeks, and I can hold a decent conversation in Wolof.

Classes began 2 weeks ago at the West African Research Center where I'm taking 5 classes. Yet they haven’t really started in terms of a workload or consistent class schedule. Literally more than half of my classes have been cancelled. Things certainly work differently here. Much less efficiency, strict scheduling, and haste.

As someone said succinctly yesterday night, “Here, it’s about going with the flow.”

Here I go.

Life as a Toubab

Thu, 17 Jan 2008 05:01:00 EST

"Toubab" is the label here for foreigners. There's a considerable number of toubabs in Dakar. The great majority of people are Senegalese, but one does not have to wait too long before seeing an Arabic, French, Moroccan, Korean, Portugese, or American person on the streets or in a car.

A bunch of toubabs on a bus, on our way to Lac Rose and Keur Moussa Monastery.

Let's bottomline here, though. I know what plenty of my friends and family are wondering about my venture here to Africa and what I myself was pondering before my departure: what is it like to be a white foreigner in an African city?

I've been trying to find the answer to that question and it's complex. In general, I'm just another toubab here in Dakar. I'm treated like a human being -- like anyone else. I stand out, for sure, but I'm not outstandingly special. Yet life as a toubab in Dakar takes some adjustment. First, there's the fact the not only am I white, but I'm American and female. Therefore, most people associate the following with us white American girls:
a) $$$$$$$$$
b) accustomed to luxuries
c) marriage and green cards
d) American rap and hip hop

The street vendors overcharge us for almost everything. Everyone asks if we know Akon (he's Senegalese), 50 cent, or Nelly. The taxis honk at us constantly. The children begging on the street flock to us because they associate us with one thing: DOLLAR.

The other day while I walked around a market with my cousin, a little girl spotted me, yelled "TOUBAB!", ran over beside me and smacked my hand. She didn't persist as some of the children begging for money do, yet that extremely brief interaction persists in my mind as one of the most telling experiences of my time here so far. It's difficult to express how bizarre that felt. A little girl interrupted her playtime with her friends by virtue of seeing a white person, half-expected me to respond positively to her shouting and hitting me for money, then immediately moved on back to her playtime when I responded with a smile instead of coins. I do not tell this story to elicit sympathy for the young girl -- she appeared to be healthy and happy. Nor do I tell it to elicit sympathy for myself. Rather, I tell it to make sure that I can return to it after I live here for several months and am at a better position to analyze the situation. For now, I just need to figure when to give away my money and when to resist.

Then there's the pick-up attempts.

My time in Senegal has reinforced my belief in the importance of biology, namely courting rituals. Sure, humans have evolved into the most complex creatures on this planet, and we like to think highly of our species. We not only look for someone (or several someones) with whom to "mate" but to "love". Spinoza called love "joy accompanied by the idea of an external cause." Yet we're still animals. We still need to mates to thrive. And man, oh man -- men sure do try to thrive.

Proof #1 A week ago I jogged around a little and some Senegalese guy started jogging with me, made some small talk, tried to get my number. He was honestly a nice guy, it was just odd how he continued jogging with me in the complete opposite direction of his work for about 15 minutes. Then he tried to convince me to memorize his number when I wouldn't give him mine.

#2....Then a few nights ago I went to the pharmacy with brother and a drunk guy who kind of looked like a security guard asked if my brother was my husband, to which I replied no, to which he replied with a smile and a lame pick-up attempt.

#3...Then a few days ago I received one of the worst pickup lines ever from a 20-something year old guy: "Madame ou mademoiselle?" I told him that I have a boyfriend, but that didn't seem to phase him. He asked if I was faithful, I said yes, and he said (translation), "that's okay, you can still have another boyfriend here in Dakar."

#4...Then yesterday morning one of the security guards on the Avenue de Ambassadeurs (where I live) told me that he loved me in Wolof. They move quick here in Dakar!

Ahhh the joys of being a young female toubab!

My new names

Fri, 11 Jan 2008 06:01:00 EST

Sure you may know me as Lea, but this is Africa -- one finds a new identity here.

While walking to a boutique with my brother a few nights ago we stopped to chat with his friend who gave me my first Senegalese name: Aïcha (pronounced Ay-ee-sha). During orientation the program assistants informed us that we'd probably receive several new names during our stay in Dakar.

Then last night Papan gave me another name that my family members have already started addressing me as: Léna. I need to decide which one to start using around town -- it's custom to take on your Senegalese name completely and abandon your American one. So I'm taking a poll here: Aïcha or Léna for my new name?

Here's a recap of my journey to Senegal, arrival, and orientation:

PREPARATION

My preparation went smoothly enough -- plenty of shopping (the bane of my existence, along with high heels), packing, running around the house forgetting why I was running around house...you know, the usual.

I certainly did not have enough time to complete all the tasks I intended to complete or spend enough time with my family and friends before I left but, hey, I'll be back in a few months, right? "The world won't stop turning in the states just because I'm crossing the ocean," I kept telling myself. And the world across the ocean is still the same world, it's just the other side of the same coin.

THE JOURNEY amp; Arrival

Letsee... 7am plane ride to JFK in NY, 7 hours putzing around in the airport, and then 7.5hr plane ride straight to Dakar. Luckily I was placed next to another student in my program, Chris from NYC. We had the opportunity to chat about the experience and get acquainted, a much better situation than stewing in my seat for 7 hours, imploding my brain with too much thinking (which is my tendency).

We arrived in Dakar at dawn Friday, January 4th. Customs was a bit of a joke, or let's just say, very casual. He kept laughing at our cards and passports. I have no idea why but he was amused. What a welcome, eh? Bienvenue au Senegal, HA!

Immediately upon exiting the airport with our bags men offered to help with our bags (for money) and little boys asked us for change. I expected this, since the program materials forewarned that people would constantly beg us for money and try to sell us goods or services, by nature of our white skin. More to come on that subject later.

ORIENTATION

The Wells College program orientation to Dakar consisted of learning the customs of eating, cleaning, familial relations, transportation, adaptation, Muslim culture, security, thievery, beggars, and money. My group consists of 13 students from around the U.S. (Brown, Berkeley, UMD, Yale, Cornell, Missouri, etc.). Everyone's cool and we get along well. I find that it's absolutely integral to staying sane during this transition to have allies who speak my native tongue and can empathize with the experience. The 2 program assistants, Marianne and Josephine, are Senegalese women who speak considerable English and help us adapt. They've helped me when I have trouble expressing something in French or have any questions.

The first day (after I took a 2 hour nap) we hopped on the bus to northern Dakar and spent about 7 hours on a roof under a tent eating traditional Senegalese food (out of large platters with our hands -- nice) and getting acquainted.

Sitting on the roof.

View from the roof.

Traditional Senegalese dish: thie bou dienn (pronounced che-boo-jen), which is rice with fish. 4-7 people gather around one platter and dig in, being careful to stay on one's "portion" (it's rude to reach across the platter to grab someone else's portion). And one eats with the right hand only, as the left hand is considered dirty in Muslim culture. Very tasty dish, and the pimante (hot sauce) is deliciously spicy.

I also had my first experience with the tea-making process, which seems to be extremely important. Ataya consists of 3 stages of tea-making and drinking and includes a lot of "mousse-making", when you pour the tea in and out of shot glasses in an effort to create mousse and, I assume, mix up the tea. I think it's large for amusement and tradition, though. Whatever floats your boat, folks. It's actually quite difficult, and everytime I tried Wally (the man pictured below) would egg me on, "plus haut, plus haut!" (higher, higher!) while I spilled all over the place. Good times.

That's all I can muster for today. More updates on settling in with my new family and thoughts on living in a developing country to come soon.

A bientot...

Teranga

Mon, 07 Jan 2008 11:01:00 EST

As salaam maleikoum!
Nanga deff?
Ca va?

One hears those greetings constantly here in Dakar. Part of the culture here is to greet just about everyone around you. Everyone you pass in the street. Every time you come home from going out, you greet your family members. Every time you enter a room or a house, you greet everyone there.

"As salaam maleikoum"
"Maleikoum salaam" (Arabic)
"Nanga deff?"
"Mangi fi." (Wolof)
"Ca va?"
"Ca va bien." (French)

I've greeted around 50 people today already. And that set of exchanges above will be the entire conversation sometimes. It is just customary to take the time to stop and make sure they know that you care about their well being and the well being of their family. Il est tres interessant.

I'm being kicked out of the computer lab but I wanted to get on here to say that this experience is overwhelming but enjoyable. I'm adjusting.. a bit homesick, but all is well. I will update more fully later this week when I can return to the lab.

Ba beneen yoon!
Until the next time...