Khady Ndoye au Mariage!

This past weekend I went to a wedding with my family. I'm pretty sure the bride is my cousin, somehow. She came by the house a few times during her preparations, and I vaguely remember an explanation of how we're related. That said, we seem to be related to everyone I meet, so anything is possible. I'm probably related to that herd of sheep down the street. They're pretty baaawesome though, so its cool. 

Anyway, my mother, Mbegue, is pretty much the coolest lady in Ouakam (that's the neighborhood of Dakar where I live), so she knew basically everyone at the wedding. Each person I introduced myself to was super excited to discover that I was Mbegue Ndoye's (adopted, temporary, weird American, toubab) daughter. Naturally, we showed up around 11, because my mom had to help prepare all the food for the day, and my sister was in the wedding party, so she needed hours and hours to fix her hair. Literally. It looked brilliant when it was finished though, so entirely worth the extensive effort. 

So while my mother and my sister were busy being useful members of society and the family, I pretty much sat around different places playing the role of the super awkward, lonely American girl. (I swear I was typecast). At first I sat outside and watched some women cutting meat and vegetables (for kebabs later! excellent) and a man making fataya (also excellent). Then my mother ushered me inside for a while to chill in someone's bedroom with the small children. Mohammet and I became fast friends, which was great. We played with his rubber band for a while, and then we played tickle monster and took some funny pictures. [insert pictures of Mohammed]

Somehow I ended up sitting in the salon (by that I mean living room, not the hairdresser's) for awhile after that, introducing myself repeatedly to the distinguished women who came in and out. Then in the hall some older women formed a circle and proceeded to have a really loud discussion in Wolof of which I understood absolutely nothing. Me and another small child (this time a super cute young girl) watched from the sidelines, as it were. She certainly understood much more than I did, but she didn't seem to want to enlighten me about it. (its likely she didn't speak any French either). Actually, she was generally mute all day; but she had the most beautiful, expressive eyes of anyone at the wedding. Large, discerning, a little sad, but not at all frightened. Kind of compliant in a way that made you think she knew more than she let on (which, to be fair, was nothing), but she was going to go along with the charade anyway, silently. 

Soon after the loud council of large women about matters of consequence, we all sat down for lunch. I should clarify here that by "we all" I really mean the entire world. There were hordes of people there, and this was only the bride's family's side of party. Literally hordes. If we had been orcs, Saruman would say we could have likely destroyed the world of men. Hence, lunch was a pretty big deal. We ate in groups of 4 or 5 around sharing large plates of ceebu yapp (rice with meat, always good), some people sort of floating in between groups, picking up handfuls of rice as they went.

After lunch I sat around again for long periods of time with different assortments of ladies. Notable among these was Khady Wade, who is always really excited to see me because we share the name "Khady." Later, she stiffed me 500cfa for a taxi home and tried to get me to marry her son.

I also spent some time with a lovely young girl who found me absolutely hilarious in every way. Things about me she laughed at: my hair, my sunglasses, my birthmark, my skin color, my inability to speak or understand wolof, my funny faces, my chapstick, the list goes on. We shared some good times until I went to the bathroom and Khady Wade told her to leave me alone. (Khady Wade and I do not really see eye to eye on what it means to share a name, apparently.)

Later, I spent about 20 minutes sitting on this nice woman's lap because there weren't any chairs and she insisted. I am not one to refuse an order from a commanding elder, especially when I don't really know many ways to politely refuse in Wolof. She gave me a brief explanation of the wedding ceremony and was generally incredibly friendly, despite the bony toubab sitting on her lap.

After I got left out of the dessert plates being passed around, my mother ushered me over to follow a lovely girl I'd never met to the reception, about five minutes away. The reception consisted basically of a ton of chairs facing a tent with prettier chairs and tables and cake. The bride and groom proceeded with the wedding party up a side aisle to the tent. For the next 3 hours (or more) everyone in the world lined up to take pictures with the bride. (Not so much the groom, just the bride. I guess he wasn't pretty enough.)

Eventually, I was ushered back to the house, where I discovered a large contingent of loud elder ladies sitting basically around a small group of important women in green, including my host mom. I settled in to observe (and maybe fall asleep) but alas, was accosted finally by griots. Griots are a caste of musicians and performers who show up at ceremonies and celebrations, especially weddings, to entertain. You are expected to pay griots, and they will sing your praises. Of course, no one told me how much you're supposed to pay a griot. So I gave this large, loud, purple-clad woman merely 100CFA, and the entire crowd burst into laughter. But only because she proceeded to sing a song about Khady Ndoye the toubab who only gave her cent francs. Soon after, my host mom ushered me into some other rooms where people laughed at my funny toubab ways, and then she sent me home with Khady Wade. All in all, ridiculous, but fantastic. I don't think I've ever been laughed at so much in my life. :)

Jai Fonde

Yesterday my host sister Bineta tapped my butt lightly and exclaimed, jokingly, "Jai fonde!"  I'm taking this as excellent encouragement in my efforts to mange bien (eat well). Jai fonde (pronounced, roughly, jay fonday) is an expression referring to the size of a woman's derriere, as it were, in a generally positive way. Obviously, I was incredibly flattered by my sister's acknowledgment, whether she was kidding or no. The attitudes toward food, eating, and body image are much different here than they are in the U.S. So far I am loving it. Generally women are encouraged to eat more, because a larger, healthier woman is a sign of a good family. Also, the Senegalese seem to be much more open about discussing changes in body weight, which they warned us Cosmo-educated, Victoria's Secret-consuming American ladies of during orientation. Personally, I've been enjoying a refreshingly different approach to food consumption since I've been here. 


In my Education & Culture class (in English) on Tuesday, our professor (a Fulani Senegalese man) began the lecture with a discussion of love and Valentine's Day in which we compared desirable characteristics in the opposite sex between Senegalese and American culture (heteronormative discussion, I know. more on that later). At one point, after explaining the desirability of larger women, he threw out the term "fleshy floppers" which I am still trying to interpret.


Over dejeuner (lunch, the largest meal of the day in my house) one day three of my aunts (my host father's sisters) explained to me that "il faut bien manger" so that no one would think my mother was crazy. If I don't eat well (in other words, if I appear too skinny), people will think that my mother is crazy for not feeding me well. I assured them I definitely did not want anyone to think my mother was crazy and commenced with the tucking in (comme toujours!). I'm usually the last person eating at meals, and I am always offered more bread (have to stock up on those carbs so my dear mother looks sufficiently sane!), which I absolutely love. We have bread at nearly every meal here. Its of the fluffy French bread variety, which I especially enjoy. Breakfast in my house consists of bread and spreadable chocolate with a mug of Nescafe. What could be better?

Uploading photos takes forever

This is my host mother, Mbegue, with one of her many stuffed animals that decorate the living room. This one is a lion wearing a hat and a sweater, which is ironic considering the 95-degree weather here and the snowstorms in the States right now. She also has a Barney, Tweety, dolphin, and a bulldog with a cigar. 

This is Mas, my host mother's younger brother (so my uncle, oncle, tonton), holding another member of the stuffed animal collection. He is even taller than he looks here, and is often disposed to completely stretch out on the smaller of the couches in the living room so that his feet stick a good foot over the armrest. 

The two following pictures are of the Suffolk University - Dakar campus where the CIEE office is, and all of my classes are held. Its very open and beautiful, and most of the classrooms even have air conditioning. I spend most of my time here, which so far has been wonderful. 

Mboolo moy doole

There are so many new people in my life here in Senegal, and I have yet to really do them any justice, which is entirely unfair of me. I'll start with the lovely family who has taken me in for four months:


My gorgeous host mother, Mbegue Ndoye, or "Maman", has the most infectious laugh. Even though she is usually laughing at something in Wolof that I do not understand at all, I can't help but join in. She laughs with her whole body, rocking back and forth, thoroughly enjoying every moment. Her laughter puts me at ease; even when it takes me ages to explain the simplest of ideas, we can always laugh about it. She is always so engaged in the moment, whether its a meal, a conversation, or explaining something to me in our combinations of French and Wolof. Sometimes she'll just call my name, I'll answer (coming out of some crazy lost place in my thoughts with a "uuhhh Oui?") and she'll burst into laughter. These are some of my favorite moments. 


Her husband, my host dad, works at the airport, which is right next to our neighborhood. I'm pretty sure he's involved in signaling planes with lights, or something like that. They tried to explain it to me my first night, and that's as much as I understood. In any case, his work hours are kind of wonky, so I never know when he'll be around. He speaks more French than my mom, but his accent his more difficult to understand. He seems to really enjoy talking with me anyway, which I appreciate. Sometimes we watch football or Senegalese wrestling together (which, by the way, is super cool. More on that later), and he explains things to me. The other night we had a really interesting conversation about Senegalese people and nonviolence. He is so proud of his country and his religion, it was so interesting to hear him explain the differences between Senegal and Cameroon, where he told me he studied for 9 months when he was younger. I really appreciate his commitment to his ideas, and his willingness to share them with me. 


Bineta, my sister, just turned 24 on the January 28th. When I told her it was my sister Meghan's birthday the next day, she immediately insisted that all January birthdays are best, which obviously I had to contest. Pretty sure she won the argument, as her grasp of the language is markedly better than mine. That has sort of been our difficulty so far. She seems to think I'm a little slow, so she doesn't really put in the effort to talk to me, not that I blame her. This weekend she came with me and a few other students on the program to the beach near our house (about a 10 minute walk), and I made her promise to come swimming next time. So excited there will be a next time! We also had an actual conversation one night while I ate a replacement dinner she made me. (I was having obvious, but not for lack of trying really hard, issues eating this crazy peanut porridge with runny super sweet peanut-y sauce. Sure, it sounds good on paper, but try eating a huge bowl of it for dinner. Everyone completely understood my failure to swallow one of their favorite dishes, and they surprised me later with scrambled eggs and fries. Awesome!) We talked about America and chewing gum, among other frivolous things. There is hope. 


There are also some frequent visitors to our house, specifically Ousseynou and Mas. Ousseynou says he lives across the street, but I'm not so sure, because my friend lives across the street, and she's never seen him. Then again, he also reeks of marijuana about half the time I see him. Things with Ousseynu are unclear. He's a shorter man, and he speaks some English (mostly greetings) and he really likes my iTunes. (Not that I can blame him, I have a pretty sweet collection of tunes.) He also seems to know everyone in Ouakam. Interesting guy. 


Mas is my mom's younger brother, and he is super tall. He looks kind of out of place indoors (in a Hagrid sort of way), and he's always making my mom laugh. He is also the only person I have ever seen praying in my house, usually during football games. I especially like when he pauses mid-prayer to watch the game. Mas makes a lot of ataya (this crazy cool tea drink here) with my dad, and he enjoys teaching me useful phrases in Wolof, even when I make him repeat everything four times so I can write it phonetically. The other day he borrowed my Wolof phrase book to make copies because he also wants to learn English. I'm hoping he'll let me help him, a sort of repayment for all his help with my Wolof. 


The Senegalese are really big fans of proverbs. I think we have discussed proverbs in half of my classes so far, and its only the second week! The title of this entry translates loosely to "The people/unity are the strength." One of my other favorites is "Nit nittay garabam" which means "Man is man's remedy" (but the pronoun is gender neutral in Wolof). The best, though, and it really truly characterizes Senegalese society is: "Ndank ndank moy jap golo ci nay" which literally means "Slowly slowly that you can catch a monkey in the bush." My mom has said this to me more than once, and you can see everywhere the measured, patient approach that the Senegalese have toward life. I'm so down with West African time, which is how we call the fluidity of time and appointments here. I think I was born on West African time. 

Waaw, Ce Degg Degg

The titles of my two most recent posts are in Wolof, which I have decided is a super cool language. Its straightforward, and there are so many amazing little phrases and proverbs in it. For instance, "ce degg degg" has about the same uses as "vraiment" en francais. For you non-francophone readers, it basically means "reallyy(?)" in all sorts of inflections. So if someone says something outrageous, you can say "ce degg degg?" with a really incredulous look on your face, and they should reply "Waaw (yes), ce degg degg." Awesome. When you next see me, ask me how to pronounce these things, as I find phonetic spellings challenging.

To continue where I left off, after excellent lunch, we have more class. Today for lunch, Kat and I went home with our friend Alex, because he lives nearby (in Mermoz, the same neighborhood as the school). His mom made some excellent rice and meat dish, which the three of us ate around the bowl. I'm now totally into eating around the bowl. It seems a much more natural and logical way to eat. Less plates, less waste, more community. Just one instance where the contrasts between American and Senegalese society has made me reexamine American norms. Another example: toilet paper versus teapot (right now, I'm still erring on the toilet paper side of things).

I generally finish classes at either 4:30 or 6:30, which is way late, at least I think so. Of course, we don't have dinner here until around 9ish. This has been an adjustment for me. When you transit cultures, the essentials reveal themselves so clearly. At home, I don't often consider the normal characteristics of my most necessary habits, like meal times, recipes, toilet seats, toilet paper, hot showers...

Also garbage. There is no institutionalized disposal system here. From what I've seen, garbage is dumped along the streets (but not along all streets, some walls have spraypainted orders against peeing or dumping garbage along thing, with a fine of 6000CFA, about 12 dollars), and groups of women sweep the streets every morning. There are larger areas of more concentrated garbage that you often see people/families/children sifting through. A lot of my family's garbage is fed to our solitary goat tied up out back. I'm trying really hard not to make friends with him, because I'm pretty sure we'll eat him eventually. He bleats at the most inconvenient times, so right now I'm not too attached. On that note, also not too attached to the roosters that seem to think dawn occurs at all hours of the night. What is with that? (though I think I'm becoming rather attached to both these animal noises, and will miss them when they are gone to the chopping block, as it were).

Ce Degg Degg

Since I've now finished a full week of classes (plus today, Monday) I think its best if I describe a typical week day for me in Dakar.

My classes start at either 9AM or 11AM, which means I need to catch the bus before 8:30 or 10:30. So I wake up later than I should, drag my butt to the shower, which is always cold, after which I am actually awake. My sister puts out hot water, Nescafe, bread, and Chocolion for me every morning. The bread here is fabulous, and we have it at every meal. Kind of my dream, just a little bit. Chocolion is one brand of chocolate spread here, its all over. Sort of like Nutella. Which I am totally down with eating on my bread chaque matin (every morning).

After wolfing down my chocopain and Nescafe (sometimes I burn my tongue, because I am toujours en retard), because my family gets confused/hurt if I don't eat my petit dejeuner"Il faut bien manger" and all that, I walk about 3 minutes to the bus stop (le terminus). Apparently, the buses run on the half-hour, but my experience is that they run every 10, 15, or 30 minutes. Or whenever they feel like it. The bus costs 150CFA one way (about 20 cents American), and it takes about 10-15 minutes to get to school. Its always super packed in the mornings, so you really get to know the people next to you. The bus rides to and from school have been really great -- public transportation gives you such a great perspective of the people and the infrastructure of a city. Here, the bus goes places buses would never dare go in the States. Like sandy alleys lined with cars and shops.

Classes here are two hours long, and we pretty much have class all day until 4:30 or 6:30. Lunch is from 1 to 2:30 (or 4:30 if you don't have class), so a lot of students that live in nearby neighborhoods like Mermoz go home for lunch. I can only make it home on Tuesdays for le dejeuner, so its extra exciting. Last Tuesday my dad's mom and his sisters were over, so we spent lunch laughing about how much Wolof I don't know. Well, really, they spent lunch laughing at me, which was fun too.

Instead of going home, I generally buy my lunch at the super cool little red shack next to the school. They make awesome sandwiches for little more than $1American, plus these samosa-type things called Fataya for only 100CFA (about 20 cents). Excellent.

Its beginning to get dark here on campus, so I'll probably head back to Ouakam on the bus pretty soon. More coming soon!