Returning

We made it.

It might sound like nothing, but travelling alone with a toddler from San Francisco to Senegal is not an easy thing to do. It's not something I want to do again.

The waiting room at JFK bustled with people waiting for the Dakar flight: The fifty-something woman doing Tai chi next to the window, a group of peace corp volunteers exchanging stories, a senegalese man and woman talking in wolof. I watched an american couple rifle through a Senegal guide book and felt, strangely, like I might offer advice if asked.

When had it happened to me? I understood some words in wolof...I understood french. I understood that some people were returning to their home, the place they were born. Some were returning to the place they had made home: working for the embassy, NGO's. Some, perhaps like the woman doing Tai chi, were returning to a place they loved like home. And me?

So much had already happened in our six months of travel. We spent two months in Paris like tourists, visiting museums and monuments; we loved it, we hated it. we felt at home, we felt homesick. Then on the eve before leaving for Dakar we discovered something: I was pregnant.

To say it made the transition to Dakar a little rocky would be an understatement. It was hot when we arrived in November. Mosquitos were everywhere. We couldn't find a place to live and then when we did, it turned out to be the landing path for all the airplanes coming into the Dakar airport. That first night it felt like were being dive bombed from above every hour or so. That and the general sense of living amongst rubble and dust and I felt like we were in a war zone. It didn't help that french and american military jets were practicing above the city that first month in Dakar. So we moved out. lost some money in the process. Looked for a new place. couldn't find anything in our price range. Expanded that price range. and finally, the third week, we moved into the apartment where we live now.

On Friday (Saturday) I returned with my two babies, one who had been screaming and kicking for much of the second flight, the other, thankfully, still tucked away, a part of me. I walked out toward the baggage claim, a heavy backpack on my back, an exhausted toddler in the stroller and I thought, almost there. You only have to get your baggage, make it through one more checkpoint. The door is over there....

A group of men approached me, offering to help, wanting my money, I walked right past them. I chose who I wanted to ask for help (because I did need help). I negotiated with him in french. 5 dollars...I only have five dollars. He helped me with my bags and got me to that door where Jon was waiting.

That night we were all lying in bed. It was well past midnight and we were awake. There was a mosquito net over us. Outside we heard chanting which would continue throughout the night. Maggie was crying a bit when she said to me, "mama, I want to go home...I want to go home to nanny's," and I thought, me too. I want to go home.

I looked towards the window. I felt sadness. I let the sadness sit there for a moment and then let it go. Again and again I let it go. We are here. I know that looking back this will be one of the most enriching experiences of my life. But for now I just have to make it through each day, to see the beauty in what is right in front of me. And there is beauty.

A market day in Dakar

Nan nga def? Ummm...Maa ngi fii rekk?

Khadim and two friends sit under the shade of a makeshift shed on Cheikh Anta Diop. On the street buses and taxis speed past. Car rapides pause to hustle more passengers in; often they are so cramped that passengers dangle precariously from the open back door, their only footing a thin step. The street is mostly demolished from construction. In the past two weeks I have watched the shoulder disappear completely. In its place is a giant trench. Red dirt is everywhere; workers take a break in the shade of construction equipment. In fact it seems that all of Dakar is under construction, with most projects appearing abandoned at mid point. Everywhere there are cavernous buildings that look like the remains of some horrible accident. Only they aren't the remains--they are a potential, a promise, unfulfilled.

Each day I walk on Cheik Anta Diop on my way to the bakery or the Club Atlantique. Always, Khadim and his friends are sitting in the same spot, Khadim selling drums, his friends selling baskets and shelves, all of which they have woven themselves. If it is only Maggie and I walking, they seldom call out or say hello, but if Jon is with me they will yell across the traffic of the street, waving. We stop to chat and each time it is the same exchange.

Khadim wears the most western clothes of the three--large, dark sunglasses, red basketball shorts. He leans back into his chair with attitude then reaches out to shake my hand. The others are dressed in a way I have seen many men in Dakar dress--cotton pants, faded tee shirt and sandals. They smile more freely, but all three are warm, friendly, and genuine.

The official language in Senegal is French, but the most commonly spoken language is Wolof. It is less common for westerners to speak Wolof, and so when Jon greets everyone he meets with the traditional Wolof greeting, they smile and seem to open up.

I, on the other hand, do not speak Wolof. I try to pick up on what I can, but it just seems to whizz by. So when Khadim and his friends try to test my language skills I usually don'y get very far before I stumble over my words and look to Jon for help. They laugh at me. Try to teach me. Today they said in french "your husband should teach you Wolof. It is good to learn Wolof." I laughed.

I really love the Wolof greeting. It takes time. Everyone pauses and has a real exchange. I better study because tomorrow or maybe the next they will ask me again. Practice, right?

So here it is, the Wolof greeting (with a bit of Arabic borrowings). I've only ever made it as far as Maa ngi fii rekk. What about you? Yow nak?

1: Salaam malekum - Peace be upon you

2:Malekum salaam - Upon you be peace

1: Nan nga def? - How's it going?

2:Maa ngi fii rekk. Yow nak? - I am here only. And you?

1: Maa ngi fii rekk. Naka waa ker ga? - I am here only. How is your family?

2: Nu ngi ci jamm. Alhamdulilah. - They are in peace. Thanks be to god.

A birthday Meal

The simple things in Dakar are not always so simple. Take cooking. Today is Jon's birthday and he loves mexican food. It's been awhile since we've had basic tacos, and I think I can safely say, it will be awhile more. But I wanted to make him something...something like mexican food.

First step, tortillas. There are no tortillas in Dakar. Homemade tortillas would be a simple fix, right? So I found a bunch of recipes that use lard, and resolved to replace the lard with butter. I'm getting ready to start mixing the tortillas and I realize I left our baking powder at the last apartment we were living in. And unfortunately, its a holiday today, so we won't be going to the store. (more on that later). So now, I'll just have to make the tortillas without the baking powder. I'm not sure how this will turn out, but I'm just hoping they work well enough to wrap whatever it is that I manage to make for filling.

At the store yesterday I found green peppers, onion, and chicken. Ahh chicken fajitas, right? There's no sour cream or avocados, so these will be VERY simple fajitas, but hey it's something, right?

Cheese. This one should be simple, but have you ever tried emmentel in burritos? its pretty awful. I opted for the fake, orange, american cheese slices. I will cut them up and hopefully they will approximate jack cheese.

Salsa. There's no salsa, but we've got tomatoes and onions. Maybe I'll add a little garlic? No cilantro, but it will have to do.

And finally, cake. The ingredients are hard to come by, but I found a chocolate cake mix that will have to do. Unfortunately, the apartment we just moved into doesn't have any oven safe baking dishes. I am resolved. I'm going to try cooking in a bowl. We'll see what happens.

I'll let you know how things turn out! Next week, Thanksgiving, where I hope to make use of my $14 celery!

Happy Birthday to my wonderful, sweet husband.

Homesick

I can't tell you how much I've begun to miss things. How it aches. How I am sometimes so sad and I just don't know if I can do this. It started in Paris, but here in Senegal this homesickness has grown. In the morning I lie in bed thinking about how I will make it through the day. Just one day at a time, I tell myself. One day at a time. I put on a brave face for my daughter because I want her to feel all the things I don't feel: settled and safe. But sometimes I crack. Lately I've been cracking a lot. I cry in front of her. I break down. Is it going to get easier?

Everyone I meet says it will--get easier that is.

I want to report to you all the things I've seen in Senegal. I want to tell you about this city I'm living in. But I can't; not yet. Hopefully, it will get easier. Until then, I will share with you what I can.

some images from Dakar

Paris Neighborhood

Stealing this from my sister's blog. I love this and love the band, but I hadn't seen this video for awhile and just realized it was filmed around the corner from where we've been living in Paris.

#93.3 - BON IVER - For Emma, Forever Ago
envoyé par lablogotheque. - Regardez la dernière sélection musicale.