I left for
Dakar, Senegal the morning of Halloween, arriving there late the following evening after a day's layover in Madrid. Some lengthy, well-worth-it travel to see my tall, curly haired, white cousin walking towards me once I shuffled my four bags from the belt, through security, to the exit where throngs of Senegalese men shouted for rides, help with luggage and currency exchange. It was hot…even at 11:00PM.
My cuz, David, has been in the
Peace Corp - which traces its roots to 1960,
JFK and the
University of Michigan - in Senegal for a little over a year.
He helped load my/our things into a beat up cab, dents all around like a soda can bomdarded with BBs, and the rear bumper tied on to the small, rusting frame. A dusty road led us by some night clubs, a casino, through a few round-abouts and down an even dustier, dark pot holed street to our
Hotel Fana.
We found a cab driver, Dom, for the week, who we considered a new friend by the end of our time together. From where we stayed in Dakar we rode through Mbour just near, somewhat considered, the city, by the football field sponsored by Orange, through large congested round-abouts on highways that had people, mobile storefronts, and possibly their homes just to the side.
Large white vans are used as a bus system; they speckle the scenery like white paint splattered on a colorful African canvas. Local men hang on the back ladder, virtually pouring out of the vehicle as it slowly maneuvers through the chaotic bustling surroundings literally on (not really next to) the main highway to the South.
Through Fatick we continued our way to his village north of Kaolack on a map.
The most eye-catching, breath-taking aspect of the country and its culture are the women dressed in the traditional garb - colorful boubous, headdress, carrying water or fruit, anything, on their head, with a baby strapped to their back, barefoot…often times speaking on a cell phone. Each time I saw it it made me grin; even towards the end of the trip. Africa.
It was wonderful to meet his host family, to see and experience what daily life is like in rural Senegal. In
Mbam just near Foundougne and the ferry, the family lives in a compound of about 20 including about five younger children. Before we arrived he had told us about his village, his room, and some of his
experience. where he stayed. ‘It has a dirt floor,’ he warned. Ah - nonetheless, we were excited to check it out and became increasingly more intrigued with it all on the trip there.
When we arrived, the mother of the group, who’s children range from ages 47-20, chatted with some of her family in the rather large fenced courtyard that was surrounded by a number of cement sided, thatched huts ranging in size.
It is customary for a man, when he walks into a group, to greet all the other men by hand. Shortly after our arrival the younger boys trickled home from school, stepping confidentially into the group, greeting everyone in this manner. I thought it was a very cool and respectful cultural gesture - although it is not often that a man's hand is extended to the women in a conversing circle.
After a few introductions and plenty of hand gestures, smiles, grunts and cries (by the little girls) we ventured to his hut.
Just days before we arrived he and his friend “Jack” tiled the floor – it looked fantastic. While most of the population in Senegal is Muslim, David’s family is Christian, so he chose a meaningful Bible verse to be mosaic karma for the little home.
His hut is around 12x14 ft with a cement bed - a single- mattress covered by a bug net in the one corner. Adjacent to that is a corner table suitable for a desk, with a bookshelf and the door to the bathroom in the opposite corner, at the end of the bed between the entrance door.
The toilet wasn't too bad really even though the picture looks absolutely horrific!! ;-) There's a nice little plumbing system that flushes well when it little water is poured into the hole. While I had a no problem using it when needed, I certainly kept an eye and ear out for large, speedy lizards and other creepy crawlies...
It was cute really, and enchanting really to the shelf stacked with his books – to feel what a hut in Africa feels like, with my Chicago cuz's flair.
The women in the family appeared to be preparing food nearly all of the day.
Millet is a common grain used in the Senegalese diet. The plant is more closely related to corn, but when ground well, gains a sticky consistency to be more like a polenta. Day in and day out, these ladies would grind the millet - 'you gotta grind the millet'.
Later one morning we watched as one of the mothers taught her two young girls how to carry things on their heads. They were practicing carrying tubs of water to their bathroom so they could have their evening wash. The older of the two, no more than six, could barely reach her long slender fingers to the top of the tub to guide her head for balance.
The younger, between three and five, had a shorter bucket that helped launch water over the edge and into the little one’s face, which she did not like. Mom kindly emptied the bucket some, placed it back on the girl’s head and sent along behind her older sister.
One afternoon when the mother’s youngest came home, a girl of twenty, wearing jeans and a city t-shirt - I was a bit surprised. The other girls had wrap around skirts and t-shirts on, flip flops or bare feet.
As she greeted the group she dropped a small, brown plastic bag by the mother’s side. Shortly thereafter she arrived back with a wrap-up skirt and a bowl of water.
The mother proceeded to open and empty the contents of the now fly ridden brown bag. Without having to look down, she grabbed one of the small fish and began scaling and gutting them one by one. One of the other teenage girls was busy starting the fire in the kitchen to begin cooking, yes more millet, for dinner.
Dinner was a rather traditional dish of grilled fish, a tomato and oil sauce and the millet. It was excellent really, rather tasty although I wasn’t a big fan of the millet which tasted a lot like Malt-O-Meal. The millet was served in one extremely large bowl. Each of us dug a small hole where we poured some sauce and fish. The hole was our personal pocket and dedicated trough.
The nights were rather restful even though a tad warm. There is electricity in the hut, albeit somewhat inconsistent, so we had a fan on. As long as the bug net was on me, I slept peacefully, dancing in the vivid dreams that became so colorful with the aid of Malaria meds.
