Thursday evening I went to the Centre Culturel Français in downtown Dakar for a wine and cheese soirée. Although I did not meet the European ex-patriot man of my dreams (it is going to happen), I did become friends with some cool Belgians. The atmosphere of this bar/restaurant was so classy; it was kind of like a giant tent with small lights (like Christmas lights) everywhere. After some brie and few glasses of rosé, I found my ability to speak French dramatically improve. We managed to fit six people in a taxi going home.
Taxis here are quite different from those in the US. First of all, they do not have meters - you have to negotiate the price with the driver before getting in the cab. That said, it is not uncommon to talk to three different cab drivers before getting in a taxi. Also, if you want to go to a somewhat obscure location or someone's house, you are responsible for giving directions to the driver. Coming home is generally easy, because most cabs know "ENEA" (the name of my school's campus - I am within walking distance of it). Going from campus is a little trickier. Secondly, the safety of taxis is very questionable. Every taxi I've taken so far has had a cracked windshield and no seatbelts. Since the roads in general do not have any traffic signals, many drivers will go whatever speed, drive into the oncoming lane, or go off-roading as necessary. Of course, taxis are not the only method of transportation. Car rapides and buses are abundant, but one should be prepared to surrender all previous reservations of personal space before boarding one. Also, I've heard many more stories of people being robbed or pickpocketed on public transportation than in taxis, and it is much easier to get lost. And then the third major difference is that one does not need to hail a taxi here. Every single taxi (and there are a lot of them) will pull over for a toubab walking down the street. This gets pretty obnoxious, but it has come in handy due to the crazy tropical weather that goes from sunny to pouring rain in less than a minute.
Friday morning I got my hair braided. It took almost three hours, but it only cost me 10,000 CFA ($20, less than a hair cut!) and will save me from dealing with my hair for a while. September is supposedly the hottest month of the year here, and these braids are cooling off my head immensely. Most Senegalese women have braided hair, and everyone here gets a kick out of a white girl/toubab with "tresses." The woman braiding my hair did a fantastic job; I had no idea my hair was even capable of holding these braids. It does kind of feel like I got botox because my hair is pulled back so tight and I could hardly move my eyebrows at first, but ultimately it was so worth it.
That evening I gave Soso the snow globe I bought in DC. She thought it was very nice, but when I shook it so that all the little sparkles flew up, she loved it and did not stop shaking it for the next half hour.
We had a field trip to Gorée Island on Saturday. This island, just off the coast of Dakar, was used as a port for slaves during the era of Atlantic slave trade. Gorée is something of a paradox. It is one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen - the colorful buildings and old fashioned architecture, the impossibly bright tropical flowers and plants, the cobblestone roads and the way the hills make everything fall right into place - it all seems so perfect. That perfection fades when Gorée's brutal history of slave trade is taken into account. We walked through the "Maison des Esclaves" (House of slaves), where captured people were imprisoned until they were shipped to the Americas. We saw the "door of no return," which was the door that connected the ship to the house/prison. The Masion des Esclaves really put substance to everything I've read in history books. It made me wonder how a group of people, European colonizers, could possibly consider an entire race as subhuman for material gain. Another not-so-great element of Gorée was that we had people following us and trying to sell us stuff literally the entire time we were there. I really liked the market, which had lots of artwork, fabric, and jewelry, but since the place is so touristy a lot of the prices were really high. When I would ask the price of something, the vendor would initially say the price in Euros, and all the vendors were surprised to hear that I actually had the local currency, CFAs. They asked me if I was Canadian, which I found hilarious. By the end of the day I was incredibly irritable from the heat/sun and people constantly following me.
That night a group of us went to a bar/discotheque. As I was walking out of my house to leave, Soso and Elizabeth told me that I could not wear a pair of flip flops, that I had to wear heels. I shuddered at the thought of trying to walk through mud and uneven ground in heels, but for the sake of appeasing them I wore the heels. The bar area was beautiful, it was a giant outdoor patio full of tropical plants and tiny lights. The discotheque ended up being the exact same thing as any club in DC, except for the fact that a lot of the men actually knew how to partner/ballroom dance. Women in the discotheque were wearing even skimpier outfits than American girls at clubs in the US. There were still a lot of creepers though, and I'm going to maintain my opinion that clubbing is just not my thing.
I ran into a problem Sunday morning: I wanted to be alone. Although I have my own room, Elizabeth gives me a somewhat hard time when I hang out in my room and she knows I am not sleeping. If I go anywhere outside of the house, I will constantly have people coming up to me and talking to me or trying to sell me things. There is no equivalent of a Starbucks here, and even if there was, I would not be able to do hw or read there in peace because I stick out and therefore am a target. I also realized that I had not had a good workout once since getting to Senegal, so I called two friends and asked them if they would like to go for a long walk. Soso had a few friends over, and as I was getting ready to leave they told me that I shouldn't exercise because then I would lose weight. Soso also offered me a glass of beer right before I left. Alyssa, Emma, and I walked to a giant statue called the statue of the African Renaissance, and definitely walked at least five miles round trip in the process. I was wearing shorts, and even though I was clearly in exercise attire with gym shoes and such, women everywhere were staring daggers into me. These were not even short shorts, these were long, athletic shorts. I really hope that it is just because of Ramadan, which ends on the ninth.
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