Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Palmarin
What next to tell? Palmarin, a quaint fishing village about 2 1/2 hours south of Dakar was my destination over the weekend. To get there--if you don't have your own car--you need to hitch a ride. In Senegal that means reserving a seat in a "sept-places" 7-seat vehicle. Well, if you're like me, you're thinking of a mini-van. Well, hate to bust your bubble, wrong again! A sept-place is a 1975 broken down Renault or Datsun sationwagon. That's right. And just like when some of us were kids, you have to climb in and bend your head somewhat permanently to position yourself in the back row. So, for about $8/person you buy a seat in this Indiana Jones adventure and hope that the story has a happy ending. The trip in reality took 4 hours because after 2 hours of unrelenting traffic jams, the paved road became an African red dirt path laden with potholes deep enough for a baptismal immersion. It did not help that the rainy season, which everyone in Senegal was certain had ended, decided to come back with vengeance over the weekend. The road was impassable, as the stationwagon swerved from edge to edge valiantly trying to dodge or minimize the unforgivable terrain. At wits end, the driver decided to head off into the bush with the vehicle trying to find the much narrower, yet more stable donkey-and-cart path. So, there we were, in the middle of the jungle. I felt like I was in a scene of a Vietnam war movie, trying to run away from--or sneak up upon--the Vietcong. Now at times, a donkey or horse did show up on the path, but if you're reading this, you know which side won! So, Palmarin, you ask, how was it?...Absolutely divine. We found an "encampment" right on the beach to call home for the night. Palm trees, tropical flora, white sand beaches, lazy waves, meandering cows, goats, dogs...all sharing and adding to this picture perfect scene. I went with Inge, one of the other Fulbright teachers, and Abdoulaye, our "first" Senegalese friend. Ablaye, as his friends call him, is from Palmarin, and he wanted to take us to his home and village. His mother was wonderfully hospitable, as she cooked meals for Inge and me, while she, Abdoulaye, and everyone else fasted on account of Ramadan. It was so beautiful and unselfish an act. She and everyone there embodied genuine kindness, and now I know why so many people fall in love with Senegal...
Thursday, September 25, 2008
The World Is Small
I am ready to go to bed, but I just had a really cool Skype experience. I was able to connect with my sister and brother-in-law and see my niece Soraya and my nephew Najib for the first time in a month. I then got to see my mom via Skype at my other sister's house. I have been skyping now for about 2 hours and it's been so cool. The best part was when I was talking to Felipe, he was telling me his sister, Fefi, in Spain was having problems with downloading Skype. So, what did we do? He instant messaged her, while I sent her Skype as an email. Felipe and Naomi helped Fefi download it by giving instructions over the phone and through instant messanging, and within two minutes I called her using Skype in Spain and saw her, and then we did a conference call among us all! So, here I am on the African continent, Fefi on the Iberian peninsula in Europe, and Naomi & Felipe in North America, and we were all talking together...for FREE!!!! Some things in life are truly amazing!
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
First Impressions-Sept 18, 2008
I'm here in Dakar, Senegal. WOW!!! I've traveled a lot, have seen many different places, but had NO clue this place would feel so different than everywhere else. Clearly the fact that I am trying to settle here instead of just touring around is a major source for my sentiments. The extremes: poverty, excessive wealth, pollution, breathtaking bluffs overlooking the ocean, villas, aluminum shacks, mercedes, 30 year old mini-buses with double the number of people they technically should carry, aggressive and harassing vendors, potholes the size of Comerica Park, mud and impassable roads when it rains, unbearable dust and humidity when it's not raining. That's the lay of the land. The people: smiles, generous with their time and assistance, love to laugh, sympathetic to my transition period and cultural shock, everyone in the country smiling all day while fasting because it's Ramadan, people sleeping on cardboard on the sidewalk or under a truck in the middle of the day because they're so hot and tired from not eating.
At some point I'll get used to this living surealism; right now it's fascinating and fatiguing.
There you go, a glimpse into my world on September 18. Next Tuesday I meet with someone from the Ministry of Education who will tell me what school I will teach at, as classes do not begin until the first week of October. I've been spending my time adjusting--which honestly has taken more effort than I could have ever imagined; navigating bureaucracies and utility companies and repairmen to get working internet, running water, etc; and attending intensive language classes in Wolof, the dominant tribal language of the country--which has proven to be much fun.
Saturday I'm leaving the big city for the first time for some R & R at a seaside resort about 2 hours south.
At some point I'll get used to this living surealism; right now it's fascinating and fatiguing.
There you go, a glimpse into my world on September 18. Next Tuesday I meet with someone from the Ministry of Education who will tell me what school I will teach at, as classes do not begin until the first week of October. I've been spending my time adjusting--which honestly has taken more effort than I could have ever imagined; navigating bureaucracies and utility companies and repairmen to get working internet, running water, etc; and attending intensive language classes in Wolof, the dominant tribal language of the country--which has proven to be much fun.
Saturday I'm leaving the big city for the first time for some R & R at a seaside resort about 2 hours south.
Smiles all around--Sept 23, 2008
Today is a great day. I saw Ahmet. He stopped me on my way to lunch to wish me well. Who is Ahmet you ask? Ahmet is the “guardien” (security guard) in a very important residential area across the Corniche from my apartment building. One day I was walking back from the shore where I discovered the nearest beach, and as I was walking down the street, not knowing if I was on private property, Ahmet approached me and greeted me. When I asked him if I was on a private street, he reassured me that I was on public property, but the mansion he guards belongs to a Construction baron who is Lebanese, of course. The houses next door and behind the Lebanese belong to former cabinet ministers of the government, while the house kitty corner to the Lebanese right on the water belongs to the Minister of Finance...who knew?! In his explanation I thought he asked me if I was Lebanese, yet he understood that I asked him if he were Lebanese! Of course, with 100% Black Senegalese skin, that was NOT the case, but I did proceed to tell him I was of Lebanese origin. He then began to sing the praises of the business acumen of Lebanese in Senegal. I was quick to tell him that, as for me, I was not one of them...unfortunately, I think. Ahmet told me to come back and visit him often and he would show me around. So today when he saw me, he wanted to know why I hadn’t come to visit and when I would; I told him tonight or tomorrow. My colleague said that soon I would know all of Dakar. Remember Elie, when we all called you “Mr. Detroit”?! That part of the Lebanese genome I do share.
This morning I, along with my two colleagues, met with Ibrahim Ba who is reponsible for English language instruction for the Ministry of Education. I went with his assistant Marie, and Dieynaba Toure from the U.S. Embassy to the school where I would teach. It is, in fact, Mahib Lo’s school, the school of my exchange partner who is now at North Farmington. We arrived unannounced into a decrepit room that looked like it was used as a conference room or the teacher’s lounge. One long table with irregular chairs, one working flourescent bulb and three or four broken or missing bulbs hanging precariously from the ceiling. The paint was a dingy yellow, pealing everywhere, and hanging down in patches of 2 square feet. Baas Diop, the principal, was in his cotton shirt and sandals and graciously welcomed us into the space. Again, he did not know we were coming, nor did he know who we were! We proceeded to tell him that I was one of the American Fulbright teachers, and wasn’t he aware, that the Ministry had assigned me to his school. Unphased, he said he had not yet received word, but he was happy to have me. He said the staff is like a family and that I was now part of the family. I thanked him profusely, all the while being in shock of his reception of the news, not having prior knowledge. Then again, the Ministry was bringing me to him and did not set up the meeting. Advance planning, setting up and confirming appointments...T.I.A. (This Is Africa) Marie from the Ministry had told us that the first day of school is decided upon by presidential decree, and because Ramadan was ending perhaps on Wednesday, October 1, rumor had it President Wade would declare Monday, October 6 as the return date. However, that was pure speculation, and normally teachers report before the students, but again, because of Ramadan, the date for teachers to report was not yet decided (today is September 23!). Perhaps the teachers and students will both start on the same day, but we were told that would be quite a rare happeninng! Back to the principal: I proceeded to ask him about my schedule and courseload and he initially rattled off some courses and said it would be about 16 hours of instruction a week. I had been told previously that was at the high end of a courseload, so I simply asked him if I could teach fewer hours. He adjusted immediately, said I would teach “sixieme” (the equivalent of 6th grade) and would have about 11 hours of instruction a week. Drawing on that business acumen in my blood of which I am certain I must have a trace, I then petitioned to teach only Monday through Thursday; he said no problem! He told me to come back next Monday (September 29) to receive my official schedule. We exchanged phone numbers and then we left.
When I got home, I found that the plumber and building manager had fixed all the water problems; after three weeks I now have hot water throughout the apartment and enough water pressure to take a shower. To top it off, my cleaning lady washed all the clothes and sheets, ironed my clothes that were drying on the line, and folded them neatly and tucked them away into my dresser. And guess what, it’s not even 5 p.m. I’m finishing a cafe latte that I made, and then I’m going to go for my run along the Corniche. Today may be the best day yet!
This morning I, along with my two colleagues, met with Ibrahim Ba who is reponsible for English language instruction for the Ministry of Education. I went with his assistant Marie, and Dieynaba Toure from the U.S. Embassy to the school where I would teach. It is, in fact, Mahib Lo’s school, the school of my exchange partner who is now at North Farmington. We arrived unannounced into a decrepit room that looked like it was used as a conference room or the teacher’s lounge. One long table with irregular chairs, one working flourescent bulb and three or four broken or missing bulbs hanging precariously from the ceiling. The paint was a dingy yellow, pealing everywhere, and hanging down in patches of 2 square feet. Baas Diop, the principal, was in his cotton shirt and sandals and graciously welcomed us into the space. Again, he did not know we were coming, nor did he know who we were! We proceeded to tell him that I was one of the American Fulbright teachers, and wasn’t he aware, that the Ministry had assigned me to his school. Unphased, he said he had not yet received word, but he was happy to have me. He said the staff is like a family and that I was now part of the family. I thanked him profusely, all the while being in shock of his reception of the news, not having prior knowledge. Then again, the Ministry was bringing me to him and did not set up the meeting. Advance planning, setting up and confirming appointments...T.I.A. (This Is Africa) Marie from the Ministry had told us that the first day of school is decided upon by presidential decree, and because Ramadan was ending perhaps on Wednesday, October 1, rumor had it President Wade would declare Monday, October 6 as the return date. However, that was pure speculation, and normally teachers report before the students, but again, because of Ramadan, the date for teachers to report was not yet decided (today is September 23!). Perhaps the teachers and students will both start on the same day, but we were told that would be quite a rare happeninng! Back to the principal: I proceeded to ask him about my schedule and courseload and he initially rattled off some courses and said it would be about 16 hours of instruction a week. I had been told previously that was at the high end of a courseload, so I simply asked him if I could teach fewer hours. He adjusted immediately, said I would teach “sixieme” (the equivalent of 6th grade) and would have about 11 hours of instruction a week. Drawing on that business acumen in my blood of which I am certain I must have a trace, I then petitioned to teach only Monday through Thursday; he said no problem! He told me to come back next Monday (September 29) to receive my official schedule. We exchanged phone numbers and then we left.
When I got home, I found that the plumber and building manager had fixed all the water problems; after three weeks I now have hot water throughout the apartment and enough water pressure to take a shower. To top it off, my cleaning lady washed all the clothes and sheets, ironed my clothes that were drying on the line, and folded them neatly and tucked them away into my dresser. And guess what, it’s not even 5 p.m. I’m finishing a cafe latte that I made, and then I’m going to go for my run along the Corniche. Today may be the best day yet!
Monday, September 22, 2008
Moving In
I'm 37 years old, I'm a high school teacher, and I don't know what street I live on.
Welcome to Dakar, Senegal! Here it's about landmarks, not streets and numbers. So far, I have not found a Senegalese who really knows how to read a map of the city. I know I live in a big apartment building that is called "The Rose Building" but it's no longer rose! I know I live across the street from a gas station called Elton, around the corner from the Korean Embassy or Ambassador's residence, and a street in from the Corniche, which is the seaside road that rings the peninsula that makes up Dakar. My neighbor/district is called Mermoz. So when I'm downtown and want to get back home, I tell the taxidriver "Elton, Mermoz" and every single time, I arrive right in front of my home. Attached I hope, will be pictures of the Corniche and of my apartment. Enjoy!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
