Culture Shock, again

I extended my layover in Paris so I would come home the 24 instead of the 14. Paris is this buffer zone between Senegal and home: it's developed, but closer in culture to Dakar.

But it is really weird seeing big buildings. And clean streets. Fancy shops...
oh, and it's freezing. Can't get more shocking than that!

I kind of wish I hadn't extended my flight for so long, because all I want to do is crawl into my bed with some movies and a cup of hot tea. Being in Paris is great, I just feel like I have to be constantly doing something and taking advantage of my time here. Because when will I be getting back here?

still...less than a week till I'm back in the states.

The end (almost)

I can't believe it's finally over.

Well, the ISP that is. Still got a few more days here, but I get to spend them lounging at the beach or in an air conditioned hut with Wifi. There's still the presentation on Friday, but as far as I'm concerned it's done. Robin and I went and printed them today at the University. There was only one guy open because it's sort of still Tabaski, so of course we ended up spending about an hour there. But it's done.


Now I need to start getting my sleep cycle back on schedule and perhaps getting rid of this head cold once and for all. Not sleeping for about 4 days can do that...

Final(s) Week

As of today, I have approximately 5 days left in Dakar.
This past week has been one of the most stressful experiences since I've gotten here, and maybe in my entire life. Let me explain before I come off as too dramatic.

For all of you kids back at school, I know finals week is making you nuts and you're probably flipping out about the millions of papers and exams. This stress is a little different...

number of electronic appliances stolen: 5
number of ISPs yet to be finished: 2
number of muggings involving a machete: 1
number of fingers that Jamie almost thought she lost to poor circulation this morning: 10
number of sheep about to be slaughtered next to my room: 6
number of invitations to Tabaski parties: 7+

Printed Pants

Last week I went to the tailors with 6 meters of fabric I bought in Kedougou. After a crazy drawing session, I came up with a few designs that I thought might work. It was a bit difficult to explain them to the tailors, considering they were very detailed and very...western: a dress with a sweetheart neckline and bootleg pants. He said that he would try and have them done by Saturday, but it would be difficult considering Tabaski (Eid al Fitr), or Fête des Moutons is this Tuesday and everyone is getting new clothes made. But Robin stopped by yesterday and said that everything was done.

We went over before dinner to pick up the clothes. They had done the dress pretty well, though it had to be taken in a bit more and shortened. The pants however...lets just say they needed several adjustments. If I was to wear them where the crotch was, the band was around my waist. But it wasn't even that they were highwasted pants, because the band was too big. So then I pulled them down to my hips, but then the crotch was mad low. Gangsta low. And of course, the pant legs were then too long. Oh and the pant legs were also made to fit an elephant.

So I explain how I would like him to change it and he nods and starts cutting and sewing away. I try to tell him I want the pants to be straight (toutdroit) but it's clear as he starts that he doesn't get exactly what I mean. So I put the pants back on and try to show him a little better. He looks at me like I'm crazy, shrugs and says ok. As he's sewing he shows me the pant leg opening and says, Are you sure you'll be able to fit your foot in there? I wiggle my little size 6 foot and say, I think I'll be ok.

He finishes making the adjustments and before I can make another comment he folds them off and hands them to me with the dress. They look a lot better than before (as in they might actually fit) and I'm happy I was able to do something with all that fabric. When I get back to the apartment, Jamie insists that I model my new clothing.

I start to pull on the pants and realize that he's done a good job making the legs smaller, but the crotch is still almost above my knees. So I pull the pants up where they fit, and now the I have flood-style pants (you know, that akward length right above the ankle that was cool for a month in 7th grade). And the waist looks like pants from a weight loss commercial because it's so big.

But hey, I have some sick african print pants to take home. Even if they fit a little strange...

The one...the only...

I SAW YOUSSOU N'DOR LIVE!!!

There was this huge concert Saturday night at a soccer stadium, with 50 different Senegalese artists. There was a rumor that Youssou N'Dor would show up, so me and my friends got there around 12:30 since we thought he would probably be playing last. When he got on stage, everyone started going crazy and jumping around. Mbalax fever swept through the crowd, and even us Americans tried to wiggle our knees.

So now I can check that off my list of things I needed to see in Senegal.

Which is good, because I only have 12 days left...

Field Work #3

Who knew that drinking free champagne could be considered research?

I feel like I'm a covert agent, infiltrating the inner circles of the Senegalese elite.

Field Work #2

One of my informants called me last night and asked if I would like to go out to dinner with her and some friends. I interviewed B last week and she has 4 cellphones. Yes. 4 different cellphones. So of course I take her up on her offer and she says she'll pick me up at 8.

As I'm waiting in front of my apartment, a shiny silver car pulls up. There's a white guy in the driver's seat and B is sitting shot gun. I get in and then we're off! Racing around Dakar, up and back around the Corniche, the highway along the coast. I felt like we were going at hyper-speed, I couldn't even lean forward in the seat. Finally we pull in front of a restaurant at Plage de Ngor, in the really nice, toursity area of Dakar. We meet up with 3 other white guys, all older, all on the larger side. B starts saying something about them being rich...as if I hadn't guessed all ready.

We sit down and I look at the menu. Grapefruit and avocado or warm goat cheese salad? Or perhaps the seafood platter? Looks like everyone is ordering appetizers so I get the warm goat cheese and order a tuna steak with veggies for an entrée. The guy sitting to my right is from Spain and is here in Dakar for business, something about engineering. He actually speaks a bit of English and is telling me about his upcoming road trip across America. He's even read Jack Keroac in Spanish.

After some mango sorbet, we leave the restaurant to go to some bars downtown. B pulls me aside and says, "So my patron thinks you're cute. And you know what? He's really rich. He has a boat. And, he doesn't have a wife or a girlfriend. I PROMISE you."
huh?
wait...seriously?
and which one is the patron?

Well, I found out that answer soon enough when I was ushered into the front seat of a flashy new BMW SUV, next to one of our larger dining partners. Then I started laughing to myself...this is exactly what I've been researching! Relationships between older, wealthy white men and cute, young university students. I'm definitely clocking these hours as participant observation.

Soon we're driving around parts of Dakar that I've never seen before. There's no garbage along the roads, no sheep tied up outside of the houses...am I really in Senegal?

As we're driving, I can start to understand why this guy doesn't have a girlfriend. He is incredibly immature! He's playing these toilet-humor songs that yea, could be funny but just make him look incredibly stupid. When we get to the bar, B pulls me aside again.

"So, do you like him? Do you think he's handsome?"

How do I do this tactfully...

"No."

Maybe I should be a little nicer...he did after all just pay for my dinner that probably cost $30.

"He's um...kind. Er, but not my...type."

"Ah," she nodded, "Quel dommage!"

She then tells me how it's hard for him to get a girlfriend because girls only want to be with him because he's rich. He now is looking for a serious relationship.
Ok B, time to stop playing match-maker with the little innocent american.

But I do have to thank her for getting me inside that magical world of Thiofs and Disquettes that I've only heard rumors about...

My fieldwork is pretty cool.

Field Work

Here's a taste of what a day of fieldwork is like for me.

Get woken up by my roommate Robin at 10:30, flip out because I my cellphone alarm was supposed to wake me up at 8. Get a call from my informant P, who I met last week when out to lunch with my advisor at Le Missisipi (note the one 'p'). P asks when I want to meet her and I say noon, and she asks me what I would like to eat for lunch and we decide on yassa. We hang up and I realize I haven't finished writing up my interview questions yet, so I start doing that.

A little before noon I leave the house, and call P to tell her I'll be late. I walk towards Le Missispi, which I've only been to that one time so I only have a vague memory of how to get there. After 15 minutes of walking I have no idea where I am so I call my advisor. He doesn't pick up. But then I turn a corner and magically appear at the restaurant, and who should be there...but my advisor. I ask him if he's seen P, but he says he hasn't and orders me a Grand Moyen Flag beer. I call P and find out I wasn't supposed to go the restaurant, but to her house. She tells me to wait and that she'll come pick me up. My advisor starts asking me how I like his book so far, especially the main character Lily Loveless (what a name) who is also a white girl doing field research in West Africa. 20 minutes or so later, P finally arrives and I take my last sip of beer (the only thing I've had all morning since I thought I would be eating lunch at 12) and we start walking to her house.

When we get to her house, she insists that I sit down while she runs around helping her mom and her aunt prepare lunch. She tells me lunch will actually be at 4PM, and I start thinking about how I was supposed to call someone else to schedule some more interviews for the day...but I guess it will have to wait till tomorrow or next week. After a breakfast of bread, cheese and hot milk, she shows me her photo album. I comment on her beautiful festival clothing and then all of a sudden we're playing dress up. Me and P are almost the same size, and she insists that I take everything back to the US as a "cadeaux" (present). We also decide that we're going to make me the same outfit she has for Tabaski, the biggest Muslim holiday that will be around the 8 of december. I realize I now have about 6 different invitations to Tabaski.

P then brings out a huge pitcher of bissap, one of my favorite Senegalese drinks. She had remembered that the last time I was at le Mississipi I ordered it so she decided to make it for me. Those Senegalese sure know how to be generous, but sometimes it becomes too much. I started to try and figure out how to tactfully say no after my third and a half glass, knowing I still had lunch. And it was a good thing I stopped then, because lunch was fabulous, and in true Senegalese style I was expected to eat A LOT.

"Lekk bubax! Mange bien!"

They had prepared a Jola dish, with yellow rice, braised fish, okra, shrimp, and green bissap. I don't think that description does it justice. It has to be one of the best Senegalese dishes I have ever eaten. It was almost easy to keep eating because it was so good. But I still had to say "sur-na" (I'm full) at least six times before P believed me and let me wash my hands. At that my point we were so full that the only thing to do was talk and then fall asleep.

By now I had been at her house about 5 hours and I started to realize that she didn't understand that I was going to interview her. So I had now gone from the possibility of having about 5 interviews today to having none...or maybe one. After we wake up I casually try and suggest that we start this interview thing, and by this point we're really chill so she lets me ask her about thirty or so questions about cellphones and girls. Of course, the electricity isn't working so we end up finishing the interview by cellphone light. And then I can't leave immediately afterwards, because that would be rude. So I hang out with her, her mother and aunts for another hour or so where they quiz me on my wolof and ask me about life in the states. Then around 9PM I finally convince them that I should leave, even though I really don't want to and yes I'll come back and visit and of course I'll be there for tabaski.

So although I only ended up with one interview today, it was well worth it.

it also makes me think how I sometimes need to stop continuously thinking about this project and just enjoy the rest of my time in Senegal...considering how quickly it's passing by now.

ISP time, oh my

So somehow I've completed my first week of ISP...
I feel a little stuck.
The past week I did a lot of background, literary research which is something I feel very comfortable with. Now I have to do something called "field work". I've heard a lot about it, but have never really done it. Ok, so maybe we had some small projects this semester where we were supposed to experiment with different field research methodologies...but this on such a larger scale.

I guess this is when I go running off to my adviser...

Oh! I failed to mention what I'm actually doing for my project. I'm studying youth cell phone culture (possibly focusing on girls? I switch back and forth...) and looking at how they appropriate and view phones says something about their values and desires.
Basically I just stare at people all day and see if they're carrying a phone, and how, what they're wearing, where they are...Or I interview my cousin, or guys I meet at concerts.

I realized that one of my big problems is that I don't know any Senegalese girls, except for my host sister. Who I wanted to talk to yesterday, but she was getting her hair tressed. So I've had to go through my guy friends and ask them if they have any girl friends...which is hopefully what's going to work out. Or I go walk around Université Cheik Anta Diop and try to make friends.

Truthfully, Senegalese girls intimidate me. They walk around in these stylish clothes like they just finished filming a T-Pain music video. Their hair and make-up is always impeccable. I on the other hand, am doing a good job of playing the dirty american hippy. It's not that I like this style...it just happens to be my travel wardrobe and my ability to not stay clean for more than 5 minutes. Trust me, if you came here and saw all this sand and garbage you would understand. Plus, it's hot. I sweat.
So somehow these Senegalese girls have their tricks and can wear cute jeans on an 85 degree day. Oh, and wear heels as their walking in trash and sand dunes.

What would you think if you were a stylin Senegalese girl and some weird, sans-make-up, long skirt wearing american came up to you and was like, "Hey, can I ask you about your cell phone?"

hm.

well, maybe that's just what I have to do. I just need a little more self-confidence.
Because I only have this week and next week to do all my field research and ohmygod that is nothing.

And do you know what else is crazy? Apparently I'm leaving in less than a month.

New Beginnings

Telling your homestay family you are going to leave is a bit like breaking up with a significant other.

At first you feel completely liberated, excited to be free and independent again. Then doubt starts to set in...was it the right decision? You did have some really great times together, and their not terrible people. Of course, their all confused and don't understand why you're leaving them. They get angry and say hurtful things or beg you to change your mind. You get sad and scared, wondering what the world will be like without them there all the time.

But then you move into that hot little rooftop apartement and all those feelings of fear and regret disappear.

I will have to get used to the smell of sheep though...