“The many faces of Dakar,” or “This isn’t a gas station, it’s a bar that also serves gasoline”

African lit - You don’t even know how nice it is. You’ve got white curtains blowing in and out of your classroom while the sunlight’s filtering through palm trees and streaming through the window. And birds are singing. And it’s January. Yeah, I’ve got it real real rough here in Africa.

Well, it's not really all Seneglamour all the time – Monday and Tuesday were hard. The university was on strike, there were no classes, and I didn’t know what to do with myself. JG, my new very good friend, has worked himself into a self described “fury” about some things – like how as we're walking somewhere between one and ten miles to school a day, I really have no idea, we’re almost run over, I’ve got sand in my shoes, I’m telling little boys i'll hit them up with some spare change "next time." He hates that we get charged too much for cabs because we’re foreigners and that the fallen-down lamp posts from week one are still fallen down. And, “If we get hit by a car, we wouldn’t even know who to sue!”

Then Wednesday picked up and the week just flew by.

Wednesday - African lit started. french folk singers with dreadlocks at dinner. started to feel really hopeful about the next couple of months.

Thursday - somehow ALL of our classes were cancelled. went out for dinner and found soup in senegal for the first time. went downtown to a jazz concert at the french institute. went to ozio, froo froo euro style skeezy ex-pat club. so gross, i didnt stay to finish my $10 drink

Friday - super good. no class. surprise surprise. rode a rickety, crazy, bustling, crowding car rapide for 75 CFA (there are 450 CFA in every dollar) downtown to eat vietnamese food. found soup in senegal for the second time. went to the beach in Mermoz where zibby was painting watercolors with ocean water in a beer bottle. Muslim new year. my family's catholic so my muslim neighbors invited me over for dinner - we ate couscous on the floor with our hands out of a giant bowl...wearing traditional clothing.

"wow, that's a really pretty dress your ironing"
"oh really? why don't you put it on and wear it at dinner!"

met at out favorite hangout spot, the gas station. kids were trick or treating the whole walk there. then went out dancing at a cap vert/guinea-bissau bar with a bunch of 60 year old portugese people and a live band. got locked out of our houses. me and josh slept on karie's floor.

Saturday - woke up on Karie's floor. the light of day was harsh and unforgiving. hung out with the fam. Ngor beach. my family served champagne at dinner to ring in the new year. Chris Duffy turns 21, ironically in a muslim household. we drank tea and warm minty milk.

Sunday - met at la provencale for omelettes and croissants. all day at yoff beach. spoke spanish. made funny friends. buried josh in the sand. crepes for dinner.

I don’t know whether or not I should feel guilty for going out for Sunday brunch and speaking English with my American friends. I’m pretty sure the answer is no. I think when you’re getting into the groove of a foreign place you tend to start with what’s most familiar.