I am hanging out in my temporary residence, waiting for my new tailor to call me so I can meet her and go fabric shopping. The prospect of having someone create custom-built daywear (dresses that cover the knees, in this case) is very exciting. We already worked out some sketches for two dresses, and I have no idea how she is going to make cool-looking designs jump from her notebook to something clothy and stylish. I guess that’s why she is the tailor and I’m the one sitting at this computer refining this ever-present genocide documentary.
I will say, in the past month I have done more diverse activities using French words than I ever did in my English-speaking life. Does that make sense? I’m talking about diving into adventures where I suddenly find myself understanding and utilizing seemingly obscure and descriptive vocabulary that I never knew I could use or understand.
Until right now actually.
An American co-worker called me about two hours ago, asking if a Senegalese friend of hers could tag along with me while I go fabric shopping. The catch? This friend isn’t from Dakar- and she only speaks Wolof. I think I have already explained that while French is the official language of Senegal, there are a number of additional “recognized” languages: Wolof, Soninke, Serrer, etc. Therefore, it is not uncommon to come across people who only speak a little bit of French to get by (taxi drivers, fruit sellers, etc).
This girl is nice- she’s napping on the couch as I wait for the tailor to call and I work on my depressing video translation (thank God, actually, she can’t understand what I’m translating!). She seems really cool- and apparently an accomplished soccer player- but we’re pretty much reduced to hand gestures and my ten words of Wolof. I kinda feel like Robin Williams in Good Morning Vietnam where he walks in to teach English class to the Vietnamese for the first time.
I hope the tailor calls me soon. We were supposed to meet up two hours ago, and I feel like I’m being such an inhospitable host by making her sit around and space out as I type. The best I can do is play some Youssou N’Dour on my Macbook – Senegalese music is about the only thing I can think of right now to make this place seem more cozy. Plus the killer signature drum beat of West African music puts some much needed perk into my bones as I read this transcript.
Oooh the phone has finally rung. Only about two and a half hours late. Comment ça va? Sénégalaisement! One thing’s for sure- the walk over to the tailor shop through the gauntlet of Sandaga market should be a little better since I have a Senegalese person walking with me! They’re like magic amulets that give white people a little more street cred…just a little.