Guess what today is?

I take dental care very seriously. It took only one traumatic visit to a (Navy) doctor to put me on the straight and narrow with respect to oral hygiene. After that “You don’t need Novocaine for this cavity” experience, I was a true believer in prevention. No more sucking on Gobstoppers while standing bridge watches, only strict adherence to my daily flossing and Act fluoride regimen.  And for the most part this has paid off.

So fast forward to Megan in Dakar.  I haven’t gotten a cleaning since I was in D.C., so I’m past due for a checkup. It doesn’t matter how much sugar free gum I chew (and believe me I chew a lot), I needed to make a date with some pointy instruments.

I asked other military people here about where I should go to be seen, and each time I was given the “You need to go TDY to Italy and get that done on base” response. Great. I am sure that our taxpayers would love to fund my round trip ticket to a military installation in Europe just so I can have a 30 minute cleaning amongst people who look and dress like me. That makes loads of sense.

But I’m not that much of a scammer, and I called the “Remote Beneficiary Hotline” to schedule an appointment. (Incidentally, I love how I am classified as serving in a “remote” area) The nice British man on the phone assured me that they had the name of a good dentist in Dakar – I’ll spare you any stereotypical jokes about Brits and their teeth here. He gave me an address and I called them up to schedule the appointment.

Road where I find le cabinet de dentiste. I take this as a good, if not illogically-reassuring sign.

The waiting room. It should come as surprising to no one that this looks nothing like a Dakar taxi.

If you couldn’t tell by the name on the placard above, my dentist is Lebanese. For those of you who know nothing about the Lebanese diaspora (as I once did), there is a thriving Lebanese population in Senegal. Heck they’re all over the world, and I appreciate this fact because it ensures the accessibility of hummus, fuul and other good eats at a street corner near you. Their presence in Dakar has different implications depending on who you talk to, but it is undeniable that they do a pretty decent job of running many businesses that toubabs like to frequent. That said, I am not sure if I sensed a bit of inadvertent racism when the guy on the Hotline tried to reassure my concern over dental care in Africa by telling me that the doctor was Lebanese. 

I don’t want to stray too far from levity in this post, so I’ll just tell you that the doctor was fantastic. He was happy that I spoke French, and the entire experience was as pleasant as can be expected. As he was seeing me out of the office, I was unsure if I should ask about taking a photograph. He seemed nice enough, so I framed the question in a way that hopefully wouldn’t cause offense:

-Me: “My dentist in the United States was curious about dental care in Africa. Would it bother you too much if I took a couple photos of your salle? People at home sometimes can’t think beyond straw huts and the jungle when I talk about Africa.”

-Dr. Abou-Khalil: “Of course! Please, take as many as you want! It’s true that people can’t imagine that they can get good dental care here in Africa. Please go over and take a photo of the examination chair- it’s not a problem at all.”

Right about now you are pretty disappointed that I didn’t have to suffer for your entertainment by being traumatized by African dentistry. I’m not apologizing.

His desk. Again the area is bright, clean, and bathed in a calming pink color. This guy knows what he is doing.

I’m going back again in six months for my next cleaning. And by the way- the state of my teeth? The good doctor had only one word as he removed the metal mirror and picky thing from my mouth:

“Impeccable.”

Megan lives to fight another day.