I have no doubt that you, dear reader, will find this particular breakfast disgusting. For my taste, however, it is completely normal. The yogurt and cereal combo (usually with the addition of a banana and flaxseed) makes me exceedingly happy each morning.

 

Now look at the type of photo that my brother feels compelled to text me. This is not milk, but a glass of eggnog. He is drowning a bag of Chips Ahoy cookies into the bottom of the glass and then drinking it. I happen to find this disgusting. 

Now look at this billboard advertising a super-value-jumbo vat of cooking oil. I mean, look at the size of the container that is being held by a smartly dressed woman who is pretending to handle it with cheery ease. I also happen to find this quantity made for everyday purchase disgusting.

Why am I posting this random collection of photos this evening? 

I’m trying to show you (and me) that no one place can be everything to every person. As individuals, it is a simple fact that we are better suited to live in some locales rather than in others. From an entire population to a single foreigner living abroad, we all have our particular proclivities and psychoses- and we react accordingly.

 

At a cursory glance, things in Dakar were largely normal according to my definition. But now that I have had a year’s worth of a closer look, my perspective has transitioned and I naturally have an opinion about whether Megan enjoys living in this corner of the world.

To put it bluntly, I don’t have a vehicle in Dakar, but I don’t see myself purchasing a Wonda to drive around for the remaining 20 months of this scholarship (even if I used to have a motorcycle license). I also don’t see myself donning a boubou and hoisting a five gallon drum of cooking oil for all to admire in the near future. It’s just not me, and after 33 years on this planet, I’m not making any apologies.

Having admitted my refusal to fully immerse myself in the ebb and flow of dakarois chaos, I do feel the need to say that living here has its bizarre upsides. I really do have amazing gratitude despite my daily bouts of exasperation, and this is because Dakar forces me each and every day to live like tomorrow is not coming. 

How is this achieved? 

No, it is not by my getting stuck in the elevator every time the power goes out (twice last month, by the way). It has more to do with motivation. Here’s a hint:

Even if you don’t speak Portuguese, you probably get that this has to do with traveling. 

The more often that I find myself traveling beyond this cramped peninsula of mind-boggling inconsistency, the happier I manage to remain while stationed here. In my case, the prescription for malaise has always been to wander, and it is for this reason that you will often read about me taking off to check out other places as often as possible. Dakar may not be a place that I would chose for permanent (or even temporary) resettlement, but this city and this scholarship serves as an invaluable vehicle for me to continue pushing my boundaries to do what I love most.

And much like the choice of shredded wheat mixed up in pink yogurt, this just happens to be my truth. There are lots of toubabs who have found great happiness here, just like the millions of West Africans who set out every day and find absolutely nothing wrong with a taxi parked in the middle of the road to change a tire.

One way or another, we all find a way to keep the world going round.