My lifelong love with found objects continues. It took every fiber in my being not to pick up this treasure roof tile and take it with me on the remainder of my morning run…

Just in time for Ramadan and I think I’m finally back to routine blogging about routine stuff. It’s a good thing too, because Dakar has shifted colors and this is the best time to find yourself caught outside for a good and largely expected drenching. I swear that the rain falling here is actually Miracle Gro- because plants sprout up overnight and slap you in the face where only the day prior you noted a dusty stump sticking up from the ground. Or at least that’s how it feels when I’m out on most of my runs.

Between you and me, I cannot believe that it is Ramadan already. I also can’t believe that my time in Senegal has almost come to an end. It’s like I’m at the close of a wonderfully strange chapter in my life that I never could have anticipated three years ago- and I now look forward to the future with curious amusement. 

I’ve had a pretty damn good ride over here, and don’t think for a second that I’ve ever taken any of it for granted.

Dakar this morning. Depending on your moon guru, the holy month of Ramadan either started yesterday or today. While I may chose to fast for a day or two once again this year (solidarity, brother!), my ritual as a devotée of the corniche continued as scheduled. It was glorious outside.

Downing espresso, shimmying into technical gear and lacing up my running sneakers is pretty much an involuntary practice at this stage in my Dakar life. If I’m going on a solo run (and this is typically the case), I’m out the door at around 6:45AM in the summer. I don’t love getting up early to run, but it’s so humid outside that I find it best to beat the sun out of bed and log my miles early. The only exception to starting at the crack of dawn is when I can find a running buddy who seems like they will be compatible (i.e. they won’t yap my ear off). Over the past few months I’ve been linking up with various toubab friends for Saturday morning hauls, and I have found that I really miss the camaraderie that comes with running in a pack.

The runners that I roll with out here are typically guys – and while I find them very intimidating (they always run faster than me), I still enjoy the experience because it helps me push myself past my perceived limits. This morning we opted to take on the well-trodden lighthouse run- a road that winds up around one of the mamelles and provides one of the few quality inclines in Dakar. As we were ascending, a Senegalese dude passed us walking down the hill with two rolling suitcases behind him. I’m still trying to figure out how he got the airplane to drop him off about a mile short of the LSS runway.

And of course, running with a camera presents a fine excuse to stop, breathe- and snap a photo of something that I find aesthetically pleasing. Like rust, cement, and a view of the westernmost point on continental Africa.

With my heart still pumping and my breathe trying to keep pace, I finally neared the apex and came across the lighthouse guard and another morning runner. “Ça va, la montagne?” the guard asked as he observed me huffing and puffing (translation: “How’s the mountain feel?”). I told him that it did indeed feel like a montagne and I was happy to be at the top so that I too could enjoy this inspirational view with them. Okay, maybe I didn’t say that last part to him- but Megan’s sarcastic inside voice certainly articulated this sentiment.

Up at the top we enjoy the view out to the ocean and over towards the airport. We also note with no great surprise that we are witness to yet another overturned bus down by the roundabout. These top-heavy Ndiaga Ndiaye buses are horrible– they are cheap, ubiquitous, overloaded, and very unsafe; I have lost track of how many that I have seen overturned. Here you can see that this accident must have just happened as lots of people are standing around gawking. As my friend Kate once said about living in Dakar, “It’s best not to get into an accident here. The only thing they’ll be able to do if you get injured is fan you on the street you till you die.” Politically correct and/or accurate statement? No. But is it funny? I kinda think so. Maybe my inside voice should have held on to that anecdote.

I’m contemplating hopping over the barrier and rolling down the hill. It might be faster- but it also might hurt more.

From a physical standpoint, I would almost say that I prefer running uphill rather than down the hill- but here on lighthouse lane the view is pretty great as you spiral downwards. I could look at the ocean all day.

And for those of you who are no great fans of the ocean, you can always round the bend and gaze at the African Renaissance Monument. The baby, as ever, is still pointing towards Harlem.

Just before five miles were expended we wrapped up our run. As we were coming off the corniche we noticed the herds of grey clouds that were starting to roll across the horizon. Distant thunder let us know that today might not turn into the clear blue day that we had anticipated. Ah the rainy season. It’s always best to have your wellies handy.

 Another great thing about getting together for a morning run? Extending the social engagement to a post-run stretch and breakfast crêpes.

This is the main street that runs by the university, and it is also the street where I always start and end my morning runs. As I have grown more and more “comfortable” with this stretch of street, I’ve gotten more brazen with respect to merging my body with the traffic. This is probably pretty stupid, but this is kind of the reality that comes with running in Dakar.

Up the street and you can see that we’ve got rain. I think as we went up and down this stretch, the rain stopped and started several times. For such a small town, it’s amazing how unpredictable the weather can be. And at this moment I can’t believe I have spent this much of my blog entry talking about the weather. Somebody must be getting old…

I don’t have any family out here- and this has certainly been the hardest part about living in Senegal (for me, anyway). Fortunately, I’ve managed to make all kinds of friends from all walks of life – and over these past couple of years some have grown to be considered family. Don’t get me wrong, I really, really love my blood-and-guts Cape Cod family, but when I first lived away from home as a teenager, that’s when I realized that the definition of family grows far beyond your original relations. It’s also the people who are there for you in all kinds of weather, in all kinds of places.

The other great thing about the rainy season is watching light change throughout the day in accordance with Mother Nature’s temperament. The morning started off with a beautiful slanty light that metamorphosed into cloudy gray complaints that brought on haphazard rain cells that ultimately brought us back again to blue skies. Round and round we go.

And just like that, my Saturday wrapped up as the muezzin announced the end to the day’s fast. All over the city, dates were being passed around and people were partaking in what is one of the most felicitous act of communal goodwill that I have experienced while in Senegal. It ranks right up there with my own little modest day of interactions.