Not all of my kiss good-bye posts will include eloquently expounded-upon subject material that is worthy of mention. Indeed, I hesitate to throw this particularly entry up on the site because I completely recognize that these observations are nothing but a tragically insignificant footnote in the life of a privileged toubab living in Africa. That’s code for “If this is the only stuff that is vexing me, then my life is pretty damn good.”
And with that disclaimer out of the way, I give you a few peeks at life that will cease to exist once I’m back stateside. At least that’s what my romantically-skewed American mindset presupposes….
If you’re out and about town, more often than not you are going to step through your front door and do at least one of two things:
1. Dump the sand out of your shoes.
2. Wash your feet. And we’re not talking about ceremonial ablutions here.
1. Dump the sand out of your shoes.
2. Wash your feet. And we’re not talking about ceremonial ablutions here.
Incidentally, I know that the sink was a poor choice; I ended up creating more work for myself by scooping it out and throwing it in the garbage.
Yes, this is a door to a bathroom. It’s not actually my door, but it’s a door you’ll find in just about any typical home in Dakar. You see the light switch on the right? That turns on the light inside the bathroom. I have two issues with the placement of this switch- can you guess what they are?
Keys. What is up with this country and the bounty of keys that will close up any and all manner of cabinet and door? I’m still standing in front of the bathroom- and just in case you were worried that your brother and sisters were going to walk in on you during your moment of privacy, you’ve got at least three copies of the same key hanging from the lock. In my house, this would have been extraordinarily counterproductive. Almost each sibling would have gotten their mitts on a spare key and scored free reign to wreak terror on any poor bastard who thought they were going to enjoy a few moments of solitude on the can.
Having said that, I do believe that Senegalese families score high marks in terms of politeness and respect towards one another. I just didn’t grow up in a Senegalese family.
(And Is it just me, or did anyone else grow up like this…and to this day continues to reflexively lock the bathroom door?)
Cooking! I love to cook. It’s one of my favorite things to do. I’ve got a gas stove that allows for all kinds of high heat cooking….
But I don’t love to cook as much as I do in other places. I mean, check out what the gas here does to my pots and pans. It’s like a magical car wash that repaints your possessions a nice jet black color.
Beautifully metallic cookware is temporarily sullied. This stuff comes off if you simply brush it with your finger or a sponge. The problem is that if you’re like me, you are not usually paying too much attention and you then brush other things like your cheek, your sink, your clothes….you get the idea.
Internet. Not only do I hate when people send me “funny” links to watch (streaming and loading video is incredibly tedious)- but I also hate when I have to use my VOIP phone to call any manner of customer service in America. My internet is slow and unreliable here at best- but I’ve got a canned spiel that I deliver each time I have to call a 1-800 number. It goes something like this, “Hi, I’m calling you from a VOIP phone in Africa, and we get a lot of power cuts, so hopefully this call won’t be disconnected before I ask you to remove the block from my credit card so I can purchase plane tickets. I promise you I’m not a Nigerian princess.”
Beautifully metallic cookware is temporarily sullied. This stuff comes off if you simply brush it with your finger or a sponge. The problem is that if you’re like me, you are not usually paying too much attention and you then brush other things like your cheek, your sink, your clothes….you get the idea.
Internet. Not only do I hate when people send me “funny” links to watch (streaming and loading video is incredibly tedious)- but I also hate when I have to use my VOIP phone to call any manner of customer service in America. My internet is slow and unreliable here at best- but I’ve got a canned spiel that I deliver each time I have to call a 1-800 number. It goes something like this, “Hi, I’m calling you from a VOIP phone in Africa, and we get a lot of power cuts, so hopefully this call won’t be disconnected before I ask you to remove the block from my credit card so I can purchase plane tickets. I promise you I’m not a Nigerian princess.”
By the way, the photo above depicts the last month-long bout I had with internet technicians chez moi. Check out the stacks of technology located at the edge of the counter. I think they brought every modem from Dakar into my house in an attempt to troubleshoot. You won’t be surprised to learn that I have gotten pretty good at troubleshooting internet issues with the Orange technicians over the phone. I’m not ever sure if I can do that in English.
I think that’s pretty much it. Really, I used my credits long ago in terms of complaining about things that (used to) bother me. Even this stuff now is not a major annoyance. I guarantee that once I get back and hit bureaucratic meccas like the DMV, I’ll be wishing for a bit of sand and friendly banter that comes with navigating Senegal’s non-ergonomic curiosities.