We’re taking a little pause…
I’m sitting here in my little hurricane of an apartment as nine Senegalese men (the younger ones with stripes of blonde dyed into their hair) wrap up the contents of my life and prepare to ship it back to the United States. I’ve been doing these moves for awhile now, but the degree to which this entire process resembles an out of body experience hasn’t diminished in the slightest. From the moment the moving truck rolls up outside your door, you are forced to relinquish control of this most personal element of your life.
But I’m not here to do a blog entry about the moving process. That subject will surely follow this one; at the moment I’m eyeballing a tower of boxes at my left, and at my right I’m looking at my window view of a dark front of storm clouds slowly creeping towards Point E.
The movers? They’re about to start loading the truck as this weather event takes shape. Merde.
So in the interest of escapism, let’s instead do a little photo collage of Megan’s week….
Monday marked Korité- or maybe it was Saturday or Sunday- it depends on what your marabout said. You wanna hear Senegalese grouse about the peculiarities of their culture (and incidentally, this is my favorite thing to do)? Ask them what they think about Korité being celebrated on three different days this year instead of one like the rest of the Muslim world. Hilarious.
Korité marks the end of Ramadan (also known as Eid al Fitr). It is the second biggest holiday on the Muslim calendar, and it generally entails donning your finest threads, getting together with family and also calling on loved ones and friends to say hello and ask “Baal ma aq” (forgive me for any indiscretions I have done to you over the past year). Me, I was honored to be invited to celebrate with a friend’s family- and it was one of the best days I have experienced in Senegal. Great food and conversation- that kind of sums things up in Senegal.
You’ll be shocked to know that I have also been running. The days are dwindling where I’ll focusing so intently on the ground in front of me. Watch me get back to America and trip over the super smooth asphalt.
It was also my birthday, which of course in Senegal means going out for sushi (kidding, but really they have at least three sushi restaurants). The thirties are the best decade yet, and I’m completely serious when I say that my life seems to get better every year. I think this is largely due to all of the great friends and family who choose to put up with my idiosyncrasies. I’m not sure what I’d do without you all- I’m a lucky girl.
You all know I don’t have a car in Dakar (ask a Bostonian to say that sentence for you). Oh how I’ll miss riding around in taxis with seatbelt configurations like this (whenever there are cops around, they quickly grab their seatbelt and let it sit across their lap. Genius, I tell you!)
And you know, when the ambulances come zooming the wrong way up a one way street, you can bet that the seatbelt is going to come in wicked handy.
Since the movers were coming this week, I did some of what I call “Last Night On Earth” shopping around town. This necessitated descending in Sandaga market. This actually doesn’t even faze me anymore- I think it’s because I’ve perfected the Fii laa dekk body language and no one even engages me as I walk.
I’m not in Plateau that often, but when I am I always laugh when I walk past this hairdresser. I wanna know what a jihad haircut looks like.
More taxis transporting. Some are more decorated than others. I normally don’t sit in the front seat- chiefly because I like the idea of the front seat vice the windshield stopping my forward momentum should my taximan ever hit something (no seatbelts in taxis). One more week to go in these death traps- fingers crossed!
Senegalese men in snow hats in the dead heat of summer. I love this. (Yes, I was also shopping at one of my favorite spots)
So as it stands right now, my movers are pretty much finished and are crowded over two big bowls of ceebujeen (the Senegalese national dish). My move is almost complete and before I know it I will be nothing but a toubab memory in this country. But I think I can safely say that I’ll be a memory that is well-maintained. If I hadn’t told you before, the Senegalese have incredibly sharp powers of recall. I just know that the next time I return to Senegal, I’ll be rolling around these streets and some random person will call out my name and ask me how things are going. Almost like I never left.
Still, it is going to be hard to go.
