The Service Industry

The holiday season seems to bring every type of individual out of their houses and into restaurants for celebratory meals. Amongst the diversity of colorful characters is an overabundance of inexperienced weekend-diners(1) who bring Sunday-tips(2) into PF Changs. For instance, yesterday night a woman with far too much botox injected into her face, a man overly enthusiastic about the presence of Amstel on tap, and their two All-American catalog looking children came in and asked for chicken nuggets and fries. Let me remind you that I work at a restaurant that serves Asian-American food-- the definition of Asian-American in this case, if you've ever spent time in the US, does not mean all-American burger joint, but American influenced Chinese food-- so Chinese dishes with prepared in such a way that offer a glimpse into the culture of the United States. In short, not McDonalds. To accommodate the demands of this table, I managed to modify one of our dishes (honey chicken made with no sauce) and put an order in for pseudo-chicken nuggets. While the family was enjoying their appetizers, the sweet American poster child boy who's picky stomach could only eat "chicken nuggets"started to scream and throw shit across the table because he was growing restless in anticipation for some Ronald produced food. After dodging two chopsticks which were speared at me, I put a super-rush order on his dish which came out in less than three minutes (Thank you, Mike). I even brought ketchup to the table as requested by mother Barbie (ketchup.... chinese restaurant... really??). Throughout the meal, I had to replace their two kids kids-drinks three times each because they kept dropping them underneath the table. When I brought the dessert tray over for the All-American family to look at, the little prince threw (--as in just short of body slam) his body at the tray I suppose in hopes of claiming each choice for himself. At the end of the meal, the mommy dearest paid with a gift card and left me a ten dollar tip... on a ninety dollar meal. If you're ever a guest at my table and I end of the meal explicitly saying "here's your change for your bill of X amount"-- that means I clearly think that you need need the money more than I do if you're going to short me so much that I end up having to pay out of my pocket at the end of the night when I'm checking out.

As servers at Chang's, company policy is that we can only force gratuity on parties of 8 or more. Yesterday, I had a seven top come in and ask for individual checks. After asking for separate checks, they each ordered a water. Then, in roughly five minute increments, they would individually put in soft drink orders, making sure to catch me when I was talking to another table, or right after I had just ran to get something for someone else at their table. They also refused to order until some "Shirley" character arrived-- apparently the birthday girl. She didn't arrive for an hour. When they finally did order, there seemed to be a group consensus that clearly all Chinese restaurants served the exact same dishes; as a result, they started to describe random dishes that they've eaten at other establishments that offer Chinese food and try to put those down as their orders. With all the patience in the world, I- as best as I could- tried pairing their descriptions with what was actually on our menu. In the end, the best compromise I could get out of them was to modify each of our dishes so that orders came out like "Buddah's Feast (one dish) but with Cantonese shrimp (a separate dish) garlic sauce instead of stirfry sauce, add shrimp, and extra Kung Pao Chicken (yet another separate dish) brown sauce with no peanuts on the side." In the end I got a four dollar tip on their eighty some dollar meal which lasted going on two hours long.

The next story I have for you, I wasn't actually present for, so much of it may just be hearsay. Apparently some guy sat down at the bar with a gift bag of stuff, presumably coming in after shopping at the mall. He then ordered a few beers. When they arrived, he got up from where he was sitting, walked out with them. The bartender assumed that he would be back because he had left his gift bag there. He didn't. When the bartender looked inside the giftbag, it was nothing more than a bag stuffed with paper.

That is not to say, however, that decent people and kind souls hibernate during the holiday season. For two or so days I kept getting ridiculously nice tips (as in 35-50% gratuity), so I guess all the ridiculousness I dealt with last night was arguably just karma. There are those people who are super friendly, hold great (but courteously short) conversations, and are really easy going who I want to just give free food to because they fuel the perseverance necessary to work in service industry. The perfect costumer will return the server's readiness to serve by being prepared to present the entire order when asked. If and when they need something throughout the course of the meal, the perfect costumer will kindly make sure that all favors are listed at one time so that the server isn't sent running suicides between the kitchen and the other end of the restaurant. At the end of the meal, tip calculation should not even be an issue as the costumer will have already taken into consideration how much money they have on hand-- meaning, they ordered a dish within their budget that would also enable themselves to offer a suitable tip (which at PF Chang's is usually 20%). If they are super nice and cognizant of the functioning of the food industry, they will leave a cash tip (but no coins) so that the waiter can lose less during tax season.

Dorothy, you ask, why are you so pressed on how much tip you receive? Because servers are not paid per hour. We "receieve" a little over $3/hr, but see absolutely none of it as it all goes towards taxes. At the end of the shift, we have to pay out 3% of what we sold-- not 3% of what we made in tips-- to the back of the house for the food runners, etc. Also, servers have to pay an additional $3 per shift for silverware. Therefore, if you do not tip me for the food you ate (as is the case for many foreign costumers), I end up paying out of my pocket. What, Dorothy? That's craziness! Yes, dear readers, it has nearly happened before. July 4th 2006, I believe, I had exactly one table before I was cut because it was just that slow. The bill came to be just over fifty dollars. They gave me a nine dollar tip, not bad. But because of the circumstances, I had walked out with less money than what I came in with (if you factor in gas money). What happened? I had to pay $3 for silverware to the back of the house + 3% of what I sold (you round up, so I had to pay 3% of $100).

When I hit a lull, I like to ask other servers if there's anything I can help them with; I expect to end up busing someone's table, perhaps greeting a party for them, or running some food for the food runners. Apparently, in the midst of holiday madness, this is not the case. Perhaps as a result of the slightly unbearable costumers, the service staff occasionally exhibits signs of insanity. After asking one gentleman if there was anything I could get for him, he responded with "Jesus." After asking a costumer the same question, she said "an epidural".

(1) As opposed to week-day regulars who have enough familiarity with the food service industry to know waiter-costumer etiquette. Weekend-costumers are high-maintenance, cheap, and obnoxiously rude.

(2) On Sunday afternoons and evenings, usually around the time church lets out, an influx of properly dressed families come in, act like typical weekend-diners, and offer very little more than a verbal tip at the end of the meal.

its the holidays?

Three day count down until my relatives leave. My feelings on their departure? Well, I just declared a count down, so you figure that one out. I will, however, miss having meals already prepared and the house always clean. Once they leave, I'll have to some how figure out a schedule that will fit waitressing, house-keeping, preparing meals for my father, and other miscellaneous errands together in harmony. The word choice of 'Harmony' probably well reflects the fact that I have no idea what I'm getting myself into. Regardless, I'm really looking forward to walking around the house and actually feel like its my own house.

The biggest hindrance in my life right now are probably my wisdom teeth. I think I've finally convinced my dad to take the morning off and shuttle me back and forth between the procedure, but its not signed and sealed so I'm still mildly worried that I'll be high on laughing gas with no transportation home. After my consultation with the surgeon the other day, I concluded that I'm in good hands (at least for the surgical portion): she graduated from U of Chi, volunteered her specialty in many southeast Asian countries, and actually knew what the fuck I was talking about when I tried explaining how my personal life completely complicates this procedure. She was amazingly attentive- she was careful to pick out prescription drugs (for after the surgery) that would not interact with Mefloquine (though, I guess she would be otherwise liable if she didn't..); she understood my hesitation after she asked if I would have someone to drive me to and from the operation; and she even reassured me that the cold (that I made no mention of) that I'm suffering from was just due to jetlag and the transition back to the US-- and most importantly, that I'd be better soon. She's basically the first doctor (okay, oral surgeon) I've ever met who's played the caring role of nurse and I'm eternally grateful to her because I really wish my mom was here. I am getting all four pulled January 6th, 9:00am. I turn 21 January 8th. The doctor tried making me feel better by saying that all the prescription pain killers I would be on would basically make me feel drunk 24/7. Sounds good to me-- I'll just celebrate my birthday when back at Grinnell :)

The other night I got caught in the freezing rain trying to get to Georgetown. I showed up completely shaking from the cold and drenched to the core, but all was better after we hit the piano room and I could just sit back and listen to Yoshi play. In Senegal I never had the time to simply sit and appreciate the music, you were always expected to dance along with the tom toms. Artistically (not that I should really be creating the division), all that's left for me to do in the US that I missed out on in Senegal, is to paint. I miss painting so incredibly much-- but I'm sure Ill have a good time with that when I'm recovering from the surgery and high on vicadin.

I started up work again at PF Chang's; nothing all too eventful has happened yet-- though I think Im working a double on Christmas Eve. When I worked two nights ago, a party of 324903824 women asked to each get individual checks. I gave them the dirtiest look and they realized that that was one really stupid request, apologized, paid, and gave me (and Wayne, who split the party with me) an extra $30+ tip on top of what we already grat-ed them. In retrospect, maybe my dirty look wasn't so dirty more so as a puppy dog, I-may-cry-look.

"transitioning" back to life in the US

When Im done, Ill have put up just about all the photos I took in Senegal: http://picasaweb.google.com/dsheuu/Senegal#

Thanks to Senegalese culture, I'm now used to be around tons of people all the time. Before leaving for Senegal, I liked my solitude, independence, personal space, and time for reflection. Every time my family (as in DC one) had guests over (which was honestly every single week, if not twice or more) , I would just hang out in my room or go out. Post-Senegal, Ive moved my laptop onto the kitchen counter so that I can be in the room where my relatives like hanging out. My dad asked me today what I was doing here-- here, actually in the presence of others. Man, pre-Senegal Dorothy was so anti-social in comparison to post-Senegal Dorothy.

Oh, btw, though I'd just throw it out there that while sifting through the documents my mother left behind for me, I noticed that she scheduled to get my wisdom teeth removed 2 days before my 21st birthday. This is not a laughing matter.

House guests, are... house guests. A fun distraction, a bit high maintenance, lively, and time consuming. Ive done nothing so far other than shuttle them from place to place, helping them locate whatever thing they need around the house, and basically trying to balance putting my life back together while serving their needs. The experience would be less taxing if my aunt wasn't so freaking racist. All she does is refer to people by their skin color, worship l'Occidental, and talk about God. Some of the things that comes out of her mouth (like, for instance, the fact that apparently chinese women should be wary of white men because once married, the white man- due to his superiority- will treat the chinese woman as a slave, or, better yet, that America's economy is plummeting because the people of the US have turned their back to God) really gets underneath my skin. She's one of those types of ladies who, no matter how much you try knocking sense into her, she just can't be won over-- she'll throw even more nonsensical arguments back at you to justify her position. Then, after you argue with her, she will turn around and call up every fucking person she knows and tell them that you were not raised properly and don't fear God. If my disagreement with her perspective is a manifestation of audacity in place of fear, then I believe the woman just committed blasphemy. To get me through the day, I just turn up the volume and let Pandora blasting through my headphones drown out her banter.

Oh my goodness I missed Pandora SOOO badly in Senegal.

On the bright side, sort of, the last remaining cousin flew in today and with her she brought a dvd of the funeral. With all the other members of the family who also could not back it to Australia in time, we watched it together.

On a completely different note and subject, I fbook chatted Rand yesterday and she was telling me about her life in Iraq. She mentioned someone threw a shoe at Bush while he was visiting Baghdad yesterday. Hearing it from Rand already put a smile on my face, but it took seeing the actual video clip on CNN today of Bush dodging two flying shoes to make me laugh out loud.

Sheu has landed

I still cant wrap my mind area the fact that I just spent three going on four months in Senegal. At the same time, I still cant believe that I am back in the United States.

One of the luckier students, I guess, my flight back home was pretty short. The group had begun to exchange goodbyes throughout the week, as some were going to Morocco, others staying prolonged in the country, another leaving early to Norway, and the rest of us home to the US in one flight. After the bulk of the group said their final goodbyes on the airtrain in Kennedy, Robbie and I walked to United to catch flights to DC. After leaving my Dakar residence at 11pm, I finally got off the plane at Dulles a little after 11am.

Erika and Kristina were at baggage claim waiting for me-- I love their dear hearts so so so much. Words cannot express how much it meant (and means) to me that you guys came to pick me up. Had I had to take a taxi alone home on top of everything else going on with my (real) family and with the tearful Senegalese goodbyes (with my Sebi family for the very least), the taxi driver probably would have had to awkwardly sat through a long ride of me bawling my eyes out.

We went straight from the airport to Cheeburger Cheeburger where we ordered three
milkshakes (frozen mint hot chocolate, pumpkin, and holiday something), three burgers, and a basket of onion rings and fries. I walked away so full that each step I took literally was followed by sharp pangs of pain in my abdomen.

Seeing silly little things that I took for granted before leaving for Senegal quickly reduced me to an overly giddy two year old: plush green grass, smooth roads, stoplights, and shiny new cars were just a few of the things that caused my heart to race. Culture shock hasn't really hit me yet-- not in an emotional manner yet, anyways. I think the stark contrast between life in Senegal and my current reality in the dc metropolitan area have furthered this sense of surrealism that I had been battling in my last week of Dakar.

When I walked into my house, I was greeted by two unfamiliar faces which with context I figured out to be I guess my cousin's daughters. Trailing behind them were my aunt, uncle, cousin, and Leo. I have another cousin who is still in transit, on her way over. With my mom gone, the minute I walked through the garage door, I took on her normal role; after saying hi to everyone, I checked up to make sure that all their rooms were properly equipped, shifted through all the mail to look for bills to pay, sorted through my dirty clothes and everyone else's which had been starting to pile up and started a load of laundry, entered appointments into my moleskin, and searched hopelessly for my cellphone-- which I still have yet to find.

For a little over the next week, you will find me living in this closet in which I am writing this blog-- because of all the relatives here, the only available room in the house is conveniently my dad's walk-in closet. I use the word conveniently because it is also the warmest part of the house-- I don't know what the architect did when he constructed the house, but that half size room never gets cold-- basically, a perfect transition between the 80 degree Senegal weather and this minus zero degree celcius business in DC.

One of the many things that Ive sincerely missed while being in Senegal, I'm ashamed to say, is my laptop. But now that I'm back at home, I am struggling to use the darn thing because Ive grown so used to the French keyboard. Really, what im getting at is that I have nothing to complain about and life is beautiful.

am I in a coma? why haven't I woken up yet?

From Thanksgiving until after I get back to the States my life has been and will be a rollercoaster of emotions. Saying goodbye is going to be really tough-- i still haven' quite registered that I am actually leaving and that leaving means possibly never seeing my families here ever again.

I felt so proud of myself, feeling all independent Saturday morning after I managed to get myself and my 50+ lb internal frame backpack (and two coconuts and two grapefruits which i bruoght back for my host family) back to Dakar without getting mugged or spending more than 550 fCFA (pennies over a dollar). I was so proud that I had mastered the Senegalese transportation system, that I spoke enough languages to get me by, and that I had lived here long enough to know the back streets of this country's capital.

Then I got a phone call from my mother and hated the fact that I was here and hated that I was knocked off my high horse left feeling so helpless. I called the administration of the program begging them to consider letting me leave early-- they were sympathetic but seemingly equally as devoid of control as myself. Their logic was simple, fair, and understanding. My circonstances were timestamped, costly, and sudden. If I can find a plane ticket- one that is even remotely within reason concerning cost- I will be leaving Dakar, Senegal Thursday evening for Australia. The chances are slim that I manage to find anything that will get me there in time, so really, I can with 75% certainty say that I will be back on US soil the 14th of December.

Today after a semi group reunion, a couple of us adventured downtown to look for Peterson street, rumored to be the Chinatown of Senegal. When we got there we found that it was basically just a market run by Chinese people. This was absolutely nothing to be upset over, as Eva, Licia, and myself managed to get shittons of free stuff. All the vendors were pretty surprised to see two Asian faces (though some told me they thought Licia was Asian too) on the opposite side of the counter. Most Chinese people in Senegal are here on business, usually the ones who stock all the merchandise that are sold in the markets here. It all started when Licia and I bought earrings for 200-250 fCFA a pair (50 cents) from one vendor who I spoke to in Mandarin. While walking away, Eva and Licia saw a yellow clutch and white pair of sandals at the counter of some other shop they they liked. Speaking in Mandarin again, I tried getting them both together for 1000 fCFA. The guy behind the counter gave them to us for free.

Then, the most unbelievable encounter was with this one guy which I actually ended up taking a picture with because I could not believe that he was so nice. He told us we could have anything we wanted. I thought he was joking and told him to give me a plastic bag so I could take the rack of earrings with me. He was not. He handed me a bag and while I unbelievingly filled up on earrings, he pulled out a couple more pieces of bagged jewelry from behind the counter and gave those to me too. He also handed Eva this silver snake Egyptian looknig wrap around thing (wow, coudl I be any worse at describing it?) for free. Its usually sold for 8000 fCFA (though only 16 USD, 8000 fCFA is worth quite some bit here).

Tomorrow morning probably around 6am or so I am going to try leaving Dakar again back to Sébikotane where I will be spending Tabaski. I hope to God that I can actually find transportation, though I know it will be unfathomably difficult. Inshallah.

Crude.. Sénégalese women.... in the same sentence?!

I was all proud five or so minutes ago, putting my finishing thoughts on my final paper for the program... only to do a word count on the google document to find that it was only 7 pages. My paper is supposed to be 20. I almost cried. Instead, I decided to blog rather than continue on. Good life decision, I know.

On Saturday, my host sisters came home from Koranic school to tell me that they spent the early morning blockading the nationale highway. Apparently, all the students as a form of protest, blocked just about all traffic going north and south of the country of Senegal. I am so proud of them! As of yesterday, there have been gendarmes on the road right outside the health clinic flagging cars down that are driving too quickly.

Sunday I took a mini excursion to Dakar to do some last minute shopping before leaving the country. I realized late last week that with how the program is arranged around Tabaski, and with me travelling back and forth between Dakar and Sébikotane (im spending Tabaski in Sébi), ill have little to no down time if I want to spend any time with my host family in Dakar. When I got to the market, I was surprised that almost all the vendors I had talked to from past visits remembered my name. They also remembered the fact that I bargained the hell out of their prices... which is probably why they remembered my name. I ended up buying two pairs of jeans for 10,000 fCFA total, twenty bracelets for 1500 total, and a baobab pendant for 1000 fCFA. Oh, and a milkshake at N'ice Cream as well :)

Going off the topic of names, my host family here has given me many. The most amusing is a tie between "sheu-perman" and "jiaye funday (something along the lines of big ass from what ive gathered)". Also, from the first night I was here, my family named me "Aminanta", which just so happens to also be the name of the mother of the prophet Mohammed. Im pretty content. Everyday when I walk home from work, the little kids scream "Aminata, Aminata, fatuum na?" Fatuum na is Sereer for nanga def which is Wolof for (sort of) how are you?

Today because there was once again very few patients at the clinic, I walked with Ndiaye, Aida, and Eva (the second and third names being that of the two french nurses who just arrived) to the maternity ward. I was hesitant to go at first because 1) it was dafa taaaaaaaang (fucking hot) and 2) really far. In the end, my supervisor gave me the command to go, so I went. In retrospect, Im glad I did. Along the way, NDiaye stopped by what felt like every freaking house we walked past. Once again, Im glad it happened. The houses we visited just so happened to be the houses of many of the patients Ive seen over the past month. I was equally as excited to see them as they were to me.

At the maternity ward, we initially got a surprisingly cold welcome. After we got talking some bit, we somehow got on the topic of husbands and when I was asked how many I would have, being the loudmouthed Grinnellian that I am, I said I wanted two-- if Sénégalese men can have multiple wives, and if men and women by law have the same rights in Sénégal, then I want to make the most of my rights. This sent the room into an uproar-- all the sage femmes started laughing so hard that I almost by impulse covered my ears because it was so loud. They then very suggestively asked me what I would do with the two husbands... and followed by gesturing penetration with their hands. Yes, these were Sénégalese women who did this. They then said that I would be busy all day-- taking one husband in the morning, and one husband at night. I, too, was laughing along with them while NDiaye, Aida, and Eva turned bright red. In the end, the cold atmosphere was broken and we all walked away smiling.

And to very, very randomly end this post... I really miss buffalo wings.

How can I go back after all this?

So much has happened since the last time I updated that I really should be updating via multiple posts, but the time I have at this internet café in conjunction with the imminent possibility of power cutting out on me (as it usually does) have persuaded me to keep it to one post-- as short and simple as possible.

Christine and I went to Toubab Dialaw last weekend, a seaside town that only partially reflects the meaning of its name. It is far removed from Dakar enough to not be overrun by too many Toubabs, but also close enough to still offer hotels and restaurants. We basically splurged on food while there-- buying and eating everything we've been missing over the last few weeks with no shame: spaghetti, omlettes, candy, chocolate, fruit juice, wine, etc. I even had bread with cheese one morning-- it was really exciting at the time. The hotel we stayed at at 12,000 fCFA (~6 dollars) a night had a shower AND a toilet AND a mosquito net--- what more could we have asked for? Ontop of all these pleasant surprises, it felt just as it was described in the guide book-- like a Tolkien village.

After I came home (yes, Sébi is home now) from the weekend retreat, the pace of life seemed to pick up ten fold. Now that Palu season is just about over every other illness that was apparently lying dormant all that time, decided to show up at the clinic. Some highlights include a girl with warts/callouses all over both her hands, a kid almost projectile vomitting on me had his mother not back handed him in anticipation, a girl with a severe gum infection (even though no one here is trained in dental health, we still treated her by injecting amoxicillin into her gum), another girl who had an eye infection eating into her iris, a woman who bled the color violet, and an apparent outbreak of anemia. That was all Monday and Tuesday.

On Wednesday, I guess the entire town decided that it had no health issues-- except for one grandmother. She came in, had a consultation, and was given injections of novalgen. On her way out, she collapsed, perhaps fainted, and then in her half conscious state started to vomit all over herself. To all the student advisors at Grinnell, this is where your SA training would come in. Ndiaye, one of the nurses/ the guardian of the clinic, put her in the safety position while she continued to vomit. He then got hydrocortisone, mixed it with water, injected it into her, and thankfully, stabilized her enough to stop the vomitting. After I left the clinic Wednesday, I went home and was surprised ambushed by my host sisters who decided that with a baptism the next day, it would be a great day to braid my hair. My hair is now in micros.

Thursday after work, I attended the Muslim baptism from 1pm to 10pm. It apparently didn't end until 2am. I showed up with my hair braided, in a traditional Senegalese outfit that my host sister lent me, and with the fear of god in me because my sisters told me that I would have to dance Sereer infront of everyone. The baptism itself, was... not really a baptism. It was really a fashion show for the mother, and the baby who was supposed to be baptized just slept tucked away in a room where no one could see him. I expected 40 or so people to be there. When I got there, there was a tent and maybe over a hundred people. We ate lunch at 3pm, and after, all the old ladies danced Sereer. It was pretty awesome, especially because I wasnt the one in the middle of the crowd being gawked at. Between then and dinner, a woman read out the entire gift registry. This in conjunction with the two parade-like entrances in which the mother came in (without the baby whos baptism it was) went all the way until dinner at 8. After dinner, it was just pure dancing until the end of the night. Thankfully, there was no toubab spectacle that night.

Yesterday is the reason for this blog title. My supervisor and I were sitting in the consultation room when we heard a car screech. Not until someone ran in and told us was it confirmed that someone was hit by a car. I jumped up from where I was sitting and ran out with everyone else. NDiaye was already there with her. She was maybe 15 or 16, lying on the ground, crying as blood spewed out of her mouth. Her legs were in a tangle and her teeth were knocked out. Gendarmeries showed up on the scene really quickly, made everyone back up and give her space. They let me stay by NDiaye's side, probably assuming I was a doctor or capable of helping because I had the health clinic's smock on. There in the middle of the national highway, they used a fulaar and cardboard boxes as a stint. I wasnt paying close attention to what it was, but I think Ndiaye injected Valium into her as well. The Gendarmes chalked the area around her, and she was carried off into the shade on the side of the road. It took the police 15 to arrive, and the ambulence 30+. Im no doctor, but from what I gather, I think she suffered only from a fractured leg, loss of teeth, and a couple scrapes and bruises. Apparently roughly every two weeks an accident like this happens-- the last two taking the leg of a girl and the life of a mother.

Later that afternoon, being Friday, were vaccinations. No babies had time to pee or puke up on me this time, though, as I didnt actually get to spend much time weighing babies as I usually do. NDiaye pulled me into the "salle de soigner" where I played the role of nurse and he, doctor. Our first case was a 12 or so year old boy who looked like he got part of his head burned and then something smashed into it afterwards. I helped hold him down while NDiaye took a razor to his head and scraped off the hair around the wound and then all the extra skin in the way of the open wound. Then, NDiaye proceeded to put five stitches into his head which required the help of two others to hold the boy down. I dont know why he didn't get valium like the girl did earlier in the day.. maybe because the pharmacy was already locked.

Then the minute the boy was off the table, a girl came in with a nasty welt on her shin. It was clearly an infected cut. NDiaye first took a syringe and injected amoxicillin into the cut, but that resulted in a jet stream (quite literally) of pus squirting out of the other side of the wound. It took three grown men to hold her down while NDiaye cleaned up the wound like he had the other time-- dosing a long bandage with alcohol and literally stuffing it into the wound (Happy Thanksgiving, btw).

Unruly skirts and the Maternity Ward

This morning started off as I attempted to speed walk across the sand to get to the health clinic. I dont know if you've ever tried speed walking on sand, but it doesn't really work in your interest-- so basically, i was the stupid Toubab kicking sand in all directions. I was in a rush because for whatever reason, I thought that our site visit from the program would be at the house, only to get a call telling me to get to the clinic because they had been waiting for me. I found out after this morning that if be necessary, it is possible to get to work in 15 minutes by foot, and still manage to also greet (some) people along the way.

We had our review and such, discussed the fact that everythings fine and that Im still alive, which I guess is good. Waly said his words and my internship adviser gave his-- including a comment that I was a bit timid which is not the first time someone has said that about me in Senegal. I guess for one reason or another, I have become more reserved over this past year, if not significantly quieter than who I was a dozen of months ago. Not to mention that my wisdom teeth growing in has probably also decreased the number of words that come out of my mouth. Maybe the change is good, maybe not. On verra.

After that was over, I walked over to the maternity ward where Im working this week. On the way, two trucks full of Toubab (most likely American) soldiers passed me. It was pretty funny to see all their heads turn to stare at the Asian. I was probably as surprised to see them as they were to see me.

At work, no one showed up for an hour. This is kinda how the maternity ward functions... all the patients are (literally) huddled in a room before I even get there each day. The administrators (nurse, midwives, etc) don't come into until, well, from what Ive observed... whenever they so choose to. Needless to say, its pretty slow there because I dont do much, but I guess that doesnt mean that I don't learn a lot from observation. In fact, each patient when they come in, instead of getting their temperature taken as they all do at the main poste de santé, gets a pelvic exam. So basically, Ive seen way more of the Senegalese woman's body than I'd ever intended to. Also, did you know it only costs roughly 10 dollars to give birth there?

After work, I ran and caught a Njiangjia (refresher: old bus significantly overoccupied) to Rufisque (for 200fCFA) where I needed to get money from the ATM (BICIS). On the way there, I had a nice conversation (as best as I could) with a woman, a four year old girl, and some guy in Wolof and Sereer. The guy kept trying to convince me to be his third wife and I kept thinking of excuses to decline. "I dont have time marry because Im a student," "I dont cook well", and "I already have two husbands" were just some that I came up with.

The njiangjia trip back was pretty uneventful. When we got to Sébi, I signaled to the guy to stop so I could get off. As I hopped off the bus, I felt something pull me back. My skirt got caught on an old peice of metal randomly sticking out of the bus. Thankfully, I was wearing underwear; yet, my ass was still in everyone's face. For this super conservative culture (at least concernign the lower half of the body).. that was a major league no-bueno. Im pretty positive that walking away from the bus, the Senegalese who got a sneak peak underneath my skirt were far more embarassed than I was.

a day in the my life at Sebi

What have been I up to?

Well, every other day my host brother and I make lime-ade by picking twelve or so limes from the lime trees in the backyard and hand squeezing them. We occasionally collect so much that we freeze our reserves and enjoy frozen lime flavored ice the next day.

In the course of ONE month, Ive been sick more times than I usually am in one year (which is a lot because my immune system is known to be a piece of shit). First, before Touba Couta I had that freak of nature 24 hr super high fever . Then, before leaving for Sébi, I had that Palu scare which ended me up in the "hospital". A week after being in Sébi, I came down with the flu, and am currently still battling it. As of the beginning of last week, my wisdom teeth decided that it was about the time to let me know that they were growing in.

Each day after work, I walk 20- 40 minutes home (depending on how many people I have to say salutations to) and eat lunch with the family. After lunch, we all lounge around the living room and eat frozen Bissap (a type of juice here), which is by far one of the highlights of my day. It usually is just enough to cheer me up from all the verbal harassment I take from the guy I work with at the pharmacy.

Today I did laundry and ironed clothes for the family. Can you imagine how much clothes a family near double digits has to be ironed? A shit ton, I tell you. The family I live with here uses a typical iron that can be found in the US, but my family in Dakar used a contraption in which you put heated coals into. No ironing board was used in either location. Furthermore, all clothes as Im sure many of you already knew, are handwashed. With this family in Sébi, everything is handwashed twice. And then bleached. Holy fucking god I am so tired but happy that I am done.

I have managed to introduce my snake addiction to my entire family. I am a terrible person. Why? Because now instead of lounging around and talking, we lounge and play snake. I have to charge my phone anytime its not in the hands of someone else because its almost always on its last bar of battery.

I have eaten cheb_u_jen-- fish and rice-- once every single day. I have started to day dream about McDonalds, thats how much I am missing American cuisine. But all in all, seeing that there are many families in Senegal who are living off of one meal a day, I really have nothing to complain about. I finish each meal feeling full AND don't ever feel like I ate someone else's share of food. Really, the food situation isnt all too bad. On top of it all, I eat two packets of peanuts and roughly three bananas a day. This is all food my family gives me-- all things I look forward to greatly. Also, all things I dont have to pay for (slash already did with room and board); woot!

My host brother is sitting next to me and because he asked to come to the cyber cafe with me. He has seen a computer before, and perhaps even fiddled around wiht it... but never ever in his life used the internet. I get to introduce him to it! I dont even know where to start...

Only in Senegal...

Only in Senegal:

...are there mint leaves (with no medical intent) drying in the pharmacy to be used for afternoon tea.
...while walking to work, does a guy ask you if you want to ride his donkey-- only for him to actually be sitting on a cart with a donkey pulling it.
...is there a delay in blood test results because the analyst has to go pray.
...is it okay to whip out your boobs out infront of everyone at any given moment to breast feed. Or better yet, just walk around completely topless.
...do I seriously fear getting cavities or diabetes due to the absolutely absurdly high sugar intake.
...does a coworker take you around back to show you his "goat", only for their really to actually be a goat grazing in the back of the clinic.
...do you live beneath a roof supporting 147 baby chicklings (3 died... the first ten days I am told are supposed to be most trying)
...do i live with a family unattended by parents (the dad travels all the time and the moms (theyre muslim) dont live in the house nor do they visit frequently); it feels like i have on 15-18 siblings because thats how many people are in the house all the time-- mostly friends or relatives to my older host brothers.
...am I told to give my own diagnosis/consultation when I went into the clinic sick last week. Then, after I offered my opinion, they then asked for the same concerning what I should be perscribed. (in the end, it was they who made the final shots, but still) I wanted to cry. That was Thursday. Today is Monday and I am still sick.


Just to keep it real, Sebi has been humbling and tiring, the trials probably no more substantial than Dakar-- but without a ear to listen (that understands English) when venting seems like the only solution, its a bit more tough.

Ive been learning to control my tongue each time the pharmacist (who I am shadowing) loses his temper at me because I can't understand what he's trying to say through his heavy lisp. I was really angry at first, unable to pinpoint where our communication continuously broke down, but now that Im starting to get a better understanding of the situation, Ive been steadily building upon my patience. On that same note, Ive been learning to control my temper each time I get screamed at (in the literal, all heads in the clinic turn and stare at the toubab sense) for not reading his mind, not having prior knowledge of antibiotics and vitamins (from everything from all the generic names, to their functions, their sensitivity to ages, etc), not knowing seemingly futile organization related tidbits (like knowing that the pills are in the middle shelf while the injections are on the top shelf), and random ass facts like all the villages, towns, or cities between dakar and thies (we had a good 15 min screaming session today over this in which I exhibited absolutely no self control or grace).

Much like what Mairead mentioned in her entry, womens rights have really been starting to irk me-- or more so, i guess, the lack of. I came in thinking, okay, even though I hold a progressively liberal point of view concerning women's rights, I was raised in a church environment that has prepared me for this. NO it didn't. I may go off on a rant on this some other day, but I really dont want to walk home from the cyber cafe depressed. Ill wait until Im back in the States with a veggie chipotle burrito (with tons of guac), a slurpie, and a Costco slice of pizza to buffer any feelings of melancholy.

one of those, i just want to speak english days

Today at the health clinic, it felt like everyone collectively decided that it would be shat on dorothy day. (Minus the actual shatting, though, with my luck... that is always a possibility.) It all started when one of the guys i work with decided that i should be the one to administer all iv drips, give all shots, and disinfect all wounds. after just one demonstration, he handed me the next patient to walk through the door and told me to basically stick a needle in her, a girl no older than maybe eight years old. He was in no which way joking: i stood there saying "deet deet"- no in wolof- over and over and over again, telling him that i was too inexperienced. He told me that i was here to experience new things and that this was the opportunity. We went through this exchange- with the girl watching us- for about a good six or so whole minutes until he finally realized that this girls high fever was by no means going to be reduced by my efforts.

Throughout the day i witnessed quite a few interesting ailments, but ill just fill you in on the two that stick out most in my mind. One guy came in with a bandage already on his foot. He needed his wound to be disinfected again, a wound which after the bandage was taken off, i found to be probably five inches long and half a centimeter wide. Apparently, his foot met the motor of a fishing boat. The second most interesting wound that i saw belonged to a girl of probably ten or so years. She had a hole on the bottom of her foot maybe the size of a dime- but with how swolen the wound was due to obvious infection, it looked like a gulfball-sized tumor. to disinfect her wound, the nurse- thankfully not me this time- took alcohol covered gauze and stuck it into the wound until you could only see an inch of gauze sticking out. Then, he pulled it all out and repeated the same procedure with a new peice of gauze. She was a trooper, she only cried- I wanted to scream the entire time.

Each week I am apparently supposed to shadow someone different- last week, it was the infirmier who did consultations- basically, the guy who played doctor. This week, im supposed to shadow the pharmicist. For whatever reason, I started off today disinfecting and refusing to setup IV drips. With maybe an hour and a half left in the day, they moved me to my actual post for the week- the closet sized pharmacy. There, all hell (in dorothy's mind) broke loose. I was given so much crap for not being able to converse in Wolof and Sereer. I kept on getting made fun of: for every word I actually was able to say in either language, they repeated back, mocking my pronunciation. When I would ask them what something meant in French, they would respond back to me in Wolof, or worse yet, Sereer. Mind you, they all speak some English and French fluently... so basically, they were giving me a hard time just to be assholes.

When it was time for me to leave, the same guy who decided it was my experiential day, stood in front of the door, refusing to let me leave. At this point, after all teh teasing and shit I put up with, all I wanted to do was cry. He and the pharmicist kept saying phrases really rapidly in Wolof, phrases I clearly didnt understand. Finally, just before I was ready to kill them, they let me walk out the door and go home.

Love for Sebi

This is why i choose to study abroad; this is the experience i thought i was going to get and the experience that i wanted.

I am not saying that i didnt enjoy myself in Dakar, its just that being with sixteen other american students in another country was not what i wanted out of a study abroad program. Now that there are really no other people for me to speak English with, i am happily on my way in improving my French, learning wolof, and also sereer-- the local dialet of the area. ive even started to learn arabic, too, so now that im a bit ahead of myself in my life plans, i guess you could say that im in heaven.

there are so many trees here, the village is truly a fruit lovers paradise; animals of all sorts including goats, chickens, lizards, pigs, etc. walk along side me as i walk to work each day at the health clinic. At the clinic is probably where i am learning the most wolof. i play the role of the nurse who takes down everyones information, who asks what is wrong, asks the follow up questions, and takes their tempertature. i know how to say all this in wolof now, and thankfully, due to the rampant use of exaggerative gestures in senegalese culture, i also understand for the most part what my patients say back to me. i now know how to say "take your top off and mount" in wolof--- in context with my own gestures, the patients understads that i mean "take your shirt off so i can take your temperature and get up on the table so we can examine you".

i diagnosed my first case of malaria on wednesday; it was a 28 year old woman. After her, i diagnosed two children, both under five also with palu; that was somehow more unsettling. the rapid tests here are funded by usaid and free for the patients; theyre really easy to use and are used really often.

thats about all i do in the clinic, get prelim information, tell patients to strip and mount, take their temperature, and administer malaria tests. the actual nurse plays the part of doctor by finishing the checkup and writing out perscriptions. oh, except for fridays; on fridays, i stay longer to assist with baby vaccinations. i got peed on by two babies yesterday. i dont like fridays.

at home, i speak in french with my host siblings and am in the process of learning sereer and arabic. they always have friends over which is a ton of fun. we have attaya two times a day, every day. i cook with my sisters and we talk about cultural differenes. late at night, i stay up talking politics with my brothers and occassionally walk around town with them as well.

im out of minutes at the cyber cafe now, ill update more later;

Where one thing ends, another begins

I remember senior year in high school, sitting in the parking lot, probably about to grab some McDonalds before french class with Madame Touzeau. This was during that time of my life where med school was still being considered, where Doctors Without Borders was something I was still working towards, when I believed that absolute truth existed, and when I still ate at McDonalds. On that day, a friend said to me that he would rather much be a mechanic than a doctor. Unlike dotors, he said, mechanics actually knew what was wrong with their patient. Mechanics who've built their cars from scratch know the bodies of their car inside and out; doctors on the other hand, have been trying all throughout history to map out the human body only to be able to give an educated guess to the functioning or "malfunctioning" of the human body.

His words perfectly capture my adventure to the hospital on Friday. I paid 28,000 fCFA to hear a doctor tell me that my blood test came out negative for Malaria. Instead, he said, I had some sort of infection.. what it was, he did not know; he said maybe bronchitis. Then, I paid another 10,000 fCFA or so to get antibiotics and such to cure this ambiguous infection. Including cab fee, the aforementioned charges, and doctor's fee and whatever else Ive forgotten to mention, I basically paid 65,900 fCFAs total to find out that I did not have malaria.

On a completely different note, I am now no longer living in Dakar. Im in Sebi right now, at yet another internet cafe. The house that im staying at has a garden of banana, mango, lime, and guava trees. The family Im living with is astronomically larger than mine in Dakar, but equally as friendly, if not more talkative. I wont say how many family members there are because that's breaking a senegalese superstition, and even if i did try to count, I would not have a number to tell you because there are so many people that walk in and out that I dont know whos a neighbor and whos a hostsibling. Lets just say that I dont have a double digit number of siblings, but its up there.

I was the first to get dropped off of all the students, and probably the first to start work as well. No one was supposed to start at their perspective internships until tomorrow, but the minute I dropped my bag off at home, I was out the door again to the clinic to start my first day of work because thats what my supervisor requested last minute-- literally, when I got there this morning. There, I probably spoke more Wolof than Ive ever spoken in all my time at Dakar. The doctor, my supervisor, had me sit in on all his consultations and get each patients prelim info using Wolof.

I was also told that I would need to learn another language, the local dialect here is apparent neither French nor Wolof but Sereer, and more specifically the dialect of Saffe. I havent even gotten really all that far past salutations, numbers, and body parts in Wolof... I dont know how ready I am to pick up something new... but hey, im open to anything.

After lunch, we sat underneath the lime trees in the backyard. There are six lime trees. They provided a beautiful canopy of shade for what is probably going to be the beginning of another exciting adventure in Senegal.

Kids

On Sunday, I went to mass with my host family. I spent the entire time trying my hardest not to laugh. In fact, through my efforts, I think Ive officially come up with a list of topics that can distract my thoughts from almost anything. Anyways, why I was laughing: At the beginning of mass, my host brother who was sitting next to me rested his head on my shoulder and within seconds, he fell asleep. It was cute. A few minutes later, I felt Julien's head slipping, but I assumed he'd do the typical head bob bit. Instead, he continued to slump over and almost fell out of his seat. Luckily, I caught him before his head hit the ground. He did not wake up during any of this. In the process of falling, the money he was going to give for offering fell out of his pocket which I eventually slipped back in for him. He had been super excited to give money to "senor Jesus" earlier in the day, its a shame he couldn't stay awake to do so. When we got home, he woke up and asked why we weren't at mass anymore. When he finally realized that he missed on giving money to "senor Jesus", he started to cry. For the remainder of the night, the house was filled with the screams as Julien threw a tantrum over the fact that he slept through offering.

Friday night was the birthday party for the favorite son, Yves. (Yves had actually turned three on Tuesday, but we could not celebrate his birthday then because it was a school night.) When it came time to light the candles, we gathered all the children around the table. We then lit the candles and started to sing happy birthday. Yves decided to sing along as well, despite the fact that it was his birthday. Before we got to the second "joyeuse anniversaire," one of the little girls standing around the table blew out the candles. Yves didn't really notice though because he was so wrapped up in singing happy birthday to himself. One of the adults standing around the table rushed to relight the cake before the song was over, while another held the little girl back. When we finished singing, everyone started to clap and Yves blew out his three birthday candles. We cut up the cake, distributed pieces-- it was delicious. For whatever reason, one of the families who attended the party had decided to bring a cake... another one on top of what we already had. And for whatever reason, my host famil decided not to light both cakes together. Therefore, we took candles the little girl and Yves had just blown out, stuck them in the second cake, lit the candles, and started to sing happy birthday again.

As the birthday party started to wind down, Yves came over to where was I reclining on the couch. He laid on top of me, resting his head on my chest. He then proceeded to give me a hug, look up at me and smile, then give me another hug, look up at me and smile again, and so forth. After a while, as if that took all the energy out of him, his eyelids started to grow heavy and he fell asleep on my chest. It was so cute I almost died.

Before I left for a weekend trip to Toubacouta a few weeks ago, I was at my host family's house packing. I had just gotten out of the shower and walked into my room. Julien stormed in and started to stomp on my feet. I said rather loudly, "what are you doing?" in French, which caused my host parents to scream from the living room, "what is he doing, what is he doing?" Julien then stopped, looked at me, then turned his head in the direction of his parents' voices and yelled back, "why are you hitting me? why are you hitting me? youre always hitting me with your hands! dorothy's hitting me!" I have never raise a hand to him before in my life.

Random things to know about Senegal

• people drive on the right side of the road
• pedestrians do not have the right of way
• turning circles are far more frequently found than traffic lights
• iced bissap makes a good just about almost makes up for my slurpie/popsicle deprivation
  
• the official language is French
• the most commonly spoken language is Wolof
• Wolof is a spoken language, not a written (hence my difficulty in learning it)
• I have yet to find wheat bread
• the Senegalese eat a typical French breakfast of baguette, cafe au lait, and whatever spread you choose (usually either butter, chocolate, or cheese)
• Baguettes are served with just about every meal
• Vegetables are typical added into dishes when being prepared, but taken out before served
• Rice is as much of a staple to the Senegal diet as baguettes and fish
• the last school year was almost wiped out because the professors were on strike so often
• the professors went on strike last year because the government wasn't fully paying them
• the government pays for school, therefore college education is virtually free
• mango season ended in september, if not earlier
• even with mango season over, you can still find some mangos which are still delicious
• school started this week, in October.
• You must greet and shake each persons hand when entering a room
• electricity and water do not run on a regular basis
• a lot of riots have broken out recently because President Wade did not follow through with his problem to fix this electricity problem
• pointy, closed-toed shoes are very popular
• almost all jewelry that ive seen comes from China

...Will add more later, feel free to comment with additions.

Orphans, Refugees, and Riots

Yesterday I visited an orphange and refugee...place with my public health class.

The orphanage accepts children who have been abandoned or children whos parents are curently too sick to take care of them. Parents who send their children to what I felt was a fuckign nice facility (nicest thing Ive seen in Dakar thus far) pay 10,000 CFAs a month or 5,000 CFAs if they arent as financially equipped.

The refugee... facility (sorry for the lack of a proper title) that we visited takes roughly 25 kids at a time. When we visited, there were 27 kids on the housing list. The kids have arrived at the door asking for what is basically asylum for one reason or another, but for the most part they have run away from their (most likely corrupt) Marabou (Islamic teacher/caretaker).

While we were there, a riot broke out in the streets. We were taking a tour of the place and just so happened to be on the top floor by a window when chaos first started to ensue. At first, I saw a lot of men running in one direction. Then, a truck came to an abrupt stop right before our building and some men jumped out of the back bed (it was a pickup truck) while others fell out. It wasn't a gentle tumble off the pickup truck so much as them falling so fard no their sides that I gasped outloud and almost even screamed.

I dont know if the truck was shipping people to riot or if the men getting out of the truck were trying to run from the riot. All I know is that my attention was quickly diverted to the sound of rocks ebing thrown at the building two or three down from us. In the streets, fights were breaking out and an increasing amount of really, really large rocks (arguably large concrete slabs) were being thrown. People were yelling at each other while others were screaming and running in fear.

A guard came fairly quickly and took a baton and beat a man. Then more guards came and the crowd dispersed some. A lot ran down this ally-way diagonal from the building in which we were standing. A guard stood at that entrance while a continuous stream of rocks were being thrown at him. He eventually vanished nito the direction from which the rocks came from only to be replaced by an emerging white smoke.

All the bystanders beneath our building at ground level started to cough and cover their faces; I assule that that guard sprayed tear gas. Once the cloud thinned out some, all the vendors came back and started setting up shop.

Then, the rioting men came back. This time, they started throwing rocks at the building next to us. It was so close that we backed away from teh window in fear of getting hit by a stray. Then the swat team came in.

All this rioting apparently was over a community soccer game. The losing team was throwing rocks at the side of teh street of the winning team. Apparently the street divided the two rivalring quartiers.

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Shana and Allison, too, were caught in the middle of a riot. Theres was a bit more severe from the sounds of it. People were lighting things on fire to protest the constant power outages.

I dont have any pictures from this day, so instead, ill put up random other things.

li nga begg dafa yomb

"li nga begg dafa yomb" is a sarcastic comment that when literally translated, means what you want is easy.

This weekend I went to Toubacouta with the program; from saturday until tuesday we travelled with a group of local university students around and between villages. They, the UCAD students, were all guys. This really changed the dynamic of our group, but I liked it. Ive never been the type to hang around as many girls as I am right now with MSID. I guess guys are just more easy going.

Anyways, a melfoqine update: I took my pill Monday and it fucking drove me insane from that point on in the trip. That is actually a horrible exaggeration, but I basically was high when I didnt want to be. I was feeling especially bad that first morning which unfortunately coincided with our visit to rural villages. We were going in groups of four to six to talk with womens groups about their projects and to write grant proposals for them. I guess my eagerness to do this somehow mustered up the energy and concentration to function for a few hours... thankfully.

Jappam Ma Jaap is what theyre group name is called, which stands for solidarity between us. They are a group of forty women who work three months of the year cultivating peanuts and selling them at markets and to the government to raise money for their village, Keur Moussa Seny. Everything that is raised goes towards chairs for community meetings, towards building fortified structures (which they have exactly two of that i saw), and towards funding community events. They need more funding to more adequately or efficiently farm; unfortunately, they do not have the human resource to write out a proposal--- they speak Wolof and the official language in Senegal is French. And thats where we came in! With the help of a translator, we asked them questions that would help us write the proposal. So basically, we would ask the translator a question in French, he would ask the group that same question in Wolof, and then get a response. It was a long but, for a lack of better words, interesting process.

We also visited a lot of different resources in the community like a health clinic; we also talked to an official who administered the village's fishing industry. The man at the clinic told us about how mosquito nets have decreased the number of Malaria cases each year; this has been achieved especially so because of NGOs who help supply a great portion of the cost of each mosquito net so that the villagers can afford it. Also, to see the doctor, one has to pay what I remember to be aroudn 300 cfas, which is a little over 50 cents USD. Often, when someone doesnt have that amount of money, someone in the community will help them or the community will pool together the money.

Speaking of people helping people, apparently the Japanese do a lot to help the fishing industry over here. They provide boats and necessary machinery as well as education concerning fishing. From what I gathered, I dont think that the Japanese benefit (monetarily) much, if at all.

In our down time, we hung out with the university students and talked, made attaya, and played card games. We taught the university students how to play ERS. Every time a sandwich would come up, they'd scream out "hamburg!"

On another note, so far, a bottle of bug spray (100% deet) and a banana have exploded on my moleskin. Its not in good shape, whatsoever. The outside binding is already starting to tear apart, major league sad face.

Aside from this weekend, Ive been up to my normal routine. We have a ton of papers due in the next week or so and "exams" as well, but not enough power or internet access to prepare for them, as usual.

The other day in Wolof class, the professor was telling us about English phrases he'd learned from peace corps volunteers. One went, "Hows it hanging?" to which you respond "like a trumpet. Wanna blow it?" Oh, Americans.

In the public health class that Im taking, the professor referenced using armbands to measure children's health to see if they are malnurished. I got, of course, extremely excited when I heard this because these were the same arm bands that we (Grinnellians for Global Health) were handing out last year to promote Doctors Without Borders.

While Im throwing out random "stories"-- once again, my English vernacular has greatly diminished-- I usually fall asleep and wake up to the sound of three goats. I know that there are three because they have all very distinctive "baa"-ing sounds. After Korité (which I will update on in a later date when im feeling ambitious), I woke up by the sound of two. Major leauge sad face, number two.

Amy is awesome.

A Weekend in Saint Louis

("sept-place" bargaining)

Around 4pm, we arrived at the bus station-like place to get two "sept places" for Saint Louis. "Sept places" are eight seater station wagons (seven, really because of the driver) that you pay to drive you places. When we got to the station, however, to our surprise, we found some guy who had a 15-seater van willing to accept 3500 fCFA per seat. In comparison to the "sept place," this sounded like a great deal because we wouldn't have to take two separate cars (we were a group of 8) and could sit comfortably for the same price. Once we all piled into the van, the driver then informed us that the price was 3500fCFA... per seat... meaning we would have to pay for all 15 seats.

(within the ngiaga ndiaya)

So we get off the bus, pissed of course, and some other guy comes up to us telling us about some 2800fCFA per head deal. We clarify that its per head, not per seat, and agree to go. We all pile into this bus and pay 10000fCFA as down payment. At some point, we realize that the bus we were now sitting in was a "ngiaga ndiaya". What does this mean? Ngiaga Ndiayas stop along the route to the destination and pick up people as we go. Basically, what we knew it to mean was that it would take 5-6 hours to get to Saint Louis isntead of 3-4 hours. We tried getting our money back after this realization, but to no luck. What ended up happening in the end, though, was Josh and Laura got off and took a sept place (because of PB and D) while the rest of us roughed it.

Our "direct" what we thought would be 5-6 hr Ngiaga Ndiaya road trip up to Saint Louis ended up taking 8+ hours. Within the actual Ngiaga Ndiaya, we sat 5 people a row in what shouldve been 3-4 person rows. The road trip officially became an adventure when we pulled onto the highway and got hit by another bus. We lost our driver's side-view mirror. Then, maybe an hour into the trip, we for an unknown reason got pulled over by the Po-po. All this time, we were sitting with no leg room whatsoever (in fact, there was a hole beneath my feet so everytime we went over a puddle, my legs got splashed), windows down, bugs swarming towards our overheated perspirating bodies. By the end of the 8 or so hours, we had stopped only 3 times at rest stops, one of which wasn't really even a break so much as the entire bus unloading to go see a person who got hit by a car. In the meantime, Laura texted Mairead and told her that she and Josh had arrived at 8pm to only be pleasantly surprised by a really awesome hostel and friendly gentlemen who provided them Ceebujen (the national Senegalese dish which Saint Louis is famous for). After we arrived at Saint Louis past 12 am, we piled all 6 of us into one taxi and got to the hostel only for our taxi driver to ask Cait for a goodnight "bessous" (kiss).

(our hostel... it reminded by of the Real World)

(mmm mmm café crème)

(cool artist who goes by Bobey)

(kerry, me, cait, and josh)

We woke up the next morning and ventured around town. We found this fantastic patisserie where had the most amazing pasteries and cafe creme, ever. Also, we went to the most beautiful beach that Ive seen yet in Senegal (called Hydrobase), however the dead goat and the dog who peed on the dead goat and also getting harassed by locals took a tiny bit away from it. At night, we ate at this toubab restuarant along the river and then walked home for some beers. Josh taught us this cool intuition drinking game, which we played for a while. And then we finished off the remainder of the beers with an equally as fun and new game introduced by Cait; By the time we finished our beers, there was only myself, Kerry, Josh, and Cait left. We then decided to go to a bar where we played Kings Cup. By around 3 or 4 am, Josh and I, who were the last ones up, went to bed only to hear Laura talking in her sleep ( she said something along the lines of "yeah, i'd like that").

(me, Cait, Paulina, Laura, Josh, Mairead, Licia, and Kerry)

The next morning we went back to the Patisserie and ordered delicious omelettes, and of course, more cafe creme. We left in two separate "sept-places" (for whatever reason, we chose not to take the Ngiaga Ndiaya again). The ride back was pretty intense for everyone in the car-- though a bit less for me because I was reading Josh's the Red Tent. We started off by almost hitting a boy who was leaning too far into the road; at some point Laura saw a guy standing butt naked in the street; at another, it started to pour... into the car. The driver was a huge prick and would not stop the car when we asked him to, not even when Laura started to cry, or when everyone else in the car (even the 3 native senegalese passengers) started to scream at him.

When we finally got back to Dakar (it was only a 4ish hour trip this time around), they got me my own taxi (because i live so far from everyone else) for 1500 fCFAs. As everyone else I was with walked away towards their own taxi, all these local Senegalese men started to yell 1500fCFA at me and tell me to go sit in this empty taxi. I didn't know what to do, so I went to the taxi, opened the door, and sat inside. After two or so mintes, some guy walked up to the car and told me to get out. Once I got out, all the men from earlier were now screaming 1500fCFAs and telling me to get into their cars. I ended up just following the guy who got me in teh first place and got into his car. By now I had no idea what was goign on, so I called Laura. She didnt pick up. Then two other guys got into the car as well. I said hello to everyone in the car in Wolof and we had a brief conversation about my (in)ability to speak Wolof. They then started to talk to each other too quickly for me to follow in Wolof. This is about the time I started to freak out a bit. I very casually got out my phone and then called Josh. I dont even know why I even bothered to call, its not like they could do anything from where they were. Before I hung up with Josh, one guy had already gotten out of the car. The other gyu started giving orders to teh driver to go through all these alleyways and back routes; we took so many turns that I lost track of where we were. Finally, we pulled in front of some house and he got out as well. Thank God.

I eventually arrived home to my host family at 7pm or so, and was pleasantly surprised by running water. Before leaving for Saint Louis, I was somethign like 8 for 10 in bucket showers. I was so happy, in fact, that I almost cried. This awesome weekend then finished off with some delicious Yassa Porc, which was probably one of the best dinners Ive had since being here.

not the one in Missouri

nothing but a purse, flashlight, and

5,000 fCFA x2 (=$20 USD)- round trip busfare to Saint Louis

5,000 fCFA x2 (=$20 USD)- two nights at hostel

+ 10,000 fCFA (=$20 USD)- food and spending $$

= a weekend at Saint Louis, Senegal.

We were slightly hesitant about actually going because it was raining this morning, but its looking like we're gonna go. Yes, the the dirt roads might be flooded; yes, they might even be closed; but hell, it'd be nice to get a weekend away from little kids screaming at the top of their lungs 24/7.

I'll update once I get back from this adventure.

excerpts from the moleskin

Just a sneakpeak, in no particular order:

"living far from school and everyone is going to end up being a slight financial burden, but has been a door to great opportunities. I usually take the bus to and from classes which costs 150 fCFA ( something less than a quarter) each way. When I travel elsewhere, I usually take the taxi, klondo, or car rapide. Taxi fares here are bargained-- you have to agree on a price with the driver before you get in. You'll get a better price if you speak to the driver in Wolof. Klondos are unmarked and shared taxis, basically, hitchhiking. Because they techniqually arent legal, you pay less to ride them. Car rapides are colorful buses which drive directly down one road. You jump onto an insanely crowded vehicle and often have people sitting (literally) on your lap."

"being a toubab in Senegal has been interesting, coming from an asian background, for many reasons. Foremost, there is a surprising number of similarities between African and Chinese culture. [ill go into this more in another post] Second, I get a lot of "jackie chan" and "ching chong..." remarks when i walk down the street. To my surprise, sort of, I feel like I get it easier as a foreigner because I am not white. One of our professors, for instance, seems to like myself, Eva, and Josh-- the two asians and the canadian."

"Licia and I went to the beach and the kids were throwing rocks at us. After that, it was SO hard to keep a level mind and remember that they are just kids and by no means a reflection of everyone else. Its so hard not to respond to hate with hate. Although slightly off topic, I think they were only aiming at Licia. I wonder if this has to do with the race thing as well..."

“the secret to a successful bucket shower : with the smaller bucket- ladle, wet your hair and body. Only use one, no more than two, ladles full to do so or you will not have enough water to finish the bucket-shower experience. Next, shampoo your hair. It is best to use a two-and one shampoo-conditioner for this. If you only have the two separately, it is best to save conditioning for another day when you have more water at your disposal. When you are done lathering, do not rinse. Now, dip your loofa (or whatever cleaning device you have) into the water and apply soap. Cleanse your body. By this point, you should have used no more than 3 ladles full of water. If you need to shave, do so now. If you brush your teeth in the shower, also do so now. Once you are done with just about everything you need to accomplish in this cleansing experience, use all but the last ladle of water in the bucket to rinse yourself clean. It is best to start rinsing your hair first and let the water that drizzles down rinse off your body… or you may end up in the awkward situation of having shampoo left in your hair. Once you have finished and have towelled dry, it is best to mop up the area around where you have bucket-showered and rinse of any remaining soap-suds with the last ladle of water left in your bucket.”

“the internet at school has been down for just about all of last week, and again today. When I finally decided it was worth it to pay to use an internet café, the power went out. I am now also 6 for 7 for bucket showers because the water is always turned off. “

“ I would give almost anything to read Le Petit Prince right now”

“Spring break 2007 I went to Minnesota to visit Katie and we ate super healthy and worked out like it was our job. The rest of the semester I was vegan and worked out for an hour (minimum) every single day—I had never felt better (physically, mentally, and emotionally) in my entire life. I think my experience here in Senegal—having to walk in the extreme heat every single day and eating a diet of rice and baguette at every single meal—has propelled me in the exact opposite direction of where I was spring 2007; I feel nauseous every other day for the entire day, dizzy just as frequently, and snappy at a moments notice. Every opportunity I have to eat vegetables and fruit, I do… only to feel even more like shit because my body doesn’t know what to do with all these foreign nutrients. Also, it is not advisable for me to take my multivitamin on an empty stomach as that will only perpetuate my feeling of nausea.”

“I feel unchallenged academically and like my tuition money is going to waste. In the spirit of trying to stay positive, maybe this is an opportunity for me to take my first break in long time… just to learn, instead, what it means to not work on a militant schedule, what it means to not capitalize on every opportunity given to me.”

“learning what fun can be enjoyed with just the simple things in life is what I think has been most pertinent this week. Yves likes to stand in the middle of the living room, spin in circles, and fall face flat on the ground—the whole time laughing like he’s having the time of his life. When he’s not doing this, he gathers all of his ten or so stuffed animals and places them next to me, jumps up and lies on the coach, and tells me to cover him with all the stuffed animals. When I’m done, all I can see are the teletubbies, rabbit, and panda bouncing up and down as he giggles beneath his creation.”