Stuff is complicated.

Man, stuff is complicated.

I’m pretty sure I know even less what exactly I want to do in life and am even angrier and farther “left” than when I got here, though I’ve definitely become more academic and interested in my studies and just the pursuit of knowledge, because I’m really living it at the same time (and I don’t have much else to do than learn and reflect-it’s really a luxury that I don’t often have time to appreciate.)
It’s one thing to look at statistics of one billion people living on less than a dollar a day or look at maps of the world (as I found myself doing yesterday between classes) with different color codes based on levels of education, access to various healthcare needs, infant mortality, numbers of women in the formalized economy and see the light colors across north America, Europe and northern Asia, and then see the darker streaks in South America and Southeast Asia, and most often the darkest streaks blanketing Africa and Central Asia/the Middle East. It is so broad and works great to make money for XYZ Help the Little People NGO but doesn’t do any justice to reality, which as can be expected is much crazier.
What I see in Dakar where I’m living is such a heterogeneous place spanning different languages, countries of origin, ethnic and religious affiliations, and -most obviously- classes. This past weekend a huge mall just opened in the richest area of Dakar- Les Almadies and there are plenty of rich people, there is a large, active population of intellectuals from Senegal and other Francophone African countries, the best university in West Africa- Cheikh Anta Diop U. (which is another discussion entirely-it is overcrowded and campus needs a serious makeover and there aren’t jobs for students when they graduate, though it’s very politically active and many important people are professors there), there are professionals like my host parents who both work at airports, and everyone down to women selling peanuts on the sidewalk (there are of course beggars-mostly downtown, many of whom are physically disabled).
The age without tv, radio, or newspapers is over and people have access to radio, and many have access to tv too. Everything is here. If I get sick I can go to a pharmacy (as I have) and get medicine or call a doctor or find peanut butter and sanitary pads at the supermarket-it’s just that those things are economically out of reach for so many people.
And right now, it’s my time to rag on neo-colonialism- it goes on with the British, of course the US, and other countries, but now I am more intimately acquainted with the French, who cannot seem to get out of Senegal’s bed.
There are a lot of crazy westerners here, from all over. On the car rapide yesterday there was a Spanish (she said her father was Moroccan also) lady who had lived here for five years “this country is very difficult” she said before grumbling out at the car rapide assistant about how much the ride cost and getting off. What’s that supposed to mean? Why bother staying here? Then there is the old Italian guy who lives in my (American) friend’s neighborhood who complains about Senegal and its people and the loose morality of its women and brings multiple young Senegalese women home on a daily basis. How do people get away with that? (Money yes but…I just don’t know). I learned yesterday that the going rate for buying sex here is as basic as 500 CFA- that’s $1- as in ONE US Dollar. I can do a fair amount with a dollar here, such as buy a sandwich, but I didn’t expect that one.
I just haven’t been able to get over my awkwardness as an American (westnerner) here. I’m cool with my friends or by myself walking around saying hello to people, but when there are others-especially groups of others- they tend to mostly be old Europeans (if they aren’t in the French army-but that’s different) and it just makes me feel strange. I can get over being the minority and having more privilege than the majority-people who are native to this country- at the same time. I’m so used to the idea that as a minority I should have less power. I guess those other toubabs remind me of my privilege even more and just make me feel bad about what I represent (to myself, if not to others) and I just cross the street or hide in a corner or stop and buy some peanuts. Maybe that’s why toubabs tend to look at each other funny or avoid each other unless they’re in those special places where toubabs all congregate together like country clubs and special bars and the institute francais. Maybe secretly they feel some kind of voyeurism or some kind of ownership or maybe…maybe…they know what they represent. Or maybe not. I can’t explain it.
You know, Senegal’s currency is the CFA- the West African Franc, which is used by a few other countries in West Africa (duh). It used to be pegged to the French Franc and now is pegged to the Euro. What this means is that all of Senegal’s reserves are kept in France. All of the banks are French and all of the interest they accrue goes back to France. All of the most successful businesses are French companies, and local businesses in effect are stifled. Only the French can bail out the Senegalese in the event of an economic crisis. If power today is economic, then where does the power lie in this case?
Structural adjustment-another form of neo-colonialism. I’ve never liked SA. Senegal was one of the first countries to try it out back in the late 1970s. In 1994 the CFA was devalued by 50% while at the same time sectors that apparently don’t directly effect the economy-like education and healthcare-got major cuts all in the name of macroeconomic growth. Many people lost their jobs, and schools went into a system of “double flux” (which still exists today, sadly, in many places-like the village I stayed in a couple weeks ago 2 hours outside of Dakar) where 2 grades are taught by one teacher in the same class at the same time, or kids only go to school have the usual time because there aren’t enough resources-so one class goes in the morning and one in the afternoon. It’s better than nothing, they say.
Every day on the bus I pass the French military base, with cement walls and barbed wire on top-it’s like its own city. When I peer over the walls while standing on the bus I can see tree-lined streets. Senegal isn’t known for many violent wars or uprising, with the exception of some separatism in the Casamance (part of the region south of the Gambia-separated from the main part of Senegal). What’s the need? Just like the US and other countries, France has to keep its ducks in a row and make sure that leaders who cooperate with its interests stay in power.
Then you have people like president Sarkozy who came to Dakar in 2007 and told “Africans” (Senegalese/people in former French West African colonies) who tells is audience “the young of Africa” he used, that there were some good colonialists, and that colonialism was the beginning of a “special” relationship between Europe and Africa that he “keeps in his heart” and that it’s the fault of Africans for the lack of development and democracy.

We just watched a short (45 minute) film in my Society and Culture class by the director Djibril Diop Mambety called La Petite Vendeuse de Soleil (the little girl who sold the sun –Le Soleil being the government run newspaper in Senegal) that I highly suggest watching! Our discussion prompted me to crank out the above thoughts.
Power is the most dangerous thing on earth, it seems.
It’s funny that AOF (French West Africa) countries had the opportunities to be independent in 1958 through referendum but all said no, besides Guinea Conakry, whos leader ended up being communist trade-unionist-turned-dictator. The charge was led by former Senegalese president Senghor who loved France so much that in the 1980s, when he felt like not being president anymore, he just left and retired and died in France without any official visits, to the country he had led for 20 years, before he died. He said he spoke French better than his native Serer, was Catholic, married to a French woman, had French citizenship, and wrote all of his poetry and books in French. In 1960 France gave independence, on their own terms, to Senegal and many other colonies. However it wasn’t until the late 1970s that “Senegalization” (Africanization, in general) took place and all of the French administrators in government finally left.
It’s miraculous what people are able to accomplish here in spite of the forces working against many of them.

In other news, yesterday on the bus ride to school I saw a man walking stark naked down the street, just sauntering, flopping in the breeze. Oddly enough I was the only person to exclaim anything (“oh my god!”). It was really unusual.

I’ve been laying pretty low lately, just working on homework because I’ve got papers to finish and finals are coming up now, but this weekend we are heading north to St. Louis, which I hope to write an entry on next week. We’ll also be going to a national park filled with millions of migrating birds, so I plan on having some (at least mediocre) bird photos when I get back!

By the way, Happy Thanksgiving.
It’s my first one away from the family and hopefully the last one for awhile. They’re making dinner for us at the (American) country club down the street so we’ll get our pumpkin pie and turkey (don’t know where they found turkeys).

I don't want to be too negative, its just what I've been reflecting on. I have another whole entry to write about CIPFEM and my Gender class. *Note to Self* It will also be sort of negative.
As a friend and I were discussing, after being here, I have a lot more faith in humanity and a lot less faith in "the system"-the prevailing powers that be.

On another note, I spent my Saturday night checking out the mutton with my host mom and oldest host sister. Mutton meaning the goats we are buying to eat on Tabaski-which is coming up on the 9th (hopefully). It commemorates the occasion when Abraham was going to kill his son and then the angel Gabriel descended and gave him a sheep to kill instead. So we eat two goats-one for the mom and one for the dad- and the blood is streaked across the foreheads of little kids and everyone eats and wears new clothes. Those goats are expensive too. 75 thousand CFA each-meaning $150x2= $300 in one day! That is A LOT of money here. It sort of put my existence with my host family in place. I realized, as I watched my host mom fold clothes and tally up numbers all weekend for how much she would make by selling them at work (clothes shipped from the US-new and used- and acquired probably from a family member), that really I am just an extra source of income. And I’m okay with that-it’s only natural. She showed me the room my host brother was sleeping in (I took his room and he’s in a seemingly extra room (one of two)) and told me that it’s going to be her master bedroom-complete with tv and air conditioning, and showed me all of the other things she wants to finish with the house. Slowly but surely! No wonder I’m there!
Also I found out that my oldest host sister with the 7 year old doesn’t have a husband after all. “Amanda have you ever seen my husband?” “I don’t think so…maybe?” “No you haven’t, and that’s because I have none. None at all!” “Oh!” Funny and not at the same time, yo.