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.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Monday, November 10, 2008
Ataya neppee; Obama a gagne; am jaay fonde!
Last week was amazing! and only one reason for that was that Obama won and the democrats increased by 6 seats in the senate. (The tickets for GW's inaugural ball sold out in less than 24 hours however, so I won't get to go. It will be next to impossible to get a ticket to the inauguration, but you know I'm working my resources to locate one or even two.)
**I should be doing research for my two 10 page papers right now, but I guess I do have a month to write them...the internet seems to work for my blog but it can't handle the weight of my email and school research portals at the same time. Alas...
Sarah and I spent the week in Ndiaye Bopp with Diouma, who was our "host mother." There are about 2000 people in Ndiaye Bopp, which is next to the larger town of Mont Rolland, and is the largest of an 18 village network about 2.5 hours outside of Dakar, but as usual it felt so much farther! There is electricity, but no running water, and farmers have to bring out all of their water with them in large containers on their donkey carts in the mornings from the wells. This is crazy because pieces of land are falling in on themselves, creating large ditches/dried up river looking things that indicate underground caves, which means an underground river network! Oh the possibilities!
We started off on Monday by going to a funeral with Diouma. It was the first day of the funeral, which lasts a week. It was for the "husband" of her mother, who was an old man related to the actual husband of her mother who died previously. I'm not completely clear on the relationship, except that he was very old and somehow was a husband figure. In Senegal, it's a big deal when an elderly person dies, but the younger they are the fewer the people who are invited-possibly a testement to child mortality? Diouma lent us some of her boubous to wear for the occassion. It took us the better part of an hour to cross a town that should take 15 minutes because we exchanged greetings with so many people. When we got there, all of the men were sitting outside the compound and all of the women were inside (by compound I mean a number of immediate families have their houses grouped together around a central cleared area and have a regular fence or small wall around the group- like we lived in a little house and there were about 4 others like it in a sort of circle). So we sat for awhile and ate some food with the women. There was a little bit of singing but it was mostly quiet and we left after awhile.
Back home Diouma and Astu, who might be her sister-in-law gave us names- I became Soxna Mbenng (Astu's 12 year old daughter) and Sarah became Diouma Ndiaye, and it was established also that I have a jaay fonde. These names were the only ones we used all week and my fonde was also a source of entertainment all week, especially because I danced whenever asked (or not). It's easier to dance when any kind of dancing is good dancing and it's all women and kids around.
And that was usually the case. (Oh positive reinforcement!) There seemed to be many more females around than men, and most of the men and older boys seemed to leave early for the fields-which is not to say women weren't in the fields because they were too, though maybe doing slightly different tasks, on top of all the preparation and processing of the products that come from the fields, the maintaining of everything around the houses, and the children, of which there are bountiful numbers. During the week we rode the donkey carts, planted some tomatoes, toured the fields-okra, millet, corn, manioc, julip, bissap, limes, tomatoes, beans, zucchini, and some other things. We also went to the community radio station and got to be on a show about malaria-during which we talked in French and a little Wolof. Community radio stations are the best! That was election day, during which we had no CNN, but we did take photos with real donkeys to celebrate an impending victory.
We also visited a couple of health stations, a maternity center, a church, the primary school (overcrowded-it's ridiculous that kids have to learn in French right from the first day, when their parents don't even speak/read French and it continues the colonial legacy and it's a miricale so many kids get to University and then there aren't enough jobs for them when they finish. I have a lot to say about the school system here. Not to mention that English is required starting in middle school and there aren't nearly enough fluent English speakers to teach it.)
and we visited the town hall and talked with some women who ran a women's business loan-giving cooperative, which was cool. It wasn't until the end of our trip that we found out many people go to one particular family to get wounds healed (like snake bites) through local medicine. We wondered how many people go to families like this for their ailments rather than/in addition to the official health centers...
It was hott hott hott and dry so most of the time we sat on mats in the shade and cut okra to prepare it for "the machine" which makes it into a powder for a popular okra soup, we shucked corn and popped kernals off dry corn to prepare it for couscous (which I have much more respect for now-its so work intensive and there are so many varieties of it!), and we sorted beans by taking out the bad or incomplete pieces. The elderly women do these tasks, but we felt pretty proud that we could too. Hard work and a jaay fonde earned me much respect among the women around us.
The family we stayed with, especially Diouma, were incredibly generous! All of the generosity here makes me reflect a lot on how I am back home and my interactions with strangers and just how to improve....
However French class is starting so I need to bust a move, but will try and finish this tomorrow.
-Election results
-Teaching children some "American" games
-Generosity of family
-Gifts and leaving
-Other French toubabs on the car rapide home
-Another bus strike
**I should be doing research for my two 10 page papers right now, but I guess I do have a month to write them...the internet seems to work for my blog but it can't handle the weight of my email and school research portals at the same time. Alas...
Sarah and I spent the week in Ndiaye Bopp with Diouma, who was our "host mother." There are about 2000 people in Ndiaye Bopp, which is next to the larger town of Mont Rolland, and is the largest of an 18 village network about 2.5 hours outside of Dakar, but as usual it felt so much farther! There is electricity, but no running water, and farmers have to bring out all of their water with them in large containers on their donkey carts in the mornings from the wells. This is crazy because pieces of land are falling in on themselves, creating large ditches/dried up river looking things that indicate underground caves, which means an underground river network! Oh the possibilities!
We started off on Monday by going to a funeral with Diouma. It was the first day of the funeral, which lasts a week. It was for the "husband" of her mother, who was an old man related to the actual husband of her mother who died previously. I'm not completely clear on the relationship, except that he was very old and somehow was a husband figure. In Senegal, it's a big deal when an elderly person dies, but the younger they are the fewer the people who are invited-possibly a testement to child mortality? Diouma lent us some of her boubous to wear for the occassion. It took us the better part of an hour to cross a town that should take 15 minutes because we exchanged greetings with so many people. When we got there, all of the men were sitting outside the compound and all of the women were inside (by compound I mean a number of immediate families have their houses grouped together around a central cleared area and have a regular fence or small wall around the group- like we lived in a little house and there were about 4 others like it in a sort of circle). So we sat for awhile and ate some food with the women. There was a little bit of singing but it was mostly quiet and we left after awhile.
Back home Diouma and Astu, who might be her sister-in-law gave us names- I became Soxna Mbenng (Astu's 12 year old daughter) and Sarah became Diouma Ndiaye, and it was established also that I have a jaay fonde. These names were the only ones we used all week and my fonde was also a source of entertainment all week, especially because I danced whenever asked (or not). It's easier to dance when any kind of dancing is good dancing and it's all women and kids around.
And that was usually the case. (Oh positive reinforcement!) There seemed to be many more females around than men, and most of the men and older boys seemed to leave early for the fields-which is not to say women weren't in the fields because they were too, though maybe doing slightly different tasks, on top of all the preparation and processing of the products that come from the fields, the maintaining of everything around the houses, and the children, of which there are bountiful numbers. During the week we rode the donkey carts, planted some tomatoes, toured the fields-okra, millet, corn, manioc, julip, bissap, limes, tomatoes, beans, zucchini, and some other things. We also went to the community radio station and got to be on a show about malaria-during which we talked in French and a little Wolof. Community radio stations are the best! That was election day, during which we had no CNN, but we did take photos with real donkeys to celebrate an impending victory.
We also visited a couple of health stations, a maternity center, a church, the primary school (overcrowded-it's ridiculous that kids have to learn in French right from the first day, when their parents don't even speak/read French and it continues the colonial legacy and it's a miricale so many kids get to University and then there aren't enough jobs for them when they finish. I have a lot to say about the school system here. Not to mention that English is required starting in middle school and there aren't nearly enough fluent English speakers to teach it.)
and we visited the town hall and talked with some women who ran a women's business loan-giving cooperative, which was cool. It wasn't until the end of our trip that we found out many people go to one particular family to get wounds healed (like snake bites) through local medicine. We wondered how many people go to families like this for their ailments rather than/in addition to the official health centers...
It was hott hott hott and dry so most of the time we sat on mats in the shade and cut okra to prepare it for "the machine" which makes it into a powder for a popular okra soup, we shucked corn and popped kernals off dry corn to prepare it for couscous (which I have much more respect for now-its so work intensive and there are so many varieties of it!), and we sorted beans by taking out the bad or incomplete pieces. The elderly women do these tasks, but we felt pretty proud that we could too. Hard work and a jaay fonde earned me much respect among the women around us.
The family we stayed with, especially Diouma, were incredibly generous! All of the generosity here makes me reflect a lot on how I am back home and my interactions with strangers and just how to improve....
However French class is starting so I need to bust a move, but will try and finish this tomorrow.
-Election results
-Teaching children some "American" games
-Generosity of family
-Gifts and leaving
-Other French toubabs on the car rapide home
-Another bus strike
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