It's official: I'm going to France next year! I'll be teaching English. I was placed in the region of Toulouse and I am thrilled!! I can't wait to learn more about this fabulous city.
This also means my blog will be relocating. In six-ish months, you will start to find my new posts at latarbaise.blogspot.com. You can see how I'm so excited I already established my new blog, even with nothing to write in it yet. Anyway, thanks for following; all my Senegal posts will stay here if you ever want to come back to them, and I hope you'll keep reading about my new adventures!
this has been Sarah in Senegal, signing off.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Monday, September 28, 2009
The List
At long last, my Top Ten list of things I miss about Dakar, a.k.a. the most ridiculous things...
10. “Hamburger complète”: a burger with ketchup, mayo, fries, and a fried egg on it. Possibly some other things I don’t even remember anymore…
9. Houses that don’t actually close to the outside: what happens during the rainy season? Don’t worry, we have these convenient steps in the floors to prevent water coming into the house, but really they are just there to make you look like an idiot because you trip over them every day. Awesome.
8. Calls to prayer: there is something oddly reassuring about hearing the same call from the mosques 5 times every day. Anywhere in the country, you are always within earshot of a mosque. Sometimes people even pray, too, and then you get to see fruit vendors close their stalls and kneel on their prayer rugs right in the middle of the street. Except when you hear it at 5 or 6am, reminding you that you, once again, stayed up all night. Then it kind of pisses me off, because I know it’s my own fault.
7. Marché Sandaga: best place to shop EVER. It makes me hate malls even more! Of course, it’s only worth shopping in markets if you know how to haggle in Wolof (not that I’m showing off or anything…) but you get the best deals on crap that was made in China. Hmm, that makes it seem much less cool. But seriously, this outdoor market takes up several blocks of downtown Dakar and contains not only trashy clothes, but everything else you would ever want, from food to appliances to Muslim prayer beads, conveniently organized into different areas of the market (ok, only “convenient” or “organized” to a trained eye). I miss shopping in Senegal.
6. The random things people shout at you on the streets. Usually it’s just “hey toubab!” or “nanga def?” or “will you marry me?”, but sometimes people get pretty creative, like the fruit vendor who always used to shout at my friend Sara, “bëgg nga fanaan ak man?” which means, “do you want to spend the night with me?”. LOL.
5. Cars Rapides (not very original, but seriously, it’s a hollowed-out Mercedes van, with benches put in it, various magazine cutouts taped all over the inside, eyes drawn on the front and “Alhamdoulilahi!” written all over. Plus they drive like crap and it only costs 20 cents to get almost anywhere in Dakar. Too bad only Senegalese people can tell where they are going and you can just as easily end up at the other end of the city as at your destination)
4. MyShop: It’s a gas station, plus a convenience store, plus a pizza place… The best place to go on the way home from school to “study” while enjoying a pizza (see above) and a beer (or cheap Senegalese gin!), and then have taxis fighting over you when you’re done. Or to waste time from 11pm until a “reasonable” time to go out (around 1 or 2 am), you can sit on the terrace and make ridiculously strong gin and tonics with your expat friends.
3. Horse-drawn delivery carts on the freeway. With the driver talking on his cell phone. The very ancient meets the somewhat modern.
2. Traditional Senegalese cuisine … JUST KIDDING. Seriously though, there are some winners, including Soupu Kanja—this actually may be the worst thing I’ve ever eaten, which is impressive in itself. It’s a stew made of okra (ugh) and palm oil (the most saturated oil in the world, tastes sick and hates your digestive system). Then there was the award-winning “goat soup”, a broth made from a boiled goat’s head, complete with brains and tongue! Also, liver, the best meat EVER (not), in the most appetizing greenish-brownish oily sauce. There are also some edible dishes, but you can read about those in any old West Africa guidebook. And you're allowed to eat with your hands!
1. Ham-flavored beef (MyShop’s solution to the Hawaiian-pizza-vs.-Muslim-dietary-restrictions dilemma)
10. “Hamburger complète”: a burger with ketchup, mayo, fries, and a fried egg on it. Possibly some other things I don’t even remember anymore…
9. Houses that don’t actually close to the outside: what happens during the rainy season? Don’t worry, we have these convenient steps in the floors to prevent water coming into the house, but really they are just there to make you look like an idiot because you trip over them every day. Awesome.
8. Calls to prayer: there is something oddly reassuring about hearing the same call from the mosques 5 times every day. Anywhere in the country, you are always within earshot of a mosque. Sometimes people even pray, too, and then you get to see fruit vendors close their stalls and kneel on their prayer rugs right in the middle of the street. Except when you hear it at 5 or 6am, reminding you that you, once again, stayed up all night. Then it kind of pisses me off, because I know it’s my own fault.
7. Marché Sandaga: best place to shop EVER. It makes me hate malls even more! Of course, it’s only worth shopping in markets if you know how to haggle in Wolof (not that I’m showing off or anything…) but you get the best deals on crap that was made in China. Hmm, that makes it seem much less cool. But seriously, this outdoor market takes up several blocks of downtown Dakar and contains not only trashy clothes, but everything else you would ever want, from food to appliances to Muslim prayer beads, conveniently organized into different areas of the market (ok, only “convenient” or “organized” to a trained eye). I miss shopping in Senegal.
6. The random things people shout at you on the streets. Usually it’s just “hey toubab!” or “nanga def?” or “will you marry me?”, but sometimes people get pretty creative, like the fruit vendor who always used to shout at my friend Sara, “bëgg nga fanaan ak man?” which means, “do you want to spend the night with me?”. LOL.
5. Cars Rapides (not very original, but seriously, it’s a hollowed-out Mercedes van, with benches put in it, various magazine cutouts taped all over the inside, eyes drawn on the front and “Alhamdoulilahi!” written all over. Plus they drive like crap and it only costs 20 cents to get almost anywhere in Dakar. Too bad only Senegalese people can tell where they are going and you can just as easily end up at the other end of the city as at your destination)
4. MyShop: It’s a gas station, plus a convenience store, plus a pizza place… The best place to go on the way home from school to “study” while enjoying a pizza (see above) and a beer (or cheap Senegalese gin!), and then have taxis fighting over you when you’re done. Or to waste time from 11pm until a “reasonable” time to go out (around 1 or 2 am), you can sit on the terrace and make ridiculously strong gin and tonics with your expat friends.
3. Horse-drawn delivery carts on the freeway. With the driver talking on his cell phone. The very ancient meets the somewhat modern.
2. Traditional Senegalese cuisine … JUST KIDDING. Seriously though, there are some winners, including Soupu Kanja—this actually may be the worst thing I’ve ever eaten, which is impressive in itself. It’s a stew made of okra (ugh) and palm oil (the most saturated oil in the world, tastes sick and hates your digestive system). Then there was the award-winning “goat soup”, a broth made from a boiled goat’s head, complete with brains and tongue! Also, liver, the best meat EVER (not), in the most appetizing greenish-brownish oily sauce. There are also some edible dishes, but you can read about those in any old West Africa guidebook. And you're allowed to eat with your hands!
1. Ham-flavored beef (MyShop’s solution to the Hawaiian-pizza-vs.-Muslim-dietary-restrictions dilemma)
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Feeling Needed
So. My Senegal experience has in fact been useful now that I'm home. And to all those people who used to say, "Why would you take French? You'll never use it. Spanish is useful": I'm using my French. In America.
Through some miraculous chain of events (e-mails), I found out about the Freedom House. It is a temporary residence for refugees while they are applying for political asylum in the U.S. And where are these refugees from? Right now, mostly West and Central Africa, where they speak French. And until they learn enough English to conduct their asylum interviews without a translator (not happening!), I am there to advocate for them. And translate their birth certificates and letters. And doctor's appointments. etc, etc. Even if they don't say anything, I know they appreciate what I do for them. And they always say something. I'm already totally broken-hearted at the thought of leaving them when I go back to school in the fall. (Unless someone wants to lend me their car to drive to Detroit...)
So that's what I've been up to. Using my French. The best job I've ever had, depite being the lowest (un)paid.
I've also been up to a little of this (as shown by my *other* blog)
and this (watching my little sister graduate high school!)
and this (playing outside with my "baby" cousin)
SO. More later. Enjoy summer!
xoxo Sarah
Through some miraculous chain of events (e-mails), I found out about the Freedom House. It is a temporary residence for refugees while they are applying for political asylum in the U.S. And where are these refugees from? Right now, mostly West and Central Africa, where they speak French. And until they learn enough English to conduct their asylum interviews without a translator (not happening!), I am there to advocate for them. And translate their birth certificates and letters. And doctor's appointments. etc, etc. Even if they don't say anything, I know they appreciate what I do for them. And they always say something. I'm already totally broken-hearted at the thought of leaving them when I go back to school in the fall. (Unless someone wants to lend me their car to drive to Detroit...)
So that's what I've been up to. Using my French. The best job I've ever had, depite being the lowest (un)paid.
I've also been up to a little of this (as shown by my *other* blog)
and this (watching my little sister graduate high school!)
and this (playing outside with my "baby" cousin)
SO. More later. Enjoy summer!
xoxo Sarah
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Notes before leaving
I leave Dakar in two days. What are the things I want to do most before leaving?
1. Go to "posh bakery". Seriously, the thing I want to do most in Dakar is drink cappuccino and pretend I'm not in Senegal? The irony.
2. Buy things. I have already bought more things than I can afford and I will probably not even fit it all in my suitcase, but I can feel Marché Sandaga calling me, saying "You don't need this, but you know you want it. Don't you want to see how cheaply you can haggle it for??"
3. Cook Senegalese food. Isn't it sad that I've been here for 5 months, with someone in my house cooking authentic Senegalese dishes EVERY DAY, and countless offers to teach me how to cook, yet I have never once taken them up on it. So tomorrow I will cook with my maid, chebu yap, which means and is, literally, rice and meat.
Other last things that were completely necessary: trampolining on the beach, of course!
1. Go to "posh bakery". Seriously, the thing I want to do most in Dakar is drink cappuccino and pretend I'm not in Senegal? The irony.
2. Buy things. I have already bought more things than I can afford and I will probably not even fit it all in my suitcase, but I can feel Marché Sandaga calling me, saying "You don't need this, but you know you want it. Don't you want to see how cheaply you can haggle it for??"
3. Cook Senegalese food. Isn't it sad that I've been here for 5 months, with someone in my house cooking authentic Senegalese dishes EVERY DAY, and countless offers to teach me how to cook, yet I have never once taken them up on it. So tomorrow I will cook with my maid, chebu yap, which means and is, literally, rice and meat.
Other last things that were completely necessary: trampolining on the beach, of course!
Monday, May 18, 2009
100% Animist
There is this joke in Senegal, I think the first person who said it was Leopold Senghor, the first president of independent Senegal: Senegal is 95% Muslim, 5% Catholic, and 100% animist. This explains why my Catholic host mom has a muslim magic man protect our house, and why both Catholics and Muslims wear gri-gris (protective charms) and slay animals and stuff to please their ancestors and protect them from harm. One time I bought some bracelets or something with these white shells on them, and someone told me that those shells will protect me from people talking about me behind my back. The reason this joke is "funny" is because people say it all the time and always think they're the first person who ever said it and laugh their heads off at themselves.
I realize that it has been an absurdly long time since my last blot post. Don’t worry: I’m still alive! It’s just life as usual in Dakar, but with building frustration with this place. I hate to complain, but this is just ridiculous.
Problem Number 1: Casamance
Meera and I were planning to spend a week in the southern part of Senegal, the region of Casamance. There was a war there because Casamance wanted to separate from Senegal, but things have cooled down in the past few years. Plus, it’s the most beautiful region of Senegal, it’s the most tropical and they grow rice there instead of peanuts, plus the people who live there, the Joola (or Diola) are really cool. (sweeping generalizations). Anyway. We bought tickets for the overnight boat to Ziguinchor, the biggest city in Casamance, 3 days before we were supposed to leave. The next day, our host mom went to a seer (gis-gis in wolof, in case you were wondering), who told her that if we went we would never come back and she would regret letting us go for the rest of her life (because it was clearly her decision). THEN, to add insult to injury, our family’s Muslim magic man, who is kind of a condescending ass, came over to tell our mom (not us) that we shouldn’t go. Then everyone in our family, including the maid, proceeded to lecture us about how it is unsafe there, blah blah blah, even though none of them has actually been there, ever, and despite the fact that we had 5 friends, all girls, who went and came back all in one piece, and our mom just wouldn’t stop talking about it until we left the next week to spend 3 days on the beach, away from this house.
Problem Number 2:
She is off work for 2-3 weeks.
But enough complaining. Good thing it’s 2 weeks until I go home; there’s nothing like a nagging fake mother to appreciate your real one, who treats you like an independent adult.
Other things that have been going on:
Toubab Dialao. It is a tiny fishing village about an hour south of Dakar (3 hours with traffic). There is this incredible hostel there (they are called auberges in french, which translates as hostel, but the really are more like hotels, except cheaper). The auberge is right on the water, and it’s this complex of buildings that are all decorated with shells and colorful tiles and cool shaped bricks, etc. Meera and I decided we needed a break from our host family, so we took of for four days of nothing. Literally. We laid on the beach and read, we laid in bed and read, and we ate delicious cheap food. Perfect relaxing time.
Mmmm, beach...
Shopping. Shopping in Senegal is nothing like shopping at home. Instead of malls, we go to markets. You can find everything you need at the market, and the big ones are open every day. The biggest market in Dakar, and the most intimidating if you’re new here, is Marché Sandaga. The other thing about markets: nothing has prices, and you have to haggle (waxale) for everything. This is where speaking Wolof is especially helpful, because they all try to rip off toubabs like crazy. So basically when you find something you like, you ask how much it is (nyata?), and then the vendor gives you a ridiculously high price, and then you laugh and give him a ridiculously low price, and the he acts really offended. Then you both budge a little until you find a price in the middle. Often, they try to teach you how to bargain, assuming it’s your first time even though you speak Wolof. “You see, you tell me how much you want to pay, but then you have to augment it, then I lower my price a little, and then we find a price in the middle”. Except they lower their price in increments of about 50 francs (10 cents) and expect you to raise your price by the thousands. It’s quite exhausting, and usually when Meera and I go shopping we set out with long shopping lists, then end up getting 2 things that aren’t on our list and getting tired. Then we go to this bakery near the market and get really expensive pastries and cappuccino. Yesterday, though, we both had a lot of stuff to buy and since Meera is leaving on Tuesday we were running out of time. So we started out with a nice lunch, then kept pushing each other through the market so we wouldn’t stop early. We ended up buying more stuff than we’ve probably bought the last 5 or so times we’ve been there, and there is nothing more satisfying than going home knowing that you’ve not only accomplished something, but also got a great deal. Of course, even when we think we’ve gotten a good deal, if people in our family ask how much we paid for stuff they usually laugh and tell us they could have gotten it for half the price. So we try not to talk about it.
I realize that it has been an absurdly long time since my last blot post. Don’t worry: I’m still alive! It’s just life as usual in Dakar, but with building frustration with this place. I hate to complain, but this is just ridiculous.
Problem Number 1: Casamance
Meera and I were planning to spend a week in the southern part of Senegal, the region of Casamance. There was a war there because Casamance wanted to separate from Senegal, but things have cooled down in the past few years. Plus, it’s the most beautiful region of Senegal, it’s the most tropical and they grow rice there instead of peanuts, plus the people who live there, the Joola (or Diola) are really cool. (sweeping generalizations). Anyway. We bought tickets for the overnight boat to Ziguinchor, the biggest city in Casamance, 3 days before we were supposed to leave. The next day, our host mom went to a seer (gis-gis in wolof, in case you were wondering), who told her that if we went we would never come back and she would regret letting us go for the rest of her life (because it was clearly her decision). THEN, to add insult to injury, our family’s Muslim magic man, who is kind of a condescending ass, came over to tell our mom (not us) that we shouldn’t go. Then everyone in our family, including the maid, proceeded to lecture us about how it is unsafe there, blah blah blah, even though none of them has actually been there, ever, and despite the fact that we had 5 friends, all girls, who went and came back all in one piece, and our mom just wouldn’t stop talking about it until we left the next week to spend 3 days on the beach, away from this house.
Problem Number 2:
She is off work for 2-3 weeks.
But enough complaining. Good thing it’s 2 weeks until I go home; there’s nothing like a nagging fake mother to appreciate your real one, who treats you like an independent adult.
Other things that have been going on:
Toubab Dialao. It is a tiny fishing village about an hour south of Dakar (3 hours with traffic). There is this incredible hostel there (they are called auberges in french, which translates as hostel, but the really are more like hotels, except cheaper). The auberge is right on the water, and it’s this complex of buildings that are all decorated with shells and colorful tiles and cool shaped bricks, etc. Meera and I decided we needed a break from our host family, so we took of for four days of nothing. Literally. We laid on the beach and read, we laid in bed and read, and we ate delicious cheap food. Perfect relaxing time.
Mmmm, beach...
Shopping. Shopping in Senegal is nothing like shopping at home. Instead of malls, we go to markets. You can find everything you need at the market, and the big ones are open every day. The biggest market in Dakar, and the most intimidating if you’re new here, is Marché Sandaga. The other thing about markets: nothing has prices, and you have to haggle (waxale) for everything. This is where speaking Wolof is especially helpful, because they all try to rip off toubabs like crazy. So basically when you find something you like, you ask how much it is (nyata?), and then the vendor gives you a ridiculously high price, and then you laugh and give him a ridiculously low price, and the he acts really offended. Then you both budge a little until you find a price in the middle. Often, they try to teach you how to bargain, assuming it’s your first time even though you speak Wolof. “You see, you tell me how much you want to pay, but then you have to augment it, then I lower my price a little, and then we find a price in the middle”. Except they lower their price in increments of about 50 francs (10 cents) and expect you to raise your price by the thousands. It’s quite exhausting, and usually when Meera and I go shopping we set out with long shopping lists, then end up getting 2 things that aren’t on our list and getting tired. Then we go to this bakery near the market and get really expensive pastries and cappuccino. Yesterday, though, we both had a lot of stuff to buy and since Meera is leaving on Tuesday we were running out of time. So we started out with a nice lunch, then kept pushing each other through the market so we wouldn’t stop early. We ended up buying more stuff than we’ve probably bought the last 5 or so times we’ve been there, and there is nothing more satisfying than going home knowing that you’ve not only accomplished something, but also got a great deal. Of course, even when we think we’ve gotten a good deal, if people in our family ask how much we paid for stuff they usually laugh and tell us they could have gotten it for half the price. So we try not to talk about it.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Sunshine and Mangoes
Wolof word of the day: fecc = to dance. (pronounced like "fetch") The command form is "feccal". We were forced to dance in front of very entertained Senegalese people about every 5 minutes during our trip to Toubacouta.
Toubacouta is a "city" about 6 hours south of Dakar, just north of the border with the Gambia. It's on the coast but also in a river delta, so it's really green and humid. I never really saw any part of Toubacouta proper that looked like what I would call a city, but this is Senegal. You kind of have to forget everything you know and expect.
Our trip was full of surprises, and much nudity or near-nudity. For example, on Saturday we went on a boat trip through mangrove forests. We piled into two pirogues (fishing boats) and went out into the river. We kept running into trees or getting smacked in the face by them, as it was quite narrow. Once we got out into open water again, Waly, one of the program directors, took off his clothes except shorts and a tank top and jumped into the water. By this point, I still thought this was not something I would do. Even when other girls started stripping down to various levels of nakedness, I was still surprised to find myself doing the same thing and jumping in. It was so freeing to feel comfortable enough with my body that I would strip to my underwear in front of strangers just to splash around in the water with a bunch of friends.
Another surprisingly cool thing we did was going to a traditional wrestling match. We have been to a really commercial wresting match in a huge stadium in Dakar, but this was totally different. We went at around 10:30 or 11 at night, so it was already dark. The only lights were two fluorescent lights on either side of the ring, which was basically a circle of people. They were sitting on the ground or standing, shouting and banging on things while the wrestlers fought in the middle. On one side of the ring, there was an announcer and some drummers and griots, who provided the music. I don't know if I have ever explained this, but a griot is basically a person in traditional West African society whose job was to sing about the royal families. They were a casted group of people, which means they were born into griot families and weren't really supposed to marry outside their caste. The castes still exist, but people are trying to get rid of them. Anyway, each griot family was tied to a royal family, so if the king and his griot both died, the griot's son would become the griot of the king's successor. Also, apparently Youssou N'dour is a griot.
Probably the most important part of the trip was the rural visit. We spent a whole day in a village, each with a different family, then we had the option to spend the night in the village, which all of us did except three girls. This village was really, actually in the middle of nowhere. From this small town near the Gambian border, we drove inland about an hour, getting further and further from "civilization". The people there were really nice though, and they welcomed us by making us dance in front of them, which gets less humiliating every time we do it. At the beginning of the trip, we were mortified when we had to dance "senegalese" because we look so ridiculous doing it, but it's actually starting to be kind of fun. I spent the whole day doing almost nothing. We cooked lunch then ate it, relaxed and chatted under a mango tree for a couple hours (by "chatting" I mean I listened to people chatting in Wolof. Mine is getting better but it's still not THAT good.), then made dinner. Also, no running water = lot's of water-fetching from the well. I even carried my shower in a bucket on my head! The night was almost as peaceful as the day, except for the zoo under my bed and the fire ant that kept crawling all over me and biting me. I never knew what they were like, but it's weird because it kind of itches but also feels like you were burned.
It was really relaxing being in the village for a day, but I don't think I could live in a place like that for any extended period of time, because I was getting really antsy to get back to Dakar. Much as I love doing nothing, having nothing to do is quite a different thing. I don't like being that far away from any people or things, although I suppose I might have felt more lonely because of my very limited interactions with people. They spoke no french at all, but as the region we were in is mostly Sereer, we were, ironically, relieved to be in a Wolof village where no one spoke french. We left the village dirty, hungry, and laden with delicious mangoes.
Toubacouta is a "city" about 6 hours south of Dakar, just north of the border with the Gambia. It's on the coast but also in a river delta, so it's really green and humid. I never really saw any part of Toubacouta proper that looked like what I would call a city, but this is Senegal. You kind of have to forget everything you know and expect.
Our trip was full of surprises, and much nudity or near-nudity. For example, on Saturday we went on a boat trip through mangrove forests. We piled into two pirogues (fishing boats) and went out into the river. We kept running into trees or getting smacked in the face by them, as it was quite narrow. Once we got out into open water again, Waly, one of the program directors, took off his clothes except shorts and a tank top and jumped into the water. By this point, I still thought this was not something I would do. Even when other girls started stripping down to various levels of nakedness, I was still surprised to find myself doing the same thing and jumping in. It was so freeing to feel comfortable enough with my body that I would strip to my underwear in front of strangers just to splash around in the water with a bunch of friends.
Another surprisingly cool thing we did was going to a traditional wrestling match. We have been to a really commercial wresting match in a huge stadium in Dakar, but this was totally different. We went at around 10:30 or 11 at night, so it was already dark. The only lights were two fluorescent lights on either side of the ring, which was basically a circle of people. They were sitting on the ground or standing, shouting and banging on things while the wrestlers fought in the middle. On one side of the ring, there was an announcer and some drummers and griots, who provided the music. I don't know if I have ever explained this, but a griot is basically a person in traditional West African society whose job was to sing about the royal families. They were a casted group of people, which means they were born into griot families and weren't really supposed to marry outside their caste. The castes still exist, but people are trying to get rid of them. Anyway, each griot family was tied to a royal family, so if the king and his griot both died, the griot's son would become the griot of the king's successor. Also, apparently Youssou N'dour is a griot.
Probably the most important part of the trip was the rural visit. We spent a whole day in a village, each with a different family, then we had the option to spend the night in the village, which all of us did except three girls. This village was really, actually in the middle of nowhere. From this small town near the Gambian border, we drove inland about an hour, getting further and further from "civilization". The people there were really nice though, and they welcomed us by making us dance in front of them, which gets less humiliating every time we do it. At the beginning of the trip, we were mortified when we had to dance "senegalese" because we look so ridiculous doing it, but it's actually starting to be kind of fun. I spent the whole day doing almost nothing. We cooked lunch then ate it, relaxed and chatted under a mango tree for a couple hours (by "chatting" I mean I listened to people chatting in Wolof. Mine is getting better but it's still not THAT good.), then made dinner. Also, no running water = lot's of water-fetching from the well. I even carried my shower in a bucket on my head! The night was almost as peaceful as the day, except for the zoo under my bed and the fire ant that kept crawling all over me and biting me. I never knew what they were like, but it's weird because it kind of itches but also feels like you were burned.
It was really relaxing being in the village for a day, but I don't think I could live in a place like that for any extended period of time, because I was getting really antsy to get back to Dakar. Much as I love doing nothing, having nothing to do is quite a different thing. I don't like being that far away from any people or things, although I suppose I might have felt more lonely because of my very limited interactions with people. They spoke no french at all, but as the region we were in is mostly Sereer, we were, ironically, relieved to be in a Wolof village where no one spoke french. We left the village dirty, hungry, and laden with delicious mangoes.
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