A Warning for All Readers
It’s my sixth day of living in Dakar and I feel slightly more familiar with this city and my temporary place within it. I dedicate this post to a reflection on my first week. However, before I do so, I need to address that my perceptions of this city and its people are limited by numerous factors and my personal accounts do not represent the multiplicity of experiences in Senegal.
I have been here for so little time. I have only seen and experienced so much. I have only met, and truly spoken to, a handful of local people. I do not attempt to inform you about "how Senegal works", nor how "the people do it here". I will do my best to recognize my positionality and how I instinctually carry and apply Western ideologies. I am conscious that my experiences are limited by the privileges I have as an American student traveling with an organized program.
So, I try to be as mindful as possible when observing the practices, places, and people.
In my writing, I acknowledge that the people I meet are individual people, rather than symbols for generalized populations and the customs I observe are not for my selfish consumption. I can only promise that I am trying to be as conscious as possible, and that I am reporting only my own personal (and limited) experiences.
For more thoughts like this, you can check out my post on "Processing Study Abroad as a Privilege".
Crisis Questions on Our Walk to School
I have found some consistency in my life! I tend to wake up around 8 AM, to the sound of chickens clucking outside our bedroom window. When Shoshana and I emerge from the room for 9 AM petite-dejeuner, our Mama calls out "bonjour!" from the kitchen and then rushes over to greet us with kisses on the cheek. Mama speaks with a warmth in her voice, mixing French and English and Wolof and always repeating "you know ___ ?" when we look confused. She then spoils us with our own baguettes, which we fill with chocolate or cheese spread.
After breakfast, we grab bread for the road and meet Will at the busy corner of our street. On our walk to school, we teeter along a concrete curb and abruptly swerve inward when taxis honk and brush past, inches away from us.
We walk past a few elementary schools and an international bilingual school and we smile back at university students dressed in crisp navy pants and red shirts. We sprint across the street when we reach a red Coca-Cola billboard, then trudge up a neighborhood hill, where we avoid the aggressive dog. I also try to avoid the stares of passing pedestrians. When I notice that someone's looking at me for just a little too long, I wonder if they are staring because we, as a group, are so obviously American.. or if they are staring because I am a Chinois to them.
Once cresting the hill, we climb a flight of stairs to a blue bridge, where we cross the bustling highway (the VDN). We always pass a few elderly homeless people camped out under makeshift roofs on the bridge; sometimes they smile at us and sometimes they ignore us -- as we similarly do to them. On our descent of the stairs, we are met with wide-eyed, barefoot children who thrust palms toward us and mutter for money in Wolof. When this happens, my heart weakens.. and yet I do not reach for coins. I question my habits and fall into a moral dilemma. I wonder if my perceptions of homeless people alters when I'm abroad. Is it easier for me to sympathize with poor people from developing countries? Do I do that because I can separate the people and their poverty from my own nation? Is that a form of 'othering'? Is the feeling even sympathy, or is it pity infused with guilt? Is this 'sympathy' any different than the motivations behind the white-savior "voluntourism" I engaged in as a kid? Would I build an un-functioning water well for poor kids in the continent of Africa before I made eye-contact with a homeless man in Colorado Springs?
Some of the above thoughts usually cross my mind during the split second that we pass these begging children. And then I have the privilege to scoot on by and to pass through a guarded gate to the air-conditioned school-building where our classes are.
Crisis Questions while Touring Dakar
In the past four days, the class has been able to tour various sections in Dakar, with the guidance of Nene, Ibrahima, El Hajj, and a few welcoming locals. On Monday, we taxied to the arrondissement of Le Plateau, which is located at the most southern point of Dakar. Le Plateau is historically, politically, religiously significant to Senegal, as it holds the: President's Palace (secured by uniformed guards), the Grand Mosque of Dakar, Our Lady of Victories Cathedral,and the Parliament of Senegal's National Assembly. All these structures are expansive, luxurious statements in the city. They are surrounded by streets shaded by baobab trees and bustling vendors in the Marche Sandaga.
I instinctually classify Le Plateau as "the nice part of town", or the place most likely for me to recommend to a friend. I pause to question why. I may think highly of Le Plateau because of its rich cultural and political history. Since it was a governmental center during colonial times, and has continued to be for the now Democratic country, Le Plateau would be a distinctive gateway into learning about Senegal. The towering cathedral is also telling, as it was built on an ancient Muslim cemetery and reflects the complexity of religious influence in Senegal. However, I think my reasons for liking Le Plateau are founded on my superficial acceptance of colonial aesthetics.
Colonial legacy is prevalent in the architecture at Le Plateau, especially within the confines of the President's Palace. And, because I was accustomed to believe that Europe was beautiful and modern and therefore superior to all else, I have been accustomed to revere specific aesthetics. Hence, my instinctual attraction to Le Plateau.
I want to be extremely conscious of this form of Euro-centric thinking as I see more of Senegal. I do not want to equate modernity solely with Europe and North America. Modernity does not have to be defined in Western ways, and beauty does not have to be defined by modernity.
Par example, the route between Anabella's house in Sacre Coeur takes us past stories of stacked apartments and shops, past dirt soccer fields and roaming cattle, past market-place vendors and dusty streets. Though my instinct is to classify this route as "dirty" and the buildings "old", and though I may subconsciously pity "those poor Africans", those streets and those buildings and those people are not inferior, are not less "modern", and are no less beautiful, than all the Le Plateaus in the world.
If we are to continue to see modernity and beauty in Euro-centric ways, we will perpetuate the racist perceptions of Africans as "primitive" and inferior.
I want to challenge my beauty standards for cities because in doing so, I may also challenge my beauty standards for peoples' livelihoods.
Senegalese Hospitality Continues
Le Musée des Civilisations Noires
Highlight Moment
My favorite moment from this week occurred on Wednesday (June 12), when Anabella came home with me and Sho. The three of us were immediately greeted at the front-yard gate with all the smiling children of the home. They sprinted around with straws in their hands, impatiently waiting for coconuts to fall from the trees. Yaya sat with the three of us on the steps and told us about her school. Maha tried to conquer a bike too big for him. Momo and Jolie followed at the heels of the hired-helpers, begging them for more coconuts. Their mom stood in the shade, bouncing with Uma on her back. It was a sweet moment, a very green moment, a moment that is probably uncommon on the dusty streets of Dakar, but a moment I will always hold onto.
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