My First Two Days in Dakar
Not My Minneapolis Bed
I wake up this morning to the sound of backyard roosters shrieking in gossip and the family-goat burping unamused growls in response. I wake up beyond confused and lightly damp. While rolling over in my mosquito-net covered bed, I slowly process that I’m waking up in a villa in Dakar. It will be my third full day of being in this city, and my first day of class at the university down the street.
My time in Dakar has been an intriguing, intimidating, and beautiful experience so far. The first day was marked with roof-top meals and sweaty excursions.
In the morning of that first day, five out of our seven-person class convened for a French-like breakfast on the rooftop of our hotel, with an expansive view of the Atlantic Ocean. After breakfast, we ventured onto the narrow, sandy streets of the city, walked past herds of sheep collected on the highway median, and zig-zagged through fishing boats on the shore.. before arriving at a rocky beach with local children playing in the water. At that beach, a few smiling Senegalese men approached us, and introduced themselves in a mixture of French, Wolof, and English. They asked for our names, knew that we were American students, and offered fresh fish from the stands behind them. “Peut être nous allons retourner en autre jour,” we politely declined, uncertain of our safety with eating street fish. Ibrahima and Nene, our professors who grew up in Senegal, later told us that we made the right call.
Night Life, Downtown Dakar
Later that night, six of us were open to experiencing a Saturday night in downtown. We trusted our local friend named Lib, who Anabella and Megan had befriended earlier that week, from their early arrival to the country. Though I hadn’t personally met Lib, I heard about only kind and hospitable qualities from Anabella and Megan, who I deeply trusted. Lib appeared at our hotel entrance, lean, well-dressed, and surprised by our “multi-racial” group. He introduced himself to each of us individually, shaking hands and asking for each of our names. He was excited to show us the night-life in Dakar and generously paid for our taxis. So, the six of us climbed into local taxi cabs and drove into downtown Dakar, to the club called Discoteque Calypso. There, we danced with local Senegalese to awkward alternations between disco and Latin music. It was extra humid, and we gasped for the cooling sensation of the fans in the back corners. The night ended around 3 AM. We all pushed into the mosquito streets and taxied back to our hotel, where we crashed into our twin-sized beds.
Momo and Jolie Run this House
The next day (yesterday), we all moved out of the balcony-layered Hotel Djoloff in the afternoon. Ibrahima and Nene picked us up a locally-driven van. We packed the trunk with our suitcases and shoved ourselves sweaty-shoulder-to-sweaty-shoulder into the backseats. We were then driven to our host-family homes. Half of the class is staying in various houses and apartments in the Sacre Couer neighborhood, all within a block of each other. The other half of the class is staying in the Liberte 6 neighborhood, closer to the university we’re studying at. I’m rooming with Shoshana in large, gated villa in Liberte 6. We’re staying with the Diarra family, which consists of: a mama, papa, their two adult sons and respective wives, a 14-year-old girl named Yaya, a 9-year-old boy named Maha, a 5-year-old girl named Jolie, a 4-year-old boy named Momo, and two babies who were strapped to their moms’ backs when we arrived.
We arrived to their house around 2:30 PM, dragging our duffel bags behind us. Almost immediately after cautiously pushing through the white gate of their front yard, we were excitedly greeted with children rushing out the front door, sprinting out to shake our hands with their tiny palms. They beamed up at us, quickly spurted “hi!” and ran back to their grandparents, who smiled in the front entranceway. We walked through the green front yard, below hanging palm branches, and across a stone pathway to the front door. Shoshana and I gasped at the beauty.
We spent the rest of the day smiling, sprinting around with the children, and trying to speak and understand French and Wolof. Jolie (5) and Momo (4) warmed up to us quickly, immediately engaging us in tag and hide-and-go-seek.
I was immediately stunned by the cuteness and energy of Momo, and Sho was in awe of Jolie’s smile and blue tutu. Sho and I ran after them, into the yard and around the cars in the driveway. With radiating excitement, the two of them showed us the chickens and the goat in the backyard. Momo gaped about his love for the chickens and wanted to show me how to feed them. The roosters made me nervous, but I followed the strident lead of Momo, who approached them in strides though he was barely bigger them. The kids ran around with sandy, little bare feet and showed us where to wash our feet in buckets. They brought us to the two upper floors, and opened doors to large bedrooms and beautiful balconies. They told us about their favorite toys and they giggled at us when we gaped at the rooftop view of Dakar. There, clotheslines of colorful towels swayed in the breeze and the sounds of the street resounded off of tall buildings surrounding us.
You'll Learn Our Ways
Later that evening, Sho and I helped the women cut fresh vegetables in the kitchen. Mama explained to us that the vegetables came from their farm, about two hours away. Her daughter-in-laws pushed the sliced zucchini into pans on the stove to fry, while also frying chicken. Water was boiled for pasta and Mama mixed together a mustard sauce. Soon, we were carrying the dish called “mafe” out of the kitchen, and into the living room, where the men and kids of the family sat around the television, deeply entranced by a French-translated version of “Rampage”. I watched the intrigued faces of the children, as they watched Dwayne The Rock Johnson hulk through Downtown, Chicago while speaking in French. I noticed the juxtaposition of Momo and Jolie watching this American movie in French, while turning to each other and whispering in Wolof.
The women interrupted the movie, as we placed the platter of Mafe on the floor and created a dining circle with small stools around the platter. We all gathered around the food and feasted with our hands. Papa chuckled at me and Sho, as we struggled to scoop spaghetti noodles into our mouths without using plates. “Soon you will learn our ways,” he kept repeating. Mama continuously shoved chicken into our bare hands, and we ate until everyone else had cleared the dining circle. Finally, with stuffed stomachs, we settled onto the couch with the rest of the family. And without much time to digest, we were soon offered traditional Senegalese tea and multiple mangoes. Though we were so full, we accepted such offerings out of respect. We said “bon nuit” at the end of the night and fell asleep under the mosquito-nets with full stomachs and a table full of fruit that our host family had left for us.
In Wolof, when responding to “Na nga def?” which means “how are you?”, one responds “Maa ngi fi rekk”. Though it sounds like “magnificent”, it means “I am here”. That is how I feel now, on the third day of being in Dakar. Senegal, I am here.
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