Homecoming?

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Just when you thought you were done with me...
I'm in Senegal now. Awa is at school, the teachers here have been on strike for a month, so I'm not really sure what she does there, and me and Mama have already had about 7 circular conversations revolving around Ca va? and Oui Ca va. So in an effort to keep myself amused and out of the house I'm at the internet.

I'm not going to lie, that I was less than excited about coming here at first. I seriously considered just staying on the plane, but knew there would be no hope of me ever seeing my luggage again. Saying goodbye to a bunch of sleepy people at 2:30 in the morning in the aisle of an airplane wasn't fun, but I pretty much had to hit the ground running as soon as I got off the plane.

The customs official asked me how he could marry me, so no more than 2 minutes after arriving to the country it seemed like good ole Senegal. In a small miracle, both my bags arrived. I then was completely overwhelmed with how different Sengal is from Namibia. The airport is tiny, but there are literally hundreds of Senegalese men packed together right after baggage claim. I remember that I can't actually recognize Issa, who is supposed to pick me up, but figure if I stand still he'll be able to recognize me. Which ends up me in a swarm of men. 3 or 4 wanting to give me a taxi, another 4 offering me their cell phones, several hoping I am the lost white girl they are supposed to pick up and then the normal 2 or 3 asking for marriage. And mind you it is 3 in the morning. Luckily I had US dollars, paid someone to use their phone and called Issa. Who of course wasn't there. A lost old white man approached me paniced about getting a taxi and wondering who we could trust. I told him he was welcome to get in a taxi with me, but I was planning to just trust whoever would drive me somewhere. I quickly lost him. For perhaps the first time ever, there were no tears at the airport. I would say I may have beaten my reputation, but there is still the trip home. There was yelling, but it was necessary to free me from the hoards of men.

It was a strange deja vu moment of returning to the same hotel I was in last year at 4 in the morning after plane problems. I forgot that the hotel is down a really abandon road, and was pretty convinced the driver was driving me into the ocean. I got my hotel room and fell into bed exhausted, eating a Bar One and listening to Baby Don't Go on repeat.

Winter in Senegal by the ocean apparently consists of semi tornadic winds- the only time I have ever seen wind like that was durning Hurricane Fran, it was ridiculous. The next morning Issa's brother came by and picked me up and got me all set for a car to Saint Louis, and I briefly remembered why I love this country- he didn't even know me but spent 3 hours of his day making sure I was okay.

No matter how many times I go to a gare routiere I will always be overwhelmed. You sit in a station wagon forever waiting for it to fill, while people selling everything from cookies to alarm clocks that are always going off to shoe polish surround the car, trying to set stuff on any part of your body- then saying you have to pay for it. Being the young toubab, I was destined to the back crappy seats where I was squished against the window with a metal bar digging into my butt for the next 5 hours. I'm pretty sure I drooled all over both myself and the guy next to me for a good portion of the ride...but I was pretty exhausted.

Issa was waiting for me as soon as I got to Saint Louis, and it was really exciting to see him! Last summer he barely knew any English, and now his English is great. In the fury of leaving South Africa and making sure someone was (or in this case wasn't) going to be at the airport for me, I kind of forgot to tell the family I was coming, but luckily he did it for me. He caught me up on all the TPA gossip, the craziness of Ton Ton Johnny and all things Senegal. The family was also really excited to see me. It was a rather strange homecoming...they kept saying how happy they were to have their American daughter back in her African home- but it really did seem like I was somewhat at home, and nothing had really changed.

We picked right back up where we left off- I sang the Thiebou Djienne song no less than 3 times, Awa told me stories about the dead mouse she found in our room yesterday and the other mouse that was eating it, and they tried to force feed me oily food while I tried to fight back. Now that I'm here, it's kind of nice. I woke up this morning already smelling like garlic and the spices of the food and wishing I knew where I packed my earplugs, I had forgotten how loud it is here. The mosque had been blaring for 2 hours already, the goats were going crazy and the roosters were trying to out do them all. Akon was playing loudly in the streets as soon as I got here and the person next to me at the internet cafe is looking at porn...it's like I never left.

I'm still ridiculously ready to be home. I love Senegal, but I miss Namibia. I wasn't ready to go before, but now I'm ready to be home. If anyone ever needed more proof that you can't lump all African countries together they should try these two back to back. I'm going to stop now, because at this rate nobody will even want to talk to me when I get home, you'll already know all my stories. But rest assured, there are so many more waiting for you.

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