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Published: November 5th 2007
We should have known what we were getting ourselves into as soon as we piled into our van and realized our driver didn't speak a word of French. While this is not uncommon with drivers here in Dakar, it does make life a bit more difficult. We decided to finish eating our bread and chocolate, enjoy the ride down to Kaolack, and keep repeating the Senegalese motto that our driver had already uttered: Inchallah (if God wants it).
Normally, I HATE the phrase. Really, there are only so many instances where you can say it. But the Senegalese throw it around like I use "like" in conversation. My professor will say, "You will have a quiz on Thursday, inchallah." I just want to play Devil's Advocate and point out that it's not God who is determining the date of the quiz, it is in fact, the professor who wants it that day.
Sometimes, though, "Inchallah" can be quite a scary thought. I was bargaining with a taxi driver last night, and he asked where I wanted to go. I said, "Aeroport lay dem" and he responded with "Inchallah." Jen and I looked at each other and silently worried about
why the "inchallah" was necessary when all we were doing was heading out to Yoff!
Anyway, back to Kaolack. The trip there was relatively uneventful. We had the jolliest driver ever, and he let every car cut in front of him or pass him by, so we were stuck in Dakar's suburbs for an hour and a half. We drove through Mbour (a popular toubab tourist beach resort area), Fatick (where I'll be going in a few weeks for my public health research), and finally got to Kaolack after about four, long hours. Our oh-so-happy driver announced "KAOLACK!" and it was then we realized the reason for the "inchallah." Our driver had no idea where to take the twelve Americans sitting in his van.
Now, Kaolack is not a huge city, but it's big enough that you can get lost in it. We drove past neon, plastic palm trees outside of the town hall, we turned down many a sandy road (I only saw two paved roads in all of Kaolack), and made many frantic phone calls to our host organizations and directors back in Dakar. Finally, after a mere hour and a half, we had dropped off
the other two groups and finally made our way to our host NGO:
10,000 Girls .
Little did we know what we were getting ourselves into. Our fearless leader, Miss Viola, is an American who has been living in Senegal for years and running this organization to help provide opportunities to girls in rural parts of Senegal. She had just gotten a HUGE shipment of books from Books for Africa, and it was our job to unpack, organize, recategorize, catalogue, and repack the thousands of books in hundreds of boxes. I'm pretty sure Whitney and I will be very happy to never again have to deal with English textbooks and writing manuals! We managed to catalogue and pack up nearly one hundred cases of English and Science books.
Another part of our work with 10,000 Girls was to visit several rural schools and assess their libraries and collection of books. We went to Ndoffane and met with the incredibly nice headmaster...only to find out that there is no library there. They have a patch of grass in between two building where they hope to erect some walls and a roof within the next couple of months. Since there is nowhere
to store books at the school, all reading material has to be stored at the house of the headmaster. Students and faculty cannot access these books, but this is only a small problem when you realize that there are 29 classes and 17 rooms. We were fortunate enough to meet some students and teachers, and they seem to be making the best of a not so great situation. They're waiting for a computer lab to be installed, but then they have to wait for an internet connection. They hope to start and finish the library before we head back to the States (inchallah!), and the headmaster told me I could cut the ribbon.
Our trip back from Ndoffane into Dakar was the most ridiculous Ndiaga Ndiaye (sort of a minivan) ride I have ever been on. We crammed about 25 people into a small vehicle and set off down a road that had more potholes than pavement. We spent more time driving off the road than we did on, and as a result, tree branches were constantly whacking the people sitting on the edges of the van. We even got stopped re-entering Kaolack by the Gendarmes (military police officers).
They demanded identification from everyone, so we dutifully fished out our passports. Turns out that they really only care about men having proper identification, and even five toubab girls travelling at night doesn't raise any questions!
We visited another set of schools in Kaffrine, where we stopped at the wrong middle schools and are now giving them books as well! We saw goats running in between classrooms, girls wearing their bubble gum pink smocks (the required school "uniform"), and perused a very appropriately written English textbook (it included words that are incredibly useful in Senegal...like "malaria" and "cockroach" haha) We eventually found the appropriate high school, saw their "library" (which only includes textbooks...and two copies of
1984 in French), and then endured a long, bumpy, off-road sept-place ride back into Kaolack...in the pouring rain. I guess the rainy season isn't over just yet.
It was sad to be leaving my host family in Kaolack. There is a definite difference between the 'city people' in Dakar and the 'country folk' (as Miss Viola calls them) in Kaolack. My family was very poor (there are nine of them living in a tiny shack that is smaller than my family room
at home), but they made me feel so welcome and special. After asking about my favorite foods (my family in Dakar has no clue about what I like to eat), they made me yassa (meat, thick, spicy onion sauce, French fries, lettuce and cucumbers) four times, bought me bananas and apples, and even bought a litre of Africa Fun Oranges soda to share. They only referred to me as "Mariama," and helped me with my Wolof. I met the extended family, watched the awful Spanish-language soap operas (and yelled at Miguel on the screen right along with the grandmother), ate peanuts with the family across the street, tutored the older girls in English, and sang along to Akon with the boys down the street while making afternoon tea. It was so refreshing to stay with a family that treats me as a little bit more than a boarder!
We are now back in Dakar, and I think I've finally recovered from my lack of sleep (a 95 degree bedroom and mosquitoes are not really conducive to sleeping). We took batik lessons on Saturday, and I am contemplating changing my major to Batik Studies. It is a very interesting art,
involving the use of layers of wax and dye...and we had so much fun eating bread and butter and making batiks on a rooftop in Parcelles.
Upcoming events in my life in Dakar: a trip to Touba (the center of the most powerful Muslim brotherhood in Senegal and one of the world's biggest black markets), a weekend in St. Louis (former capital of colonial Senegal), and Thanksgiving done Sengalese style (it's going to be toubabs and Africans instead of Pilgrims and Indians...).
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sidi fall
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thank
me i live in kaolack senegal