Cat on a Hot Tin Roof

It's about 12:25, Wednesday afternoon. We're supposed to have our class in Environment and Development from noon until three. The teacher just got here, but since a few from our group just ordered lunch at the WARC restaurant, he's waiting until they finish eating to start class. Only, they just ordered. So we're officially on West African International Time (W.A.I.T.)

Things there are a lot of here:

Stray cats. They jump onto the roof at night and since chez moi, at my house, the roof is corrugated iron, I have a heart attack nearly every time.

Stray dogs. They would scare me except the fact that I've never seen a stray dog walk at any pace faster than a lazy meander, or make a sound louder than the back-of-the-throat whine that accompanies a wide yawn. There's enough food for them in the street, in piles or oil-drum garbage cans that they're less feral and more domestic-by-default. The supermarket sells dog food, but I don't know what for.

Toothpicks. Everyone's got a toothpick or this kind of twig people chew on like a sort of makeshift toothbrush, they talk for hours without it falling from their lips, you can buy bundles of them off the street. (You can buy anything off the street, including phone credit, tissues, bananas, socks, coffee) One of the other students told us that the last thing Muhammed did before he died was clean his teeth with a toothpick, and that's why everyone here puts such importance on dental hygiene, at least in terms of toothpicks. I am not sure if I believe that or not.

Flies. They're the same plain black flies as at home, but these ones have no shame.

Taxis. I've never been in a taxi in the United States, or had to deal with them much at all. I have ridden in a few here, always with my family or classmates, and it is one of the scariest things I've ever done, with the exception of trying to cross a street in Dakar. They don't stop. (for pedestrians). When they do, it is sudden and abrupt, and could possibly be followed by them backing up, perhaps on a highway, if they've missed the exit or intersection. Also, they honk at you, loudly. Sometimes it is a warning that you're about to be run over, sometimes they're "asking" if you want a ride- this can also be communicated by hissing. Which is also how you call a taxi. TSSSSSST TSSSSST is something I have yet to get used to.

Coffee cups. And when I say "coffee cups", I mean something completely different. I mean little terra-cotta burnt-sienna colored plastic dixie cups. Street vendors sell coffee, and by that I mean Nescafé Instant Coffee, you can get it with some sort of spice that's particular to this area in which case it's called "Café Touba" but I haven't tried that yet. You see these cups in peoples' hands, but more often on the ground, crumpled up in the sand, swept into piles by men and women wearing face masks. They litter the ground everywhere.

Onions. I'm still waiting for the day when I'll actually not mind. But I'm eating them! In hopes that some day my family will get used to the idea that I don't eat as much as they want me to. Ever.

BAOBABS. :D

Brooms. Not with long handles, more like long bristles with a round ball of plastic bag at the end. People here sweep constantly, inside and outside. You have to, when there's sand and wind and open doors.


Things that are not at all common around here (as far as I can see)

Toilet paper. The hotel had a role of pink toilet paper, and you can get it at the supermarket, but I have no idea why a store would stock it except for students and tourists. And I've just figured out to bring extra TP with me to the bathroom, to dry off the seat.

Pencils. Everyone uses pens. It's just a difference.

Pillows. But at least, I've found a use for my sweatshirt. Actually, that's a lie. The first few nights I used my sweatshirt as a pillow, but now it's getting chilly (we're in the cold, dry season)
and I've been getting used to sleeping without a pillow. I think some other families have them, but mine doesn't. There's also no mirror at my house which I didn't realize until trying to apply sunscreen.

Cranberry juice. Which, if you know me, is a sad sad fact. However, Bissap (Hibiscus) juice tastes exactly like cran/raspberry juice and you can get it for roughly 800 CFA which is about a dollar and a quarter. I brought some home and I think it was a hit with the maids, until I realized it was they who had to wash all the cups I used. Oh well.

Squirrels. It's true. Though I don't know why I put that.






(later)




Last night I went to the "MyShop" with some friends after class. It's a convenience store with WiFi, and they have a few fast food places inside too. Students tend to collect there because they have a huge variety of American products- including Ben&Jerry's ice cream, by the pint. I got home late, then, after dark, but it was still well before dinner so Djouma teased me a bit but it wasn't a problem. (Besides, I had a peace offering of Bissap for everyone) Mama Binta was just leaving for the Baobab quartier/neighborhood (we're in Liberté 3), and Pascal would not stop laughing as he told me that it was Papa's turn to make dinner. Mama arrived just before we started eating, but spent the next ten minutes and cleaning and clucking at the mess she said Papa always left in the kitchen when he cooks. I tried to help, and pretended to see the mess on the floor she had me sweep up.

My father made pasta with meat sauce, and by "meat sauce" I mean some chopped up tomatoes and onions, and these tiny spicy sausages, with lots and lots of parmesan cheese. I declined the ketchup. I didn't eat much but I think everyone pretended not to notice. Raïssa had had class until about ten, so she got back after we were done eating. I was so exhausted I went to sleep soon after.

I found out that my parents are actually from different parts of Mali, which is a big part of why the Wolof I'm learning in class sounds different from the Wolof I hear at home- it has something to do with accent, I think, considering that even though all I've heard them speak is French and Wolof, often mixing the two, neither is the native language of either of them. I also found out that Mama Binta is from a Muslim family, and Papa Anicet is Catholic. I'm not sure about my siblings, although they are called by their middle names "Hadijaa" and "Adam' "- which may be Muslim names vs. their Catholic names?

Speaking of Wolof- back to class!