Vois sur ton chemin...

(Things that don't exist here: Stoplights. And Brownies. Things that do exist here: Pineapple Soda in thick glass bottles)

Yesterday I felt very French.
After a very lively Country Analysis class (see: A Rant about fish), a trip to the one bank that accepts my ATM card and the man there is very nice even if he winks at me to the point where it looks like he's got sand in his eye which is entirely possible but unlikely given his huge carefully-not-more-than-helpful grin, a conversation with the fruit seller (he's got pears today! Forty cents, and they're ripe, unlike last week.) and on the way back I decided to finally try this Café Touba thing- it's coffee brewed with spices, but it's the strongest coffee ever and tastes like absolutely nothing familiar, like spices and fermented something and it's so strong my face tenses up every time I take a sip and it takes about four sips for me to decide not to put myself through any more of that, thank you very much- and a good long blogging session, we decide to go check out the French institute- they're showing a movie tonight, le Petit Nicolas which I remember reading the book in high school French class, so we absolutely *have* to go.

It was me, and Kaela, and Laura, and Kelsey. We successfully negotiated a cab ride into centreville- he started at 3000CFA, which is just crazytalk, and we started at 1200, and managed to talk him down to 1700! Hint: it helps if you pretend to walk away. We got dropped off at the French Institute and walked around a bit- we had two hours before the film started and wanted to go somewhere to eat. Of course, we acquired plenty of "guides", and one even followed us into a restaurant where he then argued with the waiter over whether or not he was with us. We'd found a table with four chairs and insisted that there were four of us, I'm sorry we can't pull up another chair, we're eating here, and we have enough friends with the four of us, no sir we don't know him he followed us here, no sir we don't need a guide we know where we're going. It took a lot of negotiating to get him out of the restaurant so we could order.

It was a tiny place, really- down some small street, had those old-west-bar swinging doors to get in and a chalkboard over the doorway with dishes and prices written on them. There was a British couple that walked in a little while later that tried to ask about vegetarian options and ended up with a plate of rice and tomato sauce. I had grilled fish skewers and fries- real, greasy, salty fries that I couldn't possibly finish, and a tiny cup of ataaya tea and then we walked down the street to N'Ice Cream for some overpriced gelatto (the "obama" flavor is chocolate with chocolate fudge cookie pieces) before the movie.

Okay, you guys. Anyone who has read le Petit Nicolas in french class, or who has seen les Choristes, or who has any kind of appreciation for adorable French children, you need to see this film. We were in an air-conditioned tiny theater with squeaky seats filled with French people, or swiss, either way even though it was a room full of toubabs we were the only ones speaking English, which was strange. Adorable film, it's on DVD now, so I'd advise you all to check it out. And if you can understand all the French in the movie, you're a better speaker than I. Personally, I think the Africans are easier to understand.

This morning they cut the power to our neighborhood. I heard Devyn explaining later that the government actually decides where and when to have power outages, because there simply isn't enough electricity to go around. So instead of just letting blackouts happen, they schedule power outages and cut the electricity to certain areas of Dakar for a while. Lately Liberté 3's been hit pretty often- it's a good thing I brought a flashlight- I'll probably leave it here before going back, give it to the family because this morning we had three small candles and my torch. The lights go back on eventually, though, after an hour or so.

Wolof class went slower than usual because it was the only class I have on Fridays and even though I love it and Sidy (the teacher) is great, I couldn't wait for noon so we could go to the BEACH! It's a pretty long walk away but I hadn't been yet and wanted to check it out.

On the way there we got sandwiches at this place that lately we've been calling Subway: Senegal. It's a shack made of pieces of cardboard boxes flattened and nailed to some random bits of wood, the nails go through bottle caps so they won't just fall through the cardboard, I think someone lives there 'cause there's a box of clothes in the corner. But the whole rest of the shack is taken up by a picnic-size-table and three benches. The table is covered with bowls, baskets, and bags of bread, eggs, there's a bucket of potatoes and peels under the table, he's got a bucket of water and a cup and a stack of dirty dishes and some newspaper and a few knives, some onions, it's a mess. There's a man sitting on the bench behind the table, next to a gas burner, who cooks eggs and tomatoes and onions, reaches into a paper bag for a baguette to put it on, wraps the "sub" in newspaper and hands it off to one of the men sitting on the second bench, who tosses him a coin and chows down. They're lazily chatting, someone asks for an omelette, or a cup of instant coffee, or café touba, he sends one of them to the store for bread or eggs when he runs out. The only light is coming through holes in the rusty cardboard, and there's a radio playing static in the corner. There's a calendar from March 2007 on the wall, but it might just be to cover a hole or something. There's three of us girls who just sort of sit on the bench watching him accidentally slice his finger along with a tomato, wrap it in newspaper, and keep on cooking- one of the guys hands him a strip of greyish ripped fabric but he turns it down. After all the men have been served and he can't ignore us anymore, he looks over, holds up three fingers, and we nod. He grabs a handful of fresh tomatoes and cracks some eggs into a pan. 600 CFA (a dollar and five cents?) later we duck out of the shack and quickly down the equivalent of half an onion, half a baguette, three eggs and two tomatoes each. I'm starting to love fresh tomatoes.

The walk to the beach is along the highway, there's embassies on one side (United Arab Emirates, Egypt, Benin) and they're constructing a huge shopping mall next to the Radisson Inn (which has a beach-side pool) on the other. The beach itself, though, is tiny and secluded, there's a futbol team working out on one side and a bunch of us students on the other. They're used to us by now. The water is freezing and the waves come in with pebbles but the sun's so hot I don't care and it's so mesmerizing just standing there knee-deep (in sharp sand)- I shouted hello to you all, did anyone hear? And my legs, which haven't really seen the light of day since the fifth grade, are vaguely crispy but nothing too bad.

And on the walk home, we got chased by a cow.

So Julia and I are walking down the road, right? On the sidewalk, there's highway on one side and ocean on the other. And I just lazily look behind me, only to see this trotting towards us:
http://eng.gougram.org/wp-content/uploads/2009/04/kankrej-bull-copy.jpg

This is not your average midwestern holstein. What you can't see from the picture is that his eyes are red. Like, genetically, this kind of cow has orangeish reddish eyes. And he's not really running, so much as jogging just fast enough to stay out of reach of the five or six men running after him with ropes, shouting and waving at us. Now, I can't tell what they're saying at this distance, whether they want us to keep it from running into the road or to get the hell away, and the last thing I want to be is a moving target, and Julia and just freeze, jaws wide open, as this thing trots past us. Taxis are honking, one of the men with a rope flags down a guy on a moped and jumps on the back, and they're hardcore chasing this cow down the highway. Julia and I decide to cross the road. About forty feet ahead, so does the bull. It turns around and heads back toward us, not really aiming for us but just deciding to come back in our direction, and again we freeze as it goes by, it heads down a side street into the rich and relatively hygienic Mermoz neighborhood. Julia and I keep walking, checking every once in a while behind us, peering down side streets, but the thing's gone.

When I get home the Bifals have blocked off the street in front of my house, and are having a drumming-dancing-singing-prayer-circle thing, and the whole neighborhood's pissed off. Apparently they do this every once in a while, without warning, and cars can't get through, and you don't know when they'll stop. And the only problem with that is that they're LOUD. All the neighborhood boys are running around them, daring each other to run into the middle of the circle, or pretending to dance alongside them. I go out and watch for a bit, only because it's fascinating to hear this crowd of men (no women, though, I wonder are there women Bifals?) singing in a strange language, but then I leave because it's really loud. And I mean really loud. And in a city full of concrete walls and open doors and windows, it just echoes. My mom tells me that they could go on until dawn- no one's going to sleep tonight. I ask do they spend all night praying? She shakes her head and corrects me that those Bifals don't pray, they're crazy, if this were Europe the police would have shut them all down by now. I'm not sure whether she means the singing or the religion. She tells me yet again, like she does whenever Bifals come into conversation, that they're up to no good, not a real religion, and I should have nothing to do with them.

Fish for dinner. Fish and lettuce and tomato, but the only fish available is this tiny kind, so there's about ten the size of my palm, cooked whole of course, bones everywhere, my mom and sister chow down and I really am doing a good job (for me) getting out all the bones so I can eat, but my mom when we're done eating tells my sister to make me some eggs because i can't eat the fish, so my sister goes out and fries up three eggs and some tomato and some maggi, I thought for me and my brother 'cause he didn't eat either but no, just for me. So today I have eaten- and pretty much all I have eaten, considering breakfast and lunch- a baguette and a half, six eggs, three tomatoes, and an onion.

I fall asleep at eleven, despite the fact hat the Bifals kept going until midnight.