And I have SO MUCH to say! So much to talk about, so many stories to tell!
Unfortunately, I also have a 20 page paper to write. So it's time for another homework cop-out, as you get the rough draft version of my Internship Report. As I write it. Enjoy. And I'll probably be writing for months after I get back about different things from the village, don't worry.
INTRODUCTION
I did my internship in Toubacouta, a small town in the Fatick region close to the Gambian border. It’s got a fairly large tourist industry because the town is located on the Saloum delta which is covered with mangrove forests. The two main hotels, Keur Saloum and Paletuviers are right on the beach, with piers and boats and plenty of excursions out into the mangroves. There are also countless smaller campements, run partly by the local community and partly by Belgian or French owners. Needless to say, I was not the only toubab in this town, and throughout my stay there I was constantly being mistaken for a tourist- which actually was a very interesting position to be in. Unfortunately, the tourism industry is rapidly declining, at least in this region, and even the most prosperous hotel was going bankrupt.
My stage was with the Troupe Allah Lake, who performs at the hotels. We do traditional ballets africaines (not to be mistaken for classical ballet) with djembes, dum dum (bass) drums, bellaphones, singing and dancing. Originally there were two troupes (CHECK INTERVIEW). However, the other troupe was much smaller and less experienced. Often they would ask members of the other troupe to come play and dance for shows when they didn’t have enough people, and in the end decided to unite to form one large Troupe Allah Lake.
When I arrived in Toubacouta I had never before done any sort of African dance. My background is in traditional American and European dance; I’ve done Appalachain square dancing, Bulgarian dances, Scandanavian and even Indonesian dancing, but no African dance. I had never touched a djembe. I know songs in over twenty different languages including Swahili and even Xhosa, but none in Wolof or Mandinka or Djolla- in short, I was completely new to Senegalese music. Having seen the troupe during the group field trip in February, then, I was slightly worried and incredibly excited at what I could possibly learn. I felt very confident in my ability to learn songs and perform them, but had no idea whether or not I’d have the sheer physical capacity to learn the dances. And I certainly never expected to perform with them.
Mostly though, I wondered how I would get along with the artists and how/what/from who I would learn. Especially considering I hadn’t made any Senegalese friends in Dakar, I didn’t know what my relationships with the troupe members would be. Having seen a few other performing groups, even in a theatre in Centre Ville, it was clear that Allah Lake was highly talented, and better than at least the small amount of performing groups I had seen. The speed and energy I witnessed at the performance in February had left me breathless then, and highly intimidated when I thought of trying to do that. (Not to mention they breathe fire.) I had already made up my mind to learn as much as I could and not hold back- my secret hope ever since deciding to study abroad in Senegal had been to learn as much music as possible. My family and friends back home, knowing my love of the arts, fully expected me to come back singing and dancing, and I certainly wasn’t gong to let my nervousness hold me back: that was certain. However, I fully expected to trip, fall, and be laughed at. I fully expected to be constantly exhausted, sore, and frustrated. And I fully expected to be completely satisfied with whatever I could possibly learn from the troupe, no matter what. But on the bus ride to our internship sites, all day long, I was thinking ‘please let them like me, please let them like me’.
THE FIRST TWO WEEKS
It didn’t help that my supervisor was gone the day I arrived. Of course, being with a new family in a new village kept me distracted and occupied but that afternoon my older sister Fatou Senghor walked me down to the beach where the troupe had a reunion to meet me and talk about what I would be doing for the next six weeks. I sat down on a bench/log with Bathie Ndiaye, the president of the troupe, and slowly others started showing up: a handful of men and one woman, who was nursing a baby. They each introduced themselves, and of course I forgot all of their names instantly. What I do remember is what Samba (Bathie Ndiaye) told the troupe. He explained, (first in Wolof and then French for my benefit) that as of today, I was a member of the troupe. I was to be treated just like any of the other girls (there were several dancers and drummers who weren’t there) and that even though I was a student and just learning the dances, that I was a fellow artist and part of the family. In turn, each of them welcomed me, and each mentioned that if I needed anything, to just ask. If I needed to go somewhere and didn’t know how to get there, I should call one of them. Finding my way to and from rehearsals and shows, one of the men would accompany me, at least until I knew the way (My house was at one edge of the town, and the beach was on the other- I lived the farthest away). I arrived at the meeting thinking ‘please don’t hate me please don’t hate me’ and I left thinking ‘I’m going to hang out with firebreathing djembe players!’
I realized when I got back to the house that Samba didn’t mention rehearsals. He told me that someone would come pick me up that night so I could watch the show at the hotel, and that was it. I ended up spending almost every night the first week sitting in the audience with the other toubabs, watching the shows. The troupe members explained that when there was a show that night, there would be no rehearsal that afternoon so the performers could rest. So before the shows I would sit with the other girls. Then, I’d be told when the show was going to start so I could get a seat to the side where I could watch the dancers- and every night I studied their movement, what they were doing, trying to memorize the steps before anyone had even taught me. And after the show one of the drummers would walk me home. It was good to have so much time to watch the dances, but at the same time I just got more and more anxious, wondering how on earth I was going to learn.
That Friday before the show, one of the dancers called me over to a back corner of the hotel courtyard- the girls were reviewing the steps to Penille- one of the dances- and he wanted me to watch, perhaps try to dance. I kicked off my shoes and placed myself behind them, watching feet and hands and listening to the rhythms. Since this was an unofficial rehearsal there wasn’t time to teach me, they went through fairly quickly, but I tried as best I could. It felt great to have something to concentrate on besides my worries, and after we finished neither they nor I had any worries about how I could learn the ballets. The first rehearsal was the following week, and I started learning Zowlin, a ballet I hadn’t seen before. The second day we worked on the same ballet. The third day, I arrived to find out that rehearsal was cancelled. However, one of the drummers mentioned that if I wanted to I could go to his house, he’d call a few of the dancers and I could learn Penille. As he prepared attaya, he sang the drum part to give us the rhythm, and one of the men and one of the women took me through the steps. It was hard work, but we took breaks and I got to ask about parts that I didn’t understand. At the end of the day, they asked if I felt comfortable with the dance, and I replied that I did. They asked if I could perform it that night, and I said that if I could watch someone and stand in the back, then yes I could.
That night, Maimouna (who had helped teach me the dance) handed me one of the costumes and told me where I would stand. I was shocked. It was the Wednesday night of the second week I was at my internship site. I had had two official rehearsals (learning a different dance) and two unofficial rehearsals, and they were putting me in the show. I trusted my ability to follow along, and I trusted them if they felt I was ready to perform. Of course I made mistakes, but I got through the entire dance without any major problems. They invited me to do the next dance, too: l’animation. What I was told was “follow Maimouna”, and as she entered I followed, copying her steps as best I could. The entire dance I learned on the spot, in front of the audience. It was certainly a more informal ballet, consisting entirely of the men and women taking turns moving forward to try different steps, so it wasn’t a problem that I was watching the other girls. And when they brought out the fire I got to watch the show from a new perspective. The next night was another show at the hotel. By Sunday I was ready to perform for the entire town in the 4th of April Independence Day parade and performance.
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