Sipping on sunshine and bathing in moonlight: a day that lulls along

The moon is glorious tonight. I would that I were scribbling on notepaper in place of my laptop so that I could feel the moon’s full, round beams reflecting off the page. Alas, the comforting violet hues of the evening breeze and the shimmering moonlight are pierced by this electronic’s false glow. But the silhouettes of swaying trees and flapping laundry still create a lovely ambiance for reflection here atop the mosaic-tiled terrace. I could bathe in the thoughtfulness of this moon’s radiance, letting her swallow me whole and birth me into the realm of dreams and wistfulness; such is the evening.

I feel pensive, slow, bittersweet, and content. The day rolls off of me like a heavy cloak sinking slowly to the floor: pregnant with smooth strolls through hot afternoons, meandering from one swatch of shade to another. Humming would overtake me at times, adding a spring and a swish to my step, as I would swing my bag of fresh veggies around my wrist. It is on walks such as these that time lolls contentedly, like a child wandering through pastures with nowhere to be until dinner. I’m on my way to the post office to leave a letter and the lovely Senegalese woman on the stamps winks at me from her corner down in the depths of my bag. I see these various men now, sitting guard or watching passersby, and I will see them on the way back. We are each looking at the other, but only when they aren’t looking. The more forward ones will hiss at me, to grab at my attention, or make kissing sounds, but there are only a few with energy enough to make such attempts on this heat-laden afternoon. With nowhere in particular to be and nothing pressing at hand, my American pace has fallen into nothingness and my vibe slows to match the pace of this place. If I walk too quickly, strangers make note of it out loud, encouraging me to go ndank, ndake, to take is easy. But I don’t stand out today, or not anymore than a fair-skinned, scarf-wearing, yogurt-bearing girl ever does. I suck my yogurt out of the corner of its plastic sack, appreciating the creaminess and reflecting on how my gratification derived from this particular form of yogurt must go straight back to the joys of infanthood. I must face it; in spite of my Senegalese pace, I stand out distinctly because a local can never be seen walking and eating simultaneously. Ah well, at least I’m closer to the Senegalese demeanor than usual with my respectfully relaxed steps.

I am quite different now from how I was when I first arrived, or my perception has changed at any rate. I no longer perceive the folks clad in waxed fabric as being wrapped in plastic tablecloths, which is excellent considering the popularity of this form of clothing for formalwear. I even find these garments beautiful and have to remind myself at the large fabric market that no, there is no way I’ll be able to pull off that shinny fabric in the States. The hand washing and communal eating bowls seem downright normal these days and I no longer turn when I see a few goats lolloping around at the corner of a busy intersection. Perhaps best of all, I can grab a cab for within 200cfa, or forty cents, of the price I want and chat in broken Wolof with the cab driver the whole way there. Sometimes my haphazard responses to their inquiries fool them into thinking I actually speak Wolof, but when the conversations seldomly stray from the topics of origin, studies, and marriage, it’s hard to go wrong.

But the warm wanderings of the day are taking their toll and I’m fading into sleepiness. Tomorrow morning I leave for the small village Louly Ngogom without my laptop or the internet. Thus, you will not read this until I come back from that voyage and post it. By then, I’m sure I’ll have much more to share.

Hugs and love,

Jocelyn

The Terrace at 7:23pm

The call to prayer sounds over the surrounding buildings, drifting from this mosque, and then that, and then another, fading one into the other and singing at once. A cool breeze smelling of rain, cars, and food: spices, frying fish, happily eating people. The flit of birds, their warbling call. The warbling chant of the prayer. Colorful mosaic of broken tile spreading forth and fading into dusk, the clatter of silverware and dishes from afar. -- They are breaking fast. -- A fading orange sky and heavy rain clouds hang above distant barking and immediate bleating. The prayers fade as well, and the flapping laundry, once bright orange and green, looks grey. Afternoon sweat clings coolly in the evening, and one more day of Ramadan has passed from hunger into contentedness.

-9/5

A little about my host family and the learning experience.

There is much that I have learned here in the last week and a half, not the least of which was figuring out how to lock and unlock my bedroom door with this old-fashioned key. It took me about five minutes each try for the first several days. Assane, my host cousin, kindly taught me today how to flush the toilet; this involves pouring a bucket of water into the toilet. I was overjoyed at the revelation! Basically, I'm back to being 2 again, which makes three of us in this household! Junior and Noh-Noh are two fabulous little tykes who keep our home lively, to say the least. You may note them in my new profile picture that I absolutely adore! Junior is the son of Jou-Jou, my adult host brother, and his wife whose name I'm having difficulty remembering. My host sister Melanie is mother to Noh-Noh, but her husband is currently working in Italy. I believe that I have another host sibling who is currently living in London. My cousins Assane -the toilet teacher- and Chantalle both live with us as well as the two bonnes, or maids, who go back to their homes on Sundays. One of them is called Mare but the other has a name that I have difficulty pronouncing. She's the one depicted in the photo with Noh-Noh on the upper left corner of this post. The matriarch of this whole household is my maman (host mom) Elizabethe. This is a catholic household residing in a house of two stories plus a terrace in the midst of the neighborhood of Mermoz -only a 15 minute walk from the seaside campus of Suffolk University where I take my classes. The photo above and to the right is the view from my second story room into the central courtyard. I hope to post more photos of my family as the opportunity arises. I'm still hesitant to impose myself upon them, particularly since the "inside" dress is very different from how one dresses "outside."


A view over the terrace.

This picture is from the off campus
dorms that I resided in last week. It is the first rain, and we're taking full advantage of the fact that we're not visible from this balcony. Others may have been enjoying a nice run through the rain, but I doubt they were able
to enjoy it in a sports bra!




This is Annie, my rain buddy.









This is a car rapide -a sort of public transit- that involves a guy hanging off the back and shouting the bus destination to passerbys. You knock a coin on the ceiling or side or the vehicle to signal the driver that you want to get off.