Hot and Cold

This morning was the first day I got to sleep in all week, and consequently the only morning I’ve taken a shower. I’ve been taking them in the afternoon because hot water doesn’t exist unless you want to boil it yourself, and I’m not about to get up that early. Daily showers are necessary here not only to remove the layer of dust and dirt that accumulates on your body just walking around (hmm… or sitting still) but also out of respect for cultural norms. Hygiene is very important; one time I teased Khady about not having showered that day and, though I explained that I was only joking, she immediately ran to wash up. Almost every time I enter the house I have to dash to the bathroom to rinse my feet of all the dirt (even though we still wear sandals around the house). And when I forget, Fatimata reminds me. Sometimes I do pout a little because the dirt seems to show more on my pale feet; it’s starting to get ground in so my heels are stained brown.

There’s an actual shower head in my bathroom, but the water that comes in is ice-cold as opposed to the tepid-cold water that comes out of the spigot next to the toilet. If I let it run for a minute or two, it warms up a little more. There’s a large bucket underneath to fill with water, and a little pitcher I use to ladle it on myself. So far, I haven’t made it through a bucket-bath without shivering, but I’m sure when it heats up I’ll be grateful for the cold water. For the time being, I start with my feet and work my way up…

Classes finally started, and I remembered all of a sudden that I was here to study and not just to futz around Dakar spending money. Even though most things are cheaper here (aprox. 470 CFA francs = 1 US dollar), as one of my friends, Baird, says it’s just too colorful to be taken seriously especially when working in units of hundreds and thousands. Combine these factors with our undisguisable Rich White Tourist appearance and I guess I can’t be surprised that we been spending money. On the other hand, we are getting better at haggling, something that doesn’t come naturally to most of us, but is the only way to purchase anything in Senegal. Anything from taxi rides to fruit to clothing; it’s all got a price, and it’s never the first one they tell you… or the fifth. It’s tiring sometimes when you just want to buy it already, and at a fair price, but there’s nothing like the satisfaction of a purchase well haggled. One of the other students, Ginger, has gotten really good at it; she talked one vender down to something like 1/10 the initial price of a wooden turtle.

Ha, I just had lunch and, because I have class this afternoon, I ate by myself- earlier than everyone else. One of the great things about eating out of a giant communal bowl is that you never feel guilty for failing to finish your plate or not eating certain vegetables; someone else will eat it for you. So when Maman Ndiaye put a giant bowl of red rice, fish and vegetables in front of me, the pressure was on. I ate as much as I possibly could, and finally, feeling like I was going to burst if I put another ball of rice in my mouth, I said “suur na!” (I’ve had enough to eat!). “Suur na?” she echoed, walking over, “I have to come over to inspect,” she explained, “If Alice has eaten a lot, it is good.” I was worried briefly, especially when the maid frowned, but then, “Ahh! Good! You’ve eaten well!” Whew… these are not the sorts of tests I was expecting when I signed on for this trip.

PS I’m putting up some more pictures. They’re kind of old- still from the first week or so. We went on quite a few field trips. Hopefully I’ll have some pictures of the house and the family up next week!
Miss you!