Dakar Nightlife

from my journal, December 26th, 2010:

Well, today got interesting. YaYa explained that Assane N'Diaye regularly plays at the club across the street from Mamoune's house.

And it gets cooler...it just so happens that Lamine N'Diaye (YaYa's nephew) is brothers with Assane N'Daiye! As YaYa explained, "same mom, same dad."

Upon further conversation and questioning, I was later able to understand that Lamine's dad and Assane's dad are brothers.

Which means they're cousins. Not brothers. I'm now wondering what else has been lost in translation between us. Our divorce continues to make more and more sense with every day...

Anyway...

Lamine regularly goes to Assane's shows to help out, and can bring a guest for free. After expressing my adoration for Assane N'Diaye to Lamine (through much exaggerated gesturing, as Lamine does not speak English), he got the hint and invited me! At about 10:00, I asked if I should be getting ready for the show. Instead, it is suggested that I take a nap, as we still have several hours before it gets started. In Senegal, the show doesn't start until 2:00 am! Holy caffeine drinks, batman!

At about 2:00 am, I get dressed and Lamine and I head over to the club. We get into the club and sit down on a red velvet sofa when his phone rings. He tells/gestures me to follow him, and we walk out of the club to some nearby parked cars. We approach a black SUV, and the automatic window lowers. I'm pretty sure I know who I'm looking at, but just to be sure, Lamine gestures to the car and says, "Assane."

Holy freakin' cow.

Assane looks at me from the driver's seat and says, "Na nga def." (Hello, how are you?)
Me: Waaw! Na nga def! (Yes! Hello, how are you?)
Assane: What is your name?
Me: Tiffany!
Assane: My name is Assane.
Me: Oh my god! I know that!

Yes, I really am punctuating every response with an auditory exclamation mark. And a big huge stupid grin. I try out some Wolof, and I think that I tell him that I am very happy. And I think he told me that he is very happy, too. Quietly, I ask Lamine if I can ask Assane to have my picture taken with him. It sounds like this: "Photo?" Lamine nods, and I ask Assane if I can have my picture taken with him. It sounds like this: "Photo?"

Assane gets out of his car and puts his arm around me, and Lamine takes this picture with my cell phone:

I call it "Tubab Steals the Flash."

I'm broken-hearted. Who will ever believe that that dark shadowy figure is a famous rock star?

Lamine takes off and grabs the professional photographer who has been circulating inside the club. He poses us for this picture. Yes, Assane's arm is around me.

And this picture, including Lamine. Note the family resemblance. In this photo, I am wearing my "OMG, I'm having my picture taken with Assane N'Diaye!" face. A little too much, you think?

I thank Assane profusely and Lamine and I head back inside. Lamine brought me an orange Fanta to drink. I poured it into the glass with ice and drank it down. By now, it was 2:30 am and I was totally jacked on adrenaline! Sitting there with Lamine, not speaking, became awkward. I pulled out my phone and looked for a game that I could use to keep us entertained. Thank you, Android, and your "Paper Toss" app for giving us something to focus on!

Finally, the show got started, and Lamine took me up on a platform right off the left of the stage. We were standing right next to the band, and I was so happy that I didn't even mind that I was the only white person in the whole club, looking quite out of place. The music was fantastic, and Lamine kept modeling some dance moves for me to try. Having let go of any kind of worries about what a dork I must look like, I totally had at it, trying to copy him as best as I could. The band definitely found me amusing, as evidenced by their smiles. The tama drummer kept looking at me, and was demonstrating what I was supposed to be doing with my pelvis as I danced. At least, that's what I think he was demonstrating...could have been that he was sending me an entirely different message...

During the performance, people would approach Assane and put money into his hand. Lamine gave me some money, and I handed it to Assane as he sang.

After the show, (which, by the way, ended at 4:40 am) Lamine grabbed Assane's half-full water bottle at his microphone stand. Lamine offered me some, and I gladly drank from it. Even if I had not been as miserably parched as I was after that night, I still would have jumped at the chance to share a water bottle with Assane N'Diaye! Because OMG! It's Assane N'Diaye!

On our way home, Lamine's friend told me I was a very good dancer. I know he was lying, but it was nice of him to say so. I told Lamine that that was one of the best nights I had ever had. And even though he doesn't understand English, I think chances are good that he probably knew what I was saying.

Today I Bought a Towel

When you're packing for a trip to Senegal, there's an elevated level of stress in not forgetting anything. The old "Well, whatever I forget to pack, I can just buy a new one in _______," doesn't apply when traveling to Senegal.

I forgot to pack a towel.

I had $300 cash that I wanted to have exchanged to CFA. Unfortunately, we were unable to do it at the airport when we landed, so later that day, we got in the car to return to the airport.

The traffic was impossibly backed up on the road.


Now, in the United States, that would pose a problem. Not in Senegal. A Senegalese driver does not let gridlock stop him from achieving his destination. I soon saw cars pulling off onto the sidewalk area. No, it was not a paved sidewalk with pedestrians, but it certainly was not road, either. As I was expressing outrage that these drivers were driving in the dirt alongside of the highway, Mamoune pulled our car into the moving traffic in the dust!

After some discussion between YaYa and Mamoune in Wolof, YaYa explained to me that they had decided to give up on trying to get to the airport altogether, as the "invented" road was now backed up, as well.

He said there was someplace in the market where I could exchange my dollars for CFA.

Now me, I thought that meant they knew of a specific destination...a bank, or something. As we started weaving through the market, stopping several times to ask for directions (Senegalese men are very much unlike American men in this regard) I realized that our destination was somewhat undetermined. We stopped at one shop and YaYa and Mamoune visited with the owner. YaYa asked if I wanted to go in and sit down and have tea and visit. I reminded YaYa that it was our daughter's first day in a foreign country, and we had left her alone with Mamoune's Wolof- and French-speaking family, and that I'm sure she'd appreciate us getting back to her as soon as possible.

By now, at least 2 other acquaintances have joined us, and I can understand YaYa explaining that we want to exchange my dollars for CFA. A man dressed in a dark blue boubou arrives and speaks with YaYa. He pulls out a calculator, and the two of them have a 5 minute discussion on the street. Finally, YaYa asks me for my $300 and he and the man go inside the shop. Dollars and CFA are exchanged. I'm realizing how entirely helpless I feel. Not only have I handed all my money to my ex-husband, but I have no idea how much CFA I should be getting. (Note: photo shows about $13 worth of CFA).

Weaving back through the market, we pass a man on the corner with a stack of towels for sale. I remind YaYa that I need to buy a towel before tomorrow's shower. By now, we have at least 4 acquaintances who are "helping" us navigate the market. One of them has an idea of a much better person to buy from, so we continue to weave through the market. I am constantly approached by men and women holding up jewelery, artwork, etc. for me to consider. I would tell each of them no, but they were very, very persistent. One woman in particular followed me three blocks, holding beautiful beaded necklaces on each arm, choosing one necklace at a time to hold up for me to see. At one point, I realize that she's not holding up a necklace, but a beaded thong! My eyes widen, and I can't help the smile that shows up as a result of my surprise. She sees my reaction, and shows me the matching beaded bra. I will admit it was a little bit harder to continue to say "no" after seeing those items...

Finally, we got to the shop we were being taken to. Once again, I'm struck with how helpless I feel here, as conversation begins with the seller and the 6 (yes, SIX! Mamoune, YaYa, and the other 4) men who are all discussing the quality of the towel and the price. I can't understand a word of it, but it's loud and aggressive. I just want a towel that I can use to dry myself off with after a shower. I indicate to YaYa that I like one towel in particular, and after more discussion, it is finally purchased for 5,000 CFA. Here's what a $10 towel looks like in Senegal:

YaYa was also trying to buy sheets and pillowcases for Binta's and my bed, so there's also been conversation about the quality of sheets and the price for a set. Finally, YaYa leaves without the sheets, but that doesn't stop one of the men from chasing after us, all the way back to our car, still trying to get us to buy the sheets! YaYa nearly closes the car door on the man's head!

The sheets were purchased later...we sent Diarra to the market to buy them for us after we returned to Mamoune's house. We've noticed that it helps the negotiating process if there isn't a white American (tubab) involved.

Anyway, I got my towel. And we saved the other things on my shopping list for another day, 'cause this trip pretty much wiped me out.

Senegal: Our Arrival

Sunday, December 25th, 2010

We land in Dakar, Senegal, at 5:30 am Senegal time. It's something like 9:30 pm to my body, and I haven't been able to sleep much, either during the 6 hour flight to New York, nor the 8 hour flight to Dakar. But I'm wide awake.

The air feels different here. It's thick. It's hot. It smells different. Our first indication that we are very, very far from home.

Life in Senegal is filled with challenges. Beginning with "How to claim your luggage." When we arrive, bags are already circulating on the baggage carousel. There are men at the door when you walk in, offering to "help" you locate your bags, for a fee, of course...I'm not sure how much YaYa paid the guy who helped us, but I'm sure it was more than he deserved. He about ran over both me and Binta with the cart on two different occasions.

Suddenly, the carousel stops running, and we have yet to find even one of our suitcases. There didn't seem to be much concern from people who worked in the airport. Passengers started walking over, around, and on the carousel, to claim their bags. After about ten minutes of waiting, the other carousel, loaded with baggage from a previous flight, started running. Amazingly, we locate all six of our bags.

Once we get outside, we found Mamoune, YaYa's brother. How great it was to see him again, after 9 years! He got a big "Mamoune!!!" and hug from me. He looks exactly the same.

He brought our car over to us, and it was clear to me what our next challenge would be. There was no way our 6 suitcases, 5 carry-ons, and 4 passengers would fit into that small car. Apparently, I was the only one who saw that the challenge was impossible. The Wolof speakers thought there was a way it could work, and proceeded to try to Jenga the suitcases into the car in one creative formation after the next.

Two suitcases in! Only 3 suitcases, one large duffel bag, 5 carry-ons, and 4 passengers to go!

Three suitcases! Even loading up the backseat still left us with one suitcase that couldn't fit. Not to mention the 2 passengers and 5 carry-ons...Finally, the men admitted defeat and a cab was called. Note to self: must find out how to say "I told you so," in Wolof.

We got to Mamoune's house, and I was bombarded by 4 beautiful, lovely young women, all shouting my name and hugging and kissing me. Nine years ago, Coumba was 15, Mben was 13, Diarra was 10, and Fatou was 3. Fallou was merely a baby, about 6 months old.

From left to right, you can see Fatou, Mben, Fallou, Coumba, and Diarra. I'm the one in the center. ;)

After several hours of sitting around, looking at my photos from our last visit (many of which they either laughed hysterically at, or sighed wistfully at), Mben and Coumba headed to the market to buy ingredients for lunch. I never miss an opportunity to go to the market, so Binta and I invited ourselves!

Oh, Senegalese market...how I am both fascinated and repulsed by you! I love all of the colors, the noises, and (some of) the smells! I am horrified by the sights of raw meat, lying out on tables, with flies buzzing and crawling all over the pieces. The tables that have fish smell so offensive that I have to perfect a method of breathing through my mouth whenever we pass.

I wish more than anything that I could understand the exchanges between Mben and the sellers. They seem (to me) almost hostile as they negotiate a fair price for fish. At one point, we walk away from one seller, only to be called back to continue to discuss, and finally purchase, some chunks of fish. They're put directly into a plastic bag, and we continue through the market, stopping about 5 more times, to buy onions, spices, red pepper, other vegetables, and even to buy more fish! I find it strange that we buy fish from a total of 3 different sellers. Why not just get all the fish at once?

The sellers are amazing. This lady, selling fish, works so quickly with her knife as she runs it across the fish's body, causing scales to fly all over the place. She then sticks the knife inside the fish and guts it so quickly that I'm nervous for her...but it's clear that she knows what she's doing.

Lunch is Thiebu Jen. "Rice with fish." A perfect first meal for a non-seafood person like me. Binta dives right in...quite literally...by sitting at the "kids' floor" with Fallou, Fatou, and Diarra, and using her right hand to shape the rice into little balls to pop into her mouth. Quite a shock, given that this is the kid who refuses to eat anything but hot dogs and mac & cheese in America.

I ate with the adults, and using a spoon, I kept to just the rice. And a few carrots. It took the edge off my hunger, at least. Here, it's "eat or go hungry 'till dinner." I'll eat.

During our stay in Dakar, we have a room in a "hotel." And it is a room, by definition. Four walls, and a door that locks. As far as furniture goes, it has a bed, which is a wooden frame with a thick piece of foam that acts as a mattress. Binta and I shared the bed. There's an electric fan, too, which works most of the time, and some of that time, we can get it to work without a horrible screeching sound. It's all about priorities.

Mad props go out to YaYa, for sleeping on this (shown folded up) foam mattress on the floor. I doubt that the actual comfort level was much different from our "bed," but just the fact that our sleeping place is elevated from the floor (and any creepy crawlies) makes it more desirable.

You may have noticed the date of our arrival. Today was Christmas Day. But you would never have guessed that, by looking at any random piece of our day. As a matter of fact, at one point, I remarked to YaYa that this was a very strange Christmas, and as I heard him relay my comment to Mamoune, I heard Mamoune express surprise, as he said something that included the word "Christian." It was something like what you'd expect to hear in the United States, if someone said that today was the first day of Ramadan. "Oh yeah, Ramadan...that's a Muslim holiday. Is that today?"

Today was the complete opposite of a typical American Christmas. Right down to the 85 degree weather.

Willie

Number of days I've "known" him: 125
Number of days we've been "official": 58
Number of days we've spent together, in person: 4

For several years now, I have been a part of a private, invitation-only online single parent support group. The nice thing about this group is that I know each member very well, and am assured my posts remain private. The bad thing is that we rarely get any new input, from someone with a fresh perspective. Our conversations sometimes get a little stale as a result.

So this summer, when one member mentioned a friend of his was going through a divorce and could really use some support, we enthusiastically said, "Yay! Bring him in!"

And so, new online friendships were started with Willie, as we each offered him support and understanding. It wasn't long before he completely blended in, becoming "one of the gang" by passing harmless flirts back to the girls as quickly as we flirted with him.

Until one day, when he sent me a private message, telling me that he really was feeling attracted to me. I assured him that that's normal, to feel attracted to someone of the opposite sex after a divorce. But that that's probably all it was, and besides, we live 2,177 miles apart. (yes, I had mapquested us)

But then we started noticing things that we have in common...our affinity for proper grammar, our love of (and experience visiting) Africa, Tarantino movies...etc. As a matter of fact, as new similarities were discovered (on a daily basis), one of us would say, "Of course you love ______. We are the same person!"

After he had a particularly challenging day in August, I gave Willie my phone number and told him he was welcome to text or even call when he needed to talk. It's a fortunate coincidence (or not a coincidence, if you're paying attention - we are the same person, after all) that we're both covered by Verizon. Because that's when a lot of texting and calling started.

By now, we were spending quite a bit of time "together," either Facebook chatting, texting, or talking on the phone. We were developing a closeness that surprised us both. We shared deeply painful and personal stories with each other. The flirtation continued, and we regularly reminded ourselves that the mutual attraction that we shared was a "geographical bummer." Knowing that a real relationship could never be carried out, due to our distance, we convinced ourselves that our internet relationship was a healthy form of "practice" that would serve us better with our interactions with dates in "real life."

There were a couple of times that one of us got concerned about our emotional investments. In theory, it would be easy to just "shut it down" when one of us moved on, and our internet relationship needed to end. We were aware that in reality, it could prove to be much more difficult. We took a few "breaks," in which the conversations would be restricted to acceptable "friend" topics. After a couple of days off, we would end up right back where we were.

All through this, I continued my efforts on eharmony, and asked Willie for advice when dealing with a guy I had gone on a date with, and with other guys I was communicating with. Willie encouraged me to give them a chance, and I did try. But my interactions with them were flat and unimpressive next to Willie. What I really wanted was for eharmony to match me up with a guy just like Willie, except who lives in the same area code.

Sometime in September, Willie went out with a girl, and I was stunned with my reaction. I felt green with envy, and realized that I was in too deep. I attempted to shut off my feelings, understanding that Willie was moving on, and I was about to be left behind. Instead, it prompted a deep, heart-felt conversation in which we both examined our reactions and Willie confessed that after his date, he had thought, "Well, she was nice, but she's no Tiffany."

So we were back where we started again.

Until finally, one morning, we got "busted." A colleague asked me, "Are you having some sort of cyber flirtation with a guy on your Facebook?" In the conversation that followed that evening, Willie said, "I just keep wondering if there were some way we could make this work if I moved out there." I responded, "I wonder if there were some way I could move out there."

The metaphorical padlock that kept us from discussing a "real" relationship had been unlocked. And suddenly, our honest feelings about each other came rushing out. We both admitted to the love that we share, and agreed that there had to be a way to close the distance so that we could be together...that a "click" like this is rare, and 2,177 miles simply could not be a reason to ignore it.

And how would we do that? Well that is a conversation for a different post...

In Case You've Ever Wondered if We're Biologically Related

Went to the school library with my class on Tuesday. I found this book:



I checked it out. I was pretty sure Binta and I could have some fun with it.
Binta's class had also gone to the library that same day. After school, as Binta plunked her backpack down on the table, this is what fell out of it:



I'm pretty sure the "mother/daughter check out the same book at the library" test presents absolutely irrefutable proof that we're related.

Finally, the Finale

The last episode of LOST aired last night. If you have not yet seen it, I urge you to not read any further. Don't spoil the ending for yourself.

Although it's hard for me to explain exactly what happened. And I've been a devoted fan for 6 years. I've watched and re-watched every episode, participated in an online discussion group (nerdy, yes, I've been told), and spent hours theorizing and considering the events on the show.

Yet when a friend asks me this morning, "Well? Did they get off the island?" my answer is, "Um. Yes? Sort of?"

This is no easy story to sum up.

The show started out as an exciting adventure/mystery for me. I was hooked right from the start. As a matter of fact, I wrote about my first impression long ago. Such great characters and terrific plot twists. Amazingly original and clever storytelling. I kept watching because I needed to find out why, why, WHY! Up until last night, I was still demanding an explanation for all of the mystery. Why was Walt special? Why did the black smoke have to kill Mr. Eko? Why did the psychic tell Claire she had to raise Aaron? What was Jacob's brother's name for crying out loud?

Yes, there was mythology in this show that I didn't understand. Science fiction elements that went way over my head. And religious overtones that cannot be denied.

I'm not into mythology or science fiction. And I don't believe in god. Yet I still watched the show, year after year, to find out what was going to happen to these characters. How could they possibly provide an ending to this show?

I would have been insulted with a "they lived happily ever after" ending. I would have been devastated if they had all died on the island. I wondered to myself how LOST could possibly give me an ending that I would accept, much less enjoy. Yet I sit here deeply satisfied with last night's finale. I'm ok with the questions that didn't get answered.

I'm ok, because LOST ended it with a sort of "they died happily ever after" ending. Yes, they're dead, but they're together, moving on collectively. Towards heaven? Something else altogether? The viewer gets to decide. Genius.

LOST has always reminded me of my brother, even though he never saw an episode. The pilot aired 6 months after he died. I believe he would have liked the show. I think about how it could have been something that we shared together.

Oceanic flight 815 crashed in 2004. Derek died in 2004. The characters on LOST have been struggling with the mistakes of their past for 6 years, building up to The End, at which point the all got to gather together again. Their reunions were beautiful and nostalgic. I cried at seeing Charlie and Claire reunite. I cried when John stood up out of the wheelchair and walked into the church. I cried when Jack realized he had died.

What if my brother has been "waiting" for the past 6 years, too? I imagine him having a chance to make peace with his past. I imagine him learning to appreciate the contributions he made to us.

I imagine him getting to see all of the important people from his life again. Who would be there with Derek, as he "moved on?" Brad? Our grandparents? Me?

I still don't believe in god. Or heaven. Or hell. Just the same, I find it very satisfying to imagine Derek happy, and finally "moving on" into what could come next. I like that thought very much.

You Give Me Fever

It started Saturday night. Binta complained about feeling too cold, so I suggested she warm up in a hot bath. I decided to check her temperature, and sure enough, she had a fever of 101.

Throughout the night, it continued to climb up and down, most likely due to the Tylenol I gave her. She didn't complain about anything else. Just feeling either too hot or too cold.

So the next morning, when it seemed that her temperature had settled back down, we thought the bug had run its course. Unfortunately, it seems the bug had heard about the birthday party Binta was going to, and wanted to tag along. Uninvited. And it didn't bring a gift for the birthday girl, either. At least, I hope it didn't. I guess we'll find out soon enough.

All through the night, we monitored her temperature, as it continued to surprise us with new and amazing 3-digit numbers. Binta's varying attitude was also fascinating to watch. From being in tears, thrashing around in the bed crying that she's too hot, to singing radio call number jingles that match the numbers on the thermometer.

As my school secretary reminded me, "You can't keep a good pirate down."