My friend Jess was shoved against a wall in an alley by a family friend who whispered sweet nothings into her ear.
A taxi driver grabbed Alice by her shirt and wouldn’t let her out of the cab until she tripled what she was paying him.
Did I ever mention that my friend Zoey was clubbed on the back of the head by a man with a baseball bat as she walked to school? Or that no one did anything until a man from the Indian embassy pulled over and told her to get in his car?
Or that my friends Ian and Gabe and two Senegalese friends of theirs were mobbed and robbed after the national soccer game against Cameroon and had their wallets, phones, and glasses stolen? Or that one of the attackers pulled out a knife?
Top 10 countries supplying readers of my blog:
- United States
- Senegal
- Switzerland
- Ukraine
- Germany
- France
- Singapore
- Israel
- Russia
- Denmark
Several of these make sense. Many of these (particularly Singapore, Israel, and Ukraine, Russia, and Denmark) do not. But please keep reading regardless!
Someone has been reading my blog from New Caledonia. My blog has now been read in six continents! Now if only I could find a reader in Antarctica...
Searching ‘Japanese with diarrhea porno’ has led people to my blog.
Marie Sophie: His name is Ben Laden?
Host father: Yes.
Marie Sophie: So he’s Christian.
Host father: No...
Marie Sophie: But his first name is Ben.
Before this past Monday, Marie Sophie had never heard of September 11 nor the Twin Towers. I like the thought of a world where that’s possible.
My host father took advantage of bin Laden’s death to explain to Ibou and Marie Sophie the circumstances in which it is and is not acceptable to kill people. (As a pacifist, I felt slightly uncomfortable overhearing the conversation.) When my friend Andrea’s host brother told her bin Laden had been killed, his eyes were red and puffy.
Received two emails from Princeton in the past 24-hours warning me to avoid public celebrations, demonstrations, American embassies, Occidental business interests, and other locations where foreigners generally congregate. Guess I can’t go to N’Ice Cream anymore.
The power has now twice gone out while I’ve been in the middle of shaving my legs.
I have now also twice knocked my razor into the toilet before having flushed. Both times, I’ve just stuck my hand in and pulled the razor out. You can’t be squeamish in Senegal. (Although Marie Sophie still screams when she sees bugs in the house.)
Then again, Marie Sophie was also horrified to hear that a friend of a friend of mine (who is 23) is married and has a kid. So sheltered. Apparently 50% of Senegalese women are already married by the age of 18.
Killed a cockroach that was three inches long. I think I killed Gregor Samsa.
Some nights there are mewlings outside my window as I drift off to sleep. I have yet to determine whether it’s cats in the garden or the children upstairs.
A few night ago, the maids were chatting in Wolof over dinner about how cold it was. One asked (still in Wolof) how to say ‘It’s cold’ in French. I answered. They hadn’t realized I understand Wolof now.
Marie-Sophie asked me for help with her French grammar homework. Such a proud moment.
Last night my host father sang along in his Senegalese-French-accented English to country music.
In their birthday wishes to me last Saturday, both my host grandparents wished me a good husband and many children. In turning 21, I have reached marriageable age. What a terrifying thought.
Walked home from downtown Dakar with four friends Saturday night at 10:30 through closed-up market stalls and still-open fruit stands and shoes laid out on the road. After an hour, we hopped on a kaar ràppid that took us to Sacre-Coeur 3, where men sat in plastic chairs clumped round a fire amongst trucks abandoned in parts.
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