We had a power outage one (actually many, but for our purposes here, one) night during dinner, so I couldn't really see what I was eating, other than that there were gigantic bones. The next morning when I brought my tea mug to the rooftop spigot after breakfast, the communal dinner dish was still there with all the bones on top. Some of them had teeth. I ate something's face for dinner.
The three-year-old keeps telling me I look like her doll. Her doll is blonde. Marie Sophie tells me I look like Snow White. Oddly enough, the day after she first mentioned this, a vendor at Marche Sendaga called me ‘Blanche Neige’. I have a French storybook nickname too now, Alice!
My host mother asked Alice if she was Asian. Alice’s ancestors came from Poland and Wales.
History of Islam was cancelled again this past Tuesday, only this time we actually had advanced warning. We’ve now had officially only three of the fifteen course hours we’re supposed to have had thus far. All my classes were also cancelled Wednesday because of Muhammad’s birthday. So too was my UCAD course on Thursday because the university professors are on strike.
I’ve heard Shania Twain’s “You’re Still the One” four times since being here. The last time I heard that song before Dakar was art camp the summer before seventh grade.
I was in a corner market searching for peanut butter the other day when a song by Eros Ramazzotti came on the radio. It’s bizarre to think of an American girl listening to an Italian song in a Senegalese market.
The new maid in my household cannot be any older than fifteen. She’s shy and awkward and reminds me of me my first week here. She speaks no French and doesn’t understand when I butcher Wolof. When she does catch a word or two, she laughs at me.
Me, after Alice handed me toilet paper or something else equally vital: Danke.
Alice: Guten Tag.
My Senegalese phone’s spell check for texts does not recognize the world ‘when’ (it wants to replace it with ‘Wien’ – why would I be writing about Vienna in German?) but does recognize ‘fabric shopping’. Clearly it has its priorities.
Alice: I used to speak cat.
Me: I used to speak Elvish.
Alice: I used to speak Latin.
Discovered I can find stats on where people have been reading my blog. Someone’s been reading from Russia. Someone else has been reading from Singapore.
Also discovered the most common Google searches that have been leading people to my blog. Two of the top four involve the keyword 'topless'. My blog is a substitute for porn.
I was on the bus the other day when a ten-year-old boy blew me a kiss. Not a sweet one, a provocative one. Is there a term for reverse-pedophilia?
Why is it when you’re walking home alone and a guy you pass on the street tells you you’re pretty, it makes you feel ugly instead?
My friend Jess was mugged. She was in a crowd with her host family when a guy punched her in the stomach and stole her bag.
Ate my first Senegalese orange, which was green and yellow on the outside and a pale, pale yellow within. After peeling, you bite in and suck out the orange’s lifeblood. I’d never realized how much I’d love to be a vampire.
Last weekend in 48 hours I consumed three brownies, two scoops of ice cream (dark chocolate and mango), and two chocolate desert pastries. And I haven’t had thieboudienne in a good two weeks. Life is good.
Iba, Alice’s host cousin, after I mentioned I go to Princeton: “So you’re kinda nerd?” Yes, Iba. I’m very nerd.
My Wolof professor asked me if I knew where a guy in my class lived (which I did) and then asked the guy if he knew where I lived (he did not). I expected my professor to make fun of the guy for not knowing where I lived. Instead, he mimed me stalking the guy home. Little does he know I actually have a history of stalking.
Fun Wolof phrase of the day: Am na ñett i etudiant yu ñuul ci kalaas bi. There are three black students in the class. This is considered a socially acceptable remark for a professor to make in Senegal.
No comments:
Post a Comment