That's all she wrote

Nearly 8 months to the day after leaving the US, I touched down early yesterday morning in Washington DC. It's been an indescribable adventure full of incredible experiences, a few challenges and truly wonderful people. 

Surprisingly, I didn't find this last week to be too emotional. There was a logical order to packing, printing tickets, gathering final mementos, saying goodbyes. It was time to go; the steps felt almost rote. I suspect the weight of what I've learned and what I still don't know will make itself felt in the next few weeks. I believe how I've changed will be highlighted by this familiar environment. Or not. This process is new to me.

What I do know is that looking out the window of a jumbo jet at a pastoral view of the Eastern seaboard, glowing as the light of a full moon exchanged places with the first fuchsia rays of sunrise, I was glad to be home. 

Hello Goodbye

      Greetings are important here. You greet everyone: vendors, family, people on the bus, friends, your boss, the cleaning lady, people who are praying, eating, talking, sleeping. For good measure I even throw a "Ça va?" towards the neighborhood mutt.

Back in the Lab

     Walking onto the campus of the Institut de recherche pour le développement felt like teleporting out of Dakar. The concrete walls dampened the sounds of traffic and bird calls emanated from the many trees. I was nervous to start my internship here, to once again be in the middle of a whole lot of "new", but I needn't have worried.

Vignettes

These are a few moments that I've wanted to share but that haven't warranted their own post. Jamm ak jamm - Sophie

The toddler Abdou, covered from chin to knee in drool as usual, waddles up to my door grasping the finger of my host brother who prompts him. "Soapie! Keey lekk!" he chirps. Cutest and stickiest call to dinner I've ever heard.

The preferred cookie in Senegal is the Biskrem. The original is a crisp sugar cookie with a soft chocolate center but they are also available in caramel apple and chocolate orange flavors. They're heavenly dipped in the spiced coffee popular on the street and are giving Oreos a run for their money as Sophie's favorite packaged cookie. 

Taxi rides down the Corniche are a highlight of any trip downtown. The road hugs the coastline and every inch provides a dramatic view of of the ocean stretching into the horizon. Some days the water is calm, glass-like and glittering; other days it beats on the coast in a display of raw natural power. At night it reflects the light show of Centre Ville. It's always stunning. 

Marché HLM has cemented it's status as my favorite market. The labyrinth of tarp covered stalls is a welcome chance to get a little lost. Every corner reveals a new alley of fabric: bhazan and wax, lace and tulle. There are ribbons and embroidery and baubles of every description. Occasionally you even stumble across teapots and chickens. The vendors are easy going and the haggling friendly. It's also a great chance to work on my Wolof. 

Watching American crime shows in French always makes me laugh. Tough New York city detectives just sound odd in French.

Pizza Inn's buy-one-get-one free deal facilitated an American pizza and beer night for the gang. The pizza was not great, not even in the so-bad-it's-good kind of way that cheap places in the States manage to achieve (I'm looking at you Canyon), but it was still pizza and it tasted like a little bit of home.

What do you do when the call to prayer rings out with 5 minutes left in the first half of the final round of the African Cup? Exchange glances that communicate: "We'll go to the mosque as soon as the buzzer sounds."

There is a tiny hole-in-the-wall restaurant down the street from my internship site. It's very small but bright and clean and I'm continually grateful that I chanced in one day for lunch because it serves, hands down, the best Senegalese food I've eaten to date. Juicy grilled fish, perfectly spice yassa (onion sauce), steak sandwiches that make my eyes roll back into my head; I've shamelessly eaten there every day for a week. 

I have accepted as a fact of life that most empty taxis will honk at me as they drive by. It doesn't matter if I'm heading into a store or in the middle of a conversation or in no way shape or form doing anything that could be misconstrued as hailing a cab, they will honk and shout out "Toubab! Taxi?" And I understand that it is, for them, a fairly rational decision. I could be tragically stupid and absolutely unable to hail a cab without assistance, fine. What I will never understand, are the cabbies who honk at me while I am plainly exiting another cab. "Oh why yes, thank you, I was in fact planning on dividing this journey into two taxi rides. Let me just hop on in," said no Toubab ever.

Mama Coumba is a woman of strong opinions. I have discovered that she holds them on practically every subject, my wardrobe being no exception. While she would never say that she didn't like something I was wearing, she definitely lets me know when she is particularly pleased. My red skirt always gains a knowing nod of approval and my Senegalese style clothes are met in the morning with a hearty "Bon!" Similarly, she will always mention that she likes when I wear my hair down and always looks a bit disappointed when I appear in a ponytail. Top knots are apparently an excellent look while messy buns are too unappealing to even be commented on. I have discovered that anything involving a braid is golden, though. And on some very special days when everything is going in my favor, I may even be rewarded with applause and a little song "Sama doom, rafet na, rafet na!" 

Lessons

After 5 months (!) here, I've hardly mastered the Senegalese culture, not that I ever thought that would be possible. There are, however, a few lessons I've managed to glean from my experiences. Here are a few things I've learned so far.

Round Two

     I spent the holidays in Britain and it was everything I hoped it would be: family, cheer, hot showers, a chance to tell a few of my crazy stories, an exhalation after months of bated breath. I anticipated leaving this happy scene with difficulty, that the idea of Senegal would seem to be an abyss of the unknown. Fortuitously, the words of a vendor I chatted with some months ago proved true: "Mother Africa is jealous, you know, she never really lets go."

On Packing

What should you bring to Senegal? Well...