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."




     And while Dakar is only one tiny part of one tiny country in a vast continent, in my own small way this proved true. Dakar had been calling me. I realized just how much I'd missed it in a shuttle on the runway in Lisbon when the bus full of passengers headed back with me was choked with heavy-handed cologne and loud, brash arguments in Wolof. I smiled to myself, contented. I was going back.

     I had previously worried that I only enjoyed Dakar because of the people I shared it with, most of whom are currently on other continents. While their absence is felt, this past weekend spent exploring old haunts has proved my affection for Dakar is independent. It's a quirky city, and while it certainly benefits when viewed from rose-colored glasses (they cover up a bit of the trash), it is charming nonetheless.

     Dakar is not dominated by a sense of industry or hopefulness or style as some other cities are. It is a bit of a manic pixie dream girl, if you will. She doesn't need to be saved, she's perfectly broken the way she is thankyouverymuch but you're more than welcome for the ride. Dakar woos you with corner store owners who know your name and your favorite sandwich. She'll even dress up at sunset draping herself in golden, flowing light to tempt you before throwing a tantrum and burning garbage in the street. Keep an eye out for the pickpockets but know the glass of ataaya from the stranger is given in goodwill. I've learned to roll with some of Dakar's punches, understanding that it's a loving sort of roughhousing. The earnest proposal from my cab driver on the way back from the airport wasn't meant to annoy me, just a city's way of saying "Welcome back, I missed you toubab."  I'm still learning, to be sure, but I think Dakar would tell you if you inquired after her, "Maangi fi rekk. I am here only, not pulled toward tomorrow or yesterday. Today this is how things are, and really, if you look, things are pretty good."