exploring the markets

Yesterday was probably the best day I've had so far in Dakar. I can't believe everything actually worked out. I feel so accomplished and even a little bit integrated. I didn't have class until 3, so Nicole and I decided to explore the market on our own. We met at the bakery in between our houses, where the sell the most buttery, delicious pastries I've ever had. I had never noticed before, but their security guard carries a short whip. Most security guards have billy clubs and the ones outside President Wade's son's house have M16s, but I'd never seen a whip before. I hope it's not for the talibes (little boys allegedly studying the Koran) who beg outside the shop. I got a really big pain au chocolat and we walked to the Marche HLM, the fabric market in the neighborhood next to ours. WE got there at 9 and most stores hadn't opened yet so we took a quick walk around and then sat with some goats until 10. We got up our courage and went into a boutique with dozens and dozens of batik fabrics hanging on the walls. We made friends with the two women there, one of whom is an international buyer who speaks English. She gave us her name and cell phone (she lives in Yoff, a suburb of Dakar) and said we should call her if we have any questions about traveling in Senegal. I chose a fabric that's blue and yellow/orange and off-white with a nice pattern, and paid $2 American per meter for it. I was surprised that it wasn't more expensive. I'm going to have it made into a dress by a local tailor, which is how most Senegalese have their clothes made. We then figured out which bus to take to downtown Dakar and hopped on. It was very slow as we sat in traffic in the Medina, one of the more poor neighborhoods. "It was nice to be on the bus, though, to be standing or sitting quietly crowded together with Senegalese passengers, taking it all in and looking out the window without feeling bad or ashamed or guilty. In contrast, it is AWFUL to travel with the whole MSID group on a chartered bus because you're really just 23 privileged (mostly) white Americans staring at people going about their daily lives, who are staring back at you. WE finally made it to Centreville (Downtown) and got off at Marche Sandaga, the biggest market in Dakar. I've never been to a place that was simultaneously so exhilarating and so overwhelming. IF you thought Manhattan was crazy, think again. It's dusty and sweaty and a taxi's about to run over your feet but there's nowhere to walk because there's a stand selling boxers in front of you and a boutique selling pointy shoes next to you and one person shoves a begging bowl in your face while a guy is grabbing your arm and telling you you're racist because you won't acknowledge is most recent marriage proposal and you want to stop and look but you can't because he'll keep talking to you. that's Sandaga. And it's great. We wandered around for a bit by ourselves and stopped at a bookshop stand where they literally just have books stacked on a little cart and they're all used copies. I made friends with the older man working the stand and bought Saint-Exupery's "Vol de Nuit" (night flight) and a book called "Le baobab fou" (the crazy boabab) by a Senegalese woman who writes under a male pseudonym. I was their first customer of the day. After a bit more exploring / being aggressively pursued by a guy who thought Nicole was beautiful, we stopped at a teeshirt shop. We made friends with an old guy who took us to his brother's shop across the street and then to a fabric gallery where two guys gave us a tour. In this one studio, they have a dozen guys on sewing machines making clothes. I asked if women do this kind of work too and then said no, women don't do commercial work. A sharply dressed friendly young guy then offered to take us on a tour of more of the artisans' studios in the market. This sounded a lot more awesome to us than just walking around and thinking about buying stuff, so we did. Every place we went, they welcomed us and told us to feel at home and look at whatever we want and we didn't have to buy anything. And it was all in French. We went to a shop where they sell wood carved sculptures and learned the significance of the features of each mask. They have a mask for each day of the week to hang up in your house. Thursday the figure wears a hat because that's the day you go out and celebrate a marriage. Sunday has legs and arms stretched out because it's the day of rest. Then we went back behind the boutiques, beyond some children playing on the path,past small homes jumbled together to the shop where 8 men or so were carving wood into sculptures by hand on the floor. We watched every stage of production and met a lot of teh artists then looked at some more art on display there. They had some of the 'families' of small animals, like turtles or elephants, lined up in size order. Sometimes they like to reverse the order of the children elephants so that the baby is closest to the mama. The guy I was talking to said that when the animals are lined up, it brings good luck to your house and your family. I settled on buying a small 'water carrier' woman while Nicole chose a larger, unfinished mask representing the 3 months of the rainy season (june, july, august). We bargained them down and spent about $15 American on mine and $35 on hers (20,000 CFA total in Senegalese money). WE found out also that they give 10 percent of their monthly profits to a home for handicapped children - who you see begging on the street in my neighborhood most days. After that, we went to a few shops where they make soda cans into art, then we hopped a taxi to WARC and I sat through 3 hours of microfinance class. Then I picked my way through puddles of raw sewage overflowing from the drain on my way home. Every day is full of contrasts here.

I haven't taken many photographs since I got here because I feel uncomfortable about what kind of impact my photos would have back home on supporting stereotypes about what "Africa" is and how people live here. At home we are so addicted to presentation and packaging, while here as in most of the world and in my personal preferences, functionality is more commonly valued over visual beauty. So I feel that by taking photos you only transmit the visual/material aspect of living here, while you can't capture the more intangible aspects like social interactions. It feels disrespectful, like a violation of people's dignity, to take photographs of their lives here, even if they give permission for me to do it. On the other hand, I'd like to capture a bit of what Dakar looks like to share with everyone back home.There's a choice that you're constantly making, about how much to reflect and absorb your experience here. But our program is so short and our time is so precious that I usually opt for LIVING MORE of the experience, rather than reflecting or recording it.