Salsa & Softball

Sorry about the break but things are becoming more mundane and routine so it is more difficult to think of things to write about. This past weekend was eventful so I'll start there.

Friday

If you've ever taught school then you have an idea of how taxing a workweek can be. Now multiply that by a language barrier and power outages and that is what my week is like. Needless to say, blowing off steam on the weekend becomes something of a necessity.

This week Charlotte's host brother took us out with a few of his friends. All we were told was that we were going somewhere to play pool but when we got there it was far more than a pool hall. In fact, the sole billiards table sat alone in a corner apart from the main attraction – SALSA!

The latin music bounced from wall to wall with patrons caught in the crossfire. The dancefloor appeared to be filled with professionals stepping and spinning perfectly in sync. It reminded me of one of those 90s teen flicks in which everyone busts out an impeccably choreographed jig during the climactic prom scene. Okay, I might have reached a bit for the comparison but let's just say I would've been out of my league had I attempted to join.

Fortunately, it was entertaining enough just to watch from the sidelines. The moves they pulled off were simply amazing to watch and they would switch partners without missing a beat in transition. But if you know me, you know I am not content remaining a spectator. A few of us are going to their weekly class this Wednesday so next time I'll be giving you a firsthand account instead of the watcher's point of view!

Saturday

Soccer, or football as they call it everywhere in the world but the U.S., is by far the premiere sport here in Dakar. Oddly enough, softball seems to rank pretty high as well. My host, Ahmadou, plays on a team and even won MVP last year. Last week he hit two homeruns – one of which was a grand slam! This week he put up similar numbers.

The field where they play is an experience unto itself. The games are played at the American Club so it is kind of like having a piece of home right here in Dakar. Usually at least one team speaks English and the concession stand boasts hotdogs, pop (Yes, I said "pop." Soda is for baking), and American candy.

As I was finishing off a bag of skittles and preparing to leave Ahmadou asked me if I wanted to play. I thought he just meant playing catch or something but when I followed him I realized I was actually about to sub in for a team that was a few players short. I've been jogging regularly since I've been here and eating healthy so I figured that, along with my natural athleticism, should be enough to get me through a game.

However, once the game started I was quickly reminded that I hadn't picked up a bat or glove in at least 10 years! Surprisingly, I made a few good snags, hit a double, and scored a run. We can all pretend the three errors I made never happened. Shhh, don't tell anybody!

Senseless

I was looking out across the Atlantic the other day and while I gazed across the waters my mind pondered what this view was like for my ancestors hundreds of years ago. It reminded me of a piece I wrote a few years back that I thought would be appropriate to share with you all now.

Senseless

I see darkness; nothing but darkness before my eyes. Without the sun to signal dawn and dusk I live in constant night for no telling how long. Yet, I manage to see the emptiness that’s conquering all of those around me. It is engulfing us all and leaving behind mere shadows of our former prominence. When last I saw the light they shoved us all, hundreds of us, into this hellish vessel they presume sea worthy. Hidden we must be in order to escape Poseidon’s wrath for this clear curse to his waters.

Sleep escapes me as well. Constant wails and shrills keep me from resting my senses yet I can no longer sense the presence of my limbs due to these cramped quarters that confine me. I hear the tongues of many, some foreign and some familiar yet all seemingly loosing their meaning in my ears. Except for the words of the pale men; those words never fail to prelude some sort of terrific horror, and then the shrieks again.

I think of my sister when I hear a young girl’s cry. Is it her that screeches this time? Has it been her before? Or has she given into silence?

A constant stale odor stings my nostrils day in and day out. From waste to blood to who knows what all in together as if conspiring some great evil deed. And the death, I smell that too. That scent is the most menacing. The stench eminates from every corner, from every crook, from everyone who suffers both breathing and not for we all are in a state of death down here.

Cold metal constricts me as it cuts and chafes the shell of what I loosely call my humanity or what still remains of it. Day by day their weight increases or maybe my will to sustain them diminishes. My legs have lost their feeling and I wonder if I will ever rise again. I feel the presence of what I always knew and always was leaving me with each passing minute as I leave them behind. I feel the shackles cut deeper as the chains yank us to our feet. The unforgiving restraints sever me as I now experience the cool sea air on my skin. Sensation returns to my extremities as they stretch again for the first time in what could have been weeks. The vibrations from the fiddlers and drummers and the pounding from the dancing of others moves up through my feet but somehow the intended message gets lost in translation. I feel nothing.

I sample the rich air that marks a sharp contrast to the stale and piercing flavor of down below. The taste is more fulfilling than any of the slop that they force-fed me could ever be. There’s a delicious taste I long for more though. A bittersweet flavor, but appetizing all the same. The air taste cooler now as a sprint causes my breath to accelerate. That flavor I long for is so near, just a few more steps until it is mine.

The bittersweet taste of salt water is so refreshing and so liberating.

Buffalo Soldier - Bob Marley & The Wailers

Distant Lover

I have found a new love in the last few weeks. To be honest, I was both apprehensive and enthusiastic to make her acquaintance but that anxiety departed upon our initial encounter. Her beauty was breathtaking and I was immediately smitten.

Our connection was swift and undeniable. An eerie familiarity with this stranger intrigued me. She seemed to know more about me than I knew of myself and promised to remove the blindfolds which, unbeknownst to me, had rendered my vision askew.

However, she maintained her vulnerability by showing me her imperfections. Her storied and troubled past often ran parallel with my own narrative, and shared a common genesis. Her struggles were my struggles, her pains were mine also, as well her triumphs and delights. I rejoiced in our commonality and celebrated our variances.

Yet and still, I have not forgotten my first love. My distant lover who lies more than four thousand miles East. I cannot forget the manner in which she brought me from a boy to a man, provided for me and protected me. I cannot forget the things she taught me, whether it be the flaws of my miseducation, the frustration of that realization, or the jubilation in my search for truth.

To my distant lover: You are remembered and I shall return.

Disclaimer: I thought it would be evident but emails and other messages speak to the contrary. This is NOT about a person. I chose to personify Africa and America in order to make a vivid metaphor. Hope this clears that up. Lol!

Does She Know - Trey Songz

P.S. - Happy Birthday to all my fellow Virgos!

Korite '09

Since I arrived in Dakar I have been fasting for Ramadan. For those who don't know Ramadan is the holy month in Islam. One way in which followers of Islam observe this holy month is by fasting during daylight hours. That means no drinking or eating from dawn until dusk.

Although I am christian, I chose to observe Ramadan to get the full cultural experience of living here in Senegal where more than 90 percent of the population is muslim. It was difficult to adjust to everything such as the heat, walking places and teaching while fasting but, as you can see, I survived. Lol! In fact, it was easier than I expected it to be. Not simple by any measure, but not as strenuous as I thought it would be.

Yesterday the holy month ended with Eil al Fitr, which is celebrated here as Korite. My host, Amadou, lent my housemate Gary and I traditional bubus to wear for the holiday and took us with him when he made his morning rounds. We first went to his family home to have a breakfast of millet porridge, which is comprised of millet, yogurt, raisins, and pieces of banana and apple. We then went door-to-door throughout the neighborhood to greet the neighbors as is custom for the day.

Later we went to the Kane's house for lunch, the big meal of the day. There we met up with the rest of the SABS fellows to enjoy the holiday and, of course, EAT!

Take a look at the slideshow to get a better idea.

Haiku #3 (Sun-Kissed)

No, I do not tan

But I am kissed by the sun

So no burns for me

View from the Top

Last week I took a hike to the lighthouse along with three other SABS fellows, Gary, Camille, and Charlotte. In retrospect it probably wasn't the best idea to take on such a task during midday while we were fasting but, hey, we survived.

The view was amazing on the way to the apex and stunning once we arrived. Words can not explain so hopefully I can get this slideshow to work right so you can get a glimpse of what we saw.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/42712623@N02/

Heal The World

Michael Jackson's universal appeal has been mentioned my entire life (someone once told me I was a part of the Thriller generation, lol) but from my American viewpoint the extent of his appeal had not truly been clear to me. That is until now.

On Thursday I was assisting in a seventh grade English as a second language class and at the end of the hour the teacher asked if any of the students knew any songs in English. Mind you, this was an ESL class so these children speak very little English. A modest girl, who had been silent most of the class period, rose to her feet and bashfully made her way to the front of the room. Then these demure words barely escaped her lips, "There's a place in your heart, and I know that it is love ..."

I am almost ashamed to say that at this point I did not recognize the song. Sure it was familiar but I couldn't recall the opening line. In fact, I googled the words to do this post. Yet, here she was, a francophone who wasn't even alive when the song was released, reciting MJ's lyrics like the tune was still topping the pops.

However, that wasn't the most amazing part. As the girl continued to make her way through the first verse other voices began to join in. By the time she reached the chorus the entire class was singing along – word for word, note for note. I was floored. I sincerely doubt an American class of middle schoolers are capable of that. His reach is truly phenomenal.

Rest in peace to the King of Pop; he will truly be missed.