I had agreed to go talk to some musicians for my project, so I was on the move for the evening. I met the Kora player (Kora is like a traditional harp, see one of my first posts for a more accurate description) at the conservatory, and he told me that I was welcome to come to the band practice and talk to the other musicians he knew that hadn’t had a formal education if I wanted.
Like most of the rest of experiences during the ISP period (Independent Study Project) I found myself heading out somewhere with no clue as to my destination. I took a car rapide to a bus stop, and from there was told to take the bus to the end of the line. Now imagine, the most crowded bus you have ever been on. Think hard, and now double that, and that is where I was. The bus pulled up, and all the people waiting rushed up, trying to squeeze their way on first to secure their spot. I ended up being the last on, and was hanging on the doors, not really fitting in.
Finally we squeezed in and the doors slammed closed behind me. There was a woman sitting on the seats closest to the door, her spot surrounded by glass, no doubt so no one could invade her space, and she was the designated ticketer. I was smashed up against the bar on the edge of her seat, crushed by the people behind and and the step above me, and the doors. Everytime they opened I had to push back hard on the other passenger behind me so as not to get run over.
This continued for about 30 minutes, as I watched the city pass by me. Slowly the bus emptied, and by the end I was able to see the others seats, and then I was able to snag one. Unfortunately that moment of triumph didn’t last long as I had made it to my destination (I only knew this because I saw my contact in the street yelling “get off here!!” at me as soon as the bus slowed). Even though I have lived in Dakar for close to 4 months, I had yet to ride a public bus like that. That small accomplishment made me very proud, and really being that cramped was not so bad.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Saturday, November 26, 2011
The B series! 2. The Butcher
So this mini adventure started because I needed to get some meat for my contribution to the American Thanksgiving dinner our group was putting on. Therefore I grabbed my apartment mate Justin and went into the neighborhood in search of a Dibiterie (butcher) to get some mouton (sheep). Sooner then expected, Justin and I found a small hole in the wall Dibi.
I asked for mouton (I am sorry, but I have to call it mouton instead of sheep because these sheep look NOTHING like American sheep, they will forever be mouton to me) and he promptly pulled out a leg from the freezer and asked if that would be good. I agreed, and then we haggled a bit over how much I would get-1.5 kilos-, and he smiled when he realized that we could understand a bit of Wolof (as he didn’t speak any real French, this was a little bit of a challenging interaction).
I was under the impression that we would just buy the meat fresh, and I could prepare it as I wanted at home later on. However, he began to salt it and stick it into the fire that he had going, ready to grill it for me! I stopped him, and asked to have it fresh, which confused him and he washed it and put it back on the grill.
Justin convinced me not to fight what he was doing, and just let him prepare it for me. The assistant came and sat next to us as we waited, wearing at-shirt that read “Just Another SEXY Bald Guy”, which was ironic as he was in fact bald. So there we sat in the Dibi, two white Americans and the Senegalese with no clue as to what his t-shirt implied, watching the butcher grill a smoky scent into the mouton, letting the delicious smell waft past us and out the open door. Then the butcher chopped up some onions and put them with the meat to grill as well. Finally he packaged it all up and added some spicy sauce and mustard. Really, for $11, this was quite the deal, I can see another mouton dinner in my future.
The B series! 1. The Boarding School
So this is a series of little vignettes, all of which start with B!
I had one of the most strange and Senegalese days, that it simply has to be shared. If I haven’t already said it already, I am towards the end of the month of independent research of our program. This is the month where each of chose a subject to research, and we are given a budget and free time from classes to conduct our research in whatever way we chose. By the end we should have the equivalent of a 20-40 paper explaining what we did and our results, and we also have to do a final presentation to defend our research.
I have been researching the musical education system in Senegal, which has included observing classes, talking to professors, students and musicians and observing attitudes towards music in general. Now that you have the background information, you can understand why I may have ended up at the ferry dock to Gorée Island at 7am. From my constant appearance at the National School of the Arts (the national conservatory, and from my knowledge the only music school in the country) I had made a contact with a professor who teaches at an all girls boarding school on the island. This school is the best school for girls in Senegal, as it selectively takes the top 3 girls from each region of the country as students (There is a national test that is administered after the 5th grade, and based on these results the selections are made).
Upon arrival at the school I was shown around the campus and introduced to the director, all the usual formalities. The class started at 8am, but nothing in Senegal starts right on time, so we (myself and the professor) arrived “on time” at 8:15am in the classroom. The students all stood up and greeted the professor, and I was offered a seat in the back of the classroom to observe. The class was interesting to me in the way that music was taught mostly by learning the theory. Because there are not a lot of resources or even a suitable budget for music (those in the US who study or have any experience with the musical education system, be grateful for what you DO have!), the professor has to make do by simply teaching the theory of music.
What I mean by that is that there is a very large nation wide shortage of instruments, so the only ones that are moderately accessible for people to study with are the recorder and guitar. Keyboards are hard to find and expensive, pianos are an enormous luxury, even the traditional instruments are hard to find. The shortage of instruments coupled with the very low priority that the government puts on musical education ( the government funds most of the schools) makes a very poor situation for any sort of musical education. The professors do what they can, but without a classroom or instruments, they are forced to simply teach the theory of music and hope that the students will be inspired enough to continue on in music.
Therefore the class time was divided in half, one was written on the chalkboard, and the other was practicing with the recorders. Each student was instructed to bring their own recorder, but only a handful had their own, so everyone passed them around. The girls seemed so enchanted and exhilarated by the fact that they were making their own music, that by the end of the class they didn’t want to stop, so they began singing a song that the professor had taught them.
He brought out his guitar, and they all continued to sing together until the next class had to start. After the class I literally ran and jumped to make the boat back to the mainland (I did do a running jump onto the boat because it had already started to pull away when I caught sight of it, and there was no way I was waiting for the next one!). As the boat pulled away and I regained my composure, I realized that I had just the most wonderful experience, and it was only noon!
I had one of the most strange and Senegalese days, that it simply has to be shared. If I haven’t already said it already, I am towards the end of the month of independent research of our program. This is the month where each of chose a subject to research, and we are given a budget and free time from classes to conduct our research in whatever way we chose. By the end we should have the equivalent of a 20-40 paper explaining what we did and our results, and we also have to do a final presentation to defend our research.
I have been researching the musical education system in Senegal, which has included observing classes, talking to professors, students and musicians and observing attitudes towards music in general. Now that you have the background information, you can understand why I may have ended up at the ferry dock to Gorée Island at 7am. From my constant appearance at the National School of the Arts (the national conservatory, and from my knowledge the only music school in the country) I had made a contact with a professor who teaches at an all girls boarding school on the island. This school is the best school for girls in Senegal, as it selectively takes the top 3 girls from each region of the country as students (There is a national test that is administered after the 5th grade, and based on these results the selections are made).
Upon arrival at the school I was shown around the campus and introduced to the director, all the usual formalities. The class started at 8am, but nothing in Senegal starts right on time, so we (myself and the professor) arrived “on time” at 8:15am in the classroom. The students all stood up and greeted the professor, and I was offered a seat in the back of the classroom to observe. The class was interesting to me in the way that music was taught mostly by learning the theory. Because there are not a lot of resources or even a suitable budget for music (those in the US who study or have any experience with the musical education system, be grateful for what you DO have!), the professor has to make do by simply teaching the theory of music.
What I mean by that is that there is a very large nation wide shortage of instruments, so the only ones that are moderately accessible for people to study with are the recorder and guitar. Keyboards are hard to find and expensive, pianos are an enormous luxury, even the traditional instruments are hard to find. The shortage of instruments coupled with the very low priority that the government puts on musical education ( the government funds most of the schools) makes a very poor situation for any sort of musical education. The professors do what they can, but without a classroom or instruments, they are forced to simply teach the theory of music and hope that the students will be inspired enough to continue on in music.
Therefore the class time was divided in half, one was written on the chalkboard, and the other was practicing with the recorders. Each student was instructed to bring their own recorder, but only a handful had their own, so everyone passed them around. The girls seemed so enchanted and exhilarated by the fact that they were making their own music, that by the end of the class they didn’t want to stop, so they began singing a song that the professor had taught them.
He brought out his guitar, and they all continued to sing together until the next class had to start. After the class I literally ran and jumped to make the boat back to the mainland (I did do a running jump onto the boat because it had already started to pull away when I caught sight of it, and there was no way I was waiting for the next one!). As the boat pulled away and I regained my composure, I realized that I had just the most wonderful experience, and it was only noon!
Sunday, November 20, 2011
A Trip to The Embassy!
Disclaimer: For those of you who have never been to a movie at the Majestic Bay Theater in Ballard, I am so sorry that this will not make much sense to you. For those who have, enjoy!
Let's read and learn as Becca and Friends take...a trip to the Embassy!
After everyone has their passports screened and RSVPS checked, they enter in an orderly fashion.
Becca grabbed as many iced teas as she could, while Justin, Amy and Alexa stood around absorbing the English being spoken.
Well who's this! If it isn't President Wade's old time pal the Ambassador Lewis Lukens!
Hey guys, how's things?- Ambassador Lukens
Ambassador, this is no time to talk, you have to make your speech! Now move along! Admonishes Justin
Ah, the speeches have started, but wait! Someone has let their little twins run around in matching outfits, and it is distracting Amy from listening to the Ambassador.
What's Becca going to do? Right again Becca! If there are bored children, give them a cookie!
Ah the speeches have ended, and what a long winded one it was.
Wait! Says Alexa, uh oh! They've spied all the left over American treats on the table!
But Justin knows what to do, because he's come prepared!
Liberty and Justice are an important part of...a trip to the Embassy!
Ok, so that was a spoof that may not have made a whole lot of sense to most of you. However the point is that going to the Ambassador's house (The Embassy is currently under construction, but it sounded better in the story then Ambassador's house) felt very surreal, just like the black and white cartoon that depicts happy go lucky children from the 50s enjoying their movie in the correct fashion. This experience made me realize that when I get back to the States, readjustment will be a lot harder then I thought it would be!
Let's read and learn as Becca and Friends take...a trip to the Embassy!
After everyone has their passports screened and RSVPS checked, they enter in an orderly fashion.
Hey guys, how's things?- Ambassador Lukens
Ambassador, this is no time to talk, you have to make your speech! Now move along! Admonishes Justin
Ah, the speeches have started, but wait! Someone has let their little twins run around in matching outfits, and it is distracting Amy from listening to the Ambassador.
Ah the speeches have ended, and what a long winded one it was.
Wait! Says Alexa, uh oh! They've spied all the left over American treats on the table!
But Justin knows what to do, because he's come prepared!
Liberty and Justice are an important part of...a trip to the Embassy!
Ok, so that was a spoof that may not have made a whole lot of sense to most of you. However the point is that going to the Ambassador's house (The Embassy is currently under construction, but it sounded better in the story then Ambassador's house) felt very surreal, just like the black and white cartoon that depicts happy go lucky children from the 50s enjoying their movie in the correct fashion. This experience made me realize that when I get back to the States, readjustment will be a lot harder then I thought it would be!
Monday, November 14, 2011
Thanksgiving in Senegal....Tabaski!
Last Monday was Tabaski, one of the biggest Muslim holidays! Throughout this program we were told that this would be a huge ceremony that the whole country looks forward to every year. People have new clothes made by the tailor, hair is rebraided, sheeps are bought, drinks are made in vats and everyone who has family in villages go back to the village for a week to celebrate. Whenever I asked anyone about Tabaski, the conversation always started out with “Well, first you kill the mouton…”. Let me clarify, the mouton is a sheep, however the sheep here do not look like the fluffy sheep that we are used to. They actually look like a cross between a sheep and a goat.
The week before my family prepared for Tabaski by making traditional drinks. My host mom made Bissap, which is a juice made out of hibiscus flowers and lots of sugar! She also made dita, which is made from the dita fruit and is bright green in color. That drink is not as sugary and is one of the most refreshing drinks I have ever tasted. The day of Tabaski rolled around, and I got up early in order to watch the festivities unfold. My brother, his sons and all the male relatives dressed up in their new Tabaski boubous for going to morning prayers. At 9 am all the men marched out the door with their prayer rugs in hand to walk to the mosque.
It is tradition that everyone prays in the morning, however only the men left in my family to do this. The women all stayed home and got the grills fired up for the mouton to follow. Once the men returned, it was time to sacrifice the moutons! First, a little background on these moutons, most people have at least one, but at our house we had five moutons, one for my brother, my mother, my father, my aunt and the visiting brother-in-law. These moutons had been moved from the stalls outside (you buy moutons in street lots, sort of like Christmas trees) to our terrace . On the day of, after the prayers, we all, including the children, trooped up the stairs to the terrace.
The men and boys would hold down the mouton while my brother would say the prayers and cut the throat. (Note: I am not adding photos of the actual killing of the goats, if you want to see these, just email me!) For me, it was a bit gruesome to watch, but soon I realized the necessity of the act. I have grown up eating meat that came in a package from the supermarket. I was so completely removed from the process that I never connected a live animal to what I was eating. Here there is a yearly reminder that something has to die in order for us to eat meat. Despite the amount of blood and twitching and uncomfortableness I felt at watching five moutons get slaughtered, afterwards I felt much better about being a carnivore. After I seeing the sacrifice I felt that now I could truly eat meat without feeling guilty. As soon as all of the moutons were slaughtered, they began the meat preparation process. The first part we ate was grilled liver….it was delicious!
We set the table with several different types of sauce, and people ate as they could in between meat preparation. Fries were cooking all day, and all the grills of the house had been brought down to be used to grill meat. The family shared the meat with extended family and neighbors and so people came and went in the house throughout the day. Similar to Thanksgiving, people eat all day, wear nicer clothes and give thanks for the day.
My brother invited two of his new co-workers over, who ended up being from Holland and spoke English. My brother invited us over to a neighbor’s house to have a drink (Note: this was very interesting as Muslims are not supposed to drink alcohol, so right away I knew that we were not going to a Muslim house).
We ended up spending most of the day at a family friends house, who happens to be Christian. It wasn’t exactly the way I thought I would spend Tabaski, but we had a great time chatting, drinking and eating! My host family even brought over a huge plate of mouton and fries, yumm!
By the end of the day I was exhausted and stuffed to the brim with delicious grilled mouton. I returned home in the evening to find that my entire family had left, and the house was still. I went to sleep very early, thinking that Tabaski was not quite what I expected, but still an excellent holiday of eating, just like Thanksgiving!
 |
| Thumbs up for Tabaski!!! |
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)