Kelly the Market Woman

On the stairs at the main entrance.

When Gustave Eiffel designed Dakar’s ornate Marche Kermel in the mid 1800s, he probably never imagined that, more than 150 years later, a beautiful young lady from Maine would make it her No. 1 grocery shopping venue.

Surrounded by traffic-jammed alleyways and child beggars packed with hawkers that speak little French behind rows of vegetable, fruit, fish and meat stalls, the lofty circular building in the centre of Dakar’s buzzing downtown area would intimidate most expats.

But not Kelly.

She arrives nearly every week, often wearing a brightly coloured African shirt, and always carrying her huge grass woven basket to fill with whatever’s in season.  

“Salamu Aleikum,” Kelly says – Arabic for God be with you – as she crosses beneath the high arching threshold and into the melee.  “Nangadef?” she adds – Wolof for how are you? Responses flood back from the market workers who, after three and a half years, now know Kelly well and seem to admire her.

“Ana wa keur?” they say – How is the family? “Et les jumeaux?” they say – How are the twins?Three languages so far, none of them English, and Kelly is in her element – a South Portlander in Senegal’s oldest and most storied urban markets.  Built in 1860 during the French colonial period, Kermel burnt to the ground in 1993. It considered such an important landmark – mingling colonial history, gorgeous architecture, and local color, - that it was rebuilt in 1997 in strict adherence to its initial structure and decoration.

On special weeks, Laird and Dylan accompany Kelly to the market. They tromp through puddles in their firemen and frog boots, often receiving many gifts from vendors. Laird and Dylan - who are called 'Ouseinou' and 'Assane' in Senegal according to the tradition that governs the naming of twins - are admired and adored. Like all twins, they are considered a special Gift from God. Senegalese believe that if a mother has three sets of twins, she wins a free pass to heaven when she dies. Just 2 more sets to go! Strangers tend to stop Laird and Dylan in the market, shake their hands, and touch their own hearts. After the greeting, they put a gift of fruit in their hands. Laird and Dylan leave the market with bellies full of tangerines, clementines, apples, and bananas.

In her early days in Kermel, Kelly had to haggle. In Senegal, negotiation is a method of getting to know someone. A person who caves easily has a weak character, and can expect to get little respect. One who can remain polite while whittling down the price with reasonable counter-offers and arguments, sprinkled with kind words of respect, is warmly appreciated. Kelly inherited a mastery for winning bargains – probably from her father – and has earned a record of halving prices almost effortlessly. (She once got a high-five from a street vendor who sold her a bag slightly over cost after four days of on-and-off discussions).

Now, though, the haggling is not required. Kelly is loved at Kermel and gets the local price for anything she wants, although she always leaves a 'cadeux' in their hand.

                           


                                                            

Kelly in action.

Enjoying a gift of oranges.

Fresh fish, caught this morning.

O Canada!

It's official: Richard received a phone call at his office today from the Canadian embassy granting Laird and Dylan dual citizenship from Canada.

It certainly wasn't easy getting this paperwork processed from Africa (and to be honest, it was quite pricey).  But Dad was patient, eager, and excited to get the boys their citizenship as this would open up many more doors for our bilingual darlings.

Dad is picking up the official documents tomorrow, along with 2 Canadian passport applications.

O Canada!

                                                             Our home and native land!

True patriot love in all thy sons command.

With glowing hearts we see thee rise,

The True North strong and free!

From far and wide,

O Canada, 

we stand on guard for thee.

God keep our land glorious and free!

O Canada, 

we stand on guard for thee.

O Canada, 

we stand on guard for thee.

Intrusion

As some of you may know, we were robbed last week.

Rich was away and I was home with the boys.

Without getting in to too much detail about the evenings events, I will share with you that we now know the burglar was upstairs on our 2nd floor (where my bedroom and the boys bedroom are) waiting and watching for 6 hours for the perfect opportunity to intrude.

The good news, is that the intruder did not go into the boys room.

However, he did enter my room while I was sleeping. He took all of my electronics that were right next to my bedstand. I was sleeping just a few feet away.

Rich and I do all the 'right' things while living in a place where there is a high home invasion rate: we sleep with mace within our reach, we sleep with whistles, we have a guard, and Richard sleeps with his hockey stick. We are now learning, that sadly, we did not do enough.

On this evening, I did not hear a sound. The mace, whistle, and guard, were of no help as I did not wake.

In the United States, a robbery like this would be considered Grand Theft, as thousands of dollars of equipment was stolen. But here, the Gendarmie are treating this case as if I was 'just another rich ex-pat that lost some electronics', as this happens all the time.

They do not understand the violation and fear that I now live with. They do not understand the violation that will forever exist because my every move was watched for over 6 hours. They do not understand the fear that I live with knowing that someone was a few feet away from me while I slept. Was this person armed? Did he have a machete? They do not understand that every time the sun sets, I feel sick to my stomach as nightfall is approaching. They do not understand that when the sun rises, I feel an incredible sense of relief that I made it through the night without incident.

But more importantly, they do not understand that I have lost all pictures and videos of my beloved children. I used the cameras and computers back up for each other; everything is lost. Footage of our babies in the NICU, pictures documenting their first year of life, and precious video I cherish are all gone.

It breaks my heart to think that these precious memories are in the hands of someone else who could care less. I wonder what this intruder thought to himself, when he opened up my computer and saw the screensaver of my two children sleeping with one another... probably nothing.

This heartless intruder probably wiped it all away without a care in the world. Gone.

I hate this person for what he has taken away from us. I am not talking about monetary value, but our sense of security, our memories, and our trust. We now sleep in fear. Every noise now requires a 'walk thru' of the house or a call to the guard.

Richard and I are learning a lot about living here. We are no longer naive. We are currently 'battening down the hatches' and making many changes to the home we live in, 24 hour guard coverage, bars on all windows and doors in the entire house, and alarms.

We are all safe and no one was hurt. Thank God.

There is a sadness for what was taken from us.

There is a precious 'innocence' that is forever gone.

We are slowly moving forward but are forever changed from this experience.

It's been awhile...

Sorry about the long absence here. It's been awhile.

A quick update of the goings on here:

Rich got pulled over again 'randomly' and had to bribe the officer, we both got pulled over by a 'fake' officer that we mistakingly gave our documents to and had to 'pay him' to get them back, we are currently going through some of the worst power outages we have ever seen, protests are going on around the city due to power issues, the ex-pat mother of a 7 year old boy who died of malaria has published an article about her sons case...her words resonate within all of us that have read it, 2 Al-Qaeda trucks have blown themselves up on the Senegal Mauritanian border which is a few hundred miles away from Dakar, but getting closer and closer... US embassy sent out this message:

February 10, 2011

Mauritanian authorities on February 5 captured members of Al-Qaeda in the Lands of the Islamic Maghreb (AQIM) near the Senegal/Mauritania border. This occurred following attempted AQIM bombings on February 2 in Nouakchott.

While there is a distinct border between Senegal and Mauritania, the border is porous and the opportunity for such terrorist incidents to occur in that area exists. We warn U.S. Citizens traveling to or residing in the northern region of Senegal, specifically along the Senegal River, which delineates the border between Mauritania and Senegal, to exercise caution and to take appropriate steps to increase their situational awareness.

And the goings on with 'not 3rd world country' related: Laird and Dylan turned 1, the house we purchased in October will have no tenants as of May 1 which is a bit of a financial surprise and a bit of a hassle with overseas living, and the flu is running wild through our house.

We knew that moving here would be difficult, however one cannot prepare for how difficult it truly can be at times. I have yet to mention the language divide, homesickness, and all other things third world.

But, we are seeing and experiencing things we would NEVER have known about living in the US. We are making the most of everyday here and biting our tongue at times, if need be.

And as much as we think we are struggling, we are not. We are the lucky ones. We have a roof over our head, food on our table, electricity and water (ha ha!), employment, vaccinations from polio and other diseases, transportation, etc.

On those tough days of Senegal living, I simply look out my window to remind myself of how lucky we truly are...

Korite

Last night, around seven oclock pm, many Senegalese were outside looking up at the sky in search of the moon. Despite the fact that France and many other countries declared it was the end of Ramadan, Senegal likes to make sure by waiting to see the moon themselves. Especially this year. Why? Well, superstition.

Korite marks the end of Ramadan, although the name varies from country to country. It is a day of great celebration. The month of fasting is over, and Muslims dress in their best clothes, pray, and feast with family.

This year, Korite would be either on Friday or Saturday... The only way to see what day the holiday would be on, was to look at the sky on Thursday night. Senegal is a bit cautious to declare Friday as Korite because there is a superstition that someone important will die if it is on a Friday.

Today is Korite and it is Friday.

Last night, I received 4 text messages around 730 pm from friends spreading the 'word' that the next day was a holiday. Spreading the word that a holiday was the next day is not so difficult here; radio alerts the public every few minutes as well as local tv broadcasts. Text messages flood the phone lines. Even the school that I teach at sent out a 'night before' text telling teachers and families that school would be closed the next morning.

It is 9 am on Friday, and I am on our roof... listening to the quiet. This morning Dakar is calm and peaceful. The birds are chirping, there is a nice breeze, and the street that is usually bustling with car rapides, buses, and lots of traffic is empty. In the distance I can hear the hum of the imam from the mosque. It is a lovely day... I am envisioning Sonko and Astou celebrating with their families. But, I can't help but to wonder about that 'important person'...

Gris-gris – sometimes attractive and always practical

A few days ago, Kelly spotted a couple of ornate leather belts on a chair just inside our front door which she figured belonged to Sonko. She thought they’d look nice with some of her skirts, so she asked him about them. (One is pictured above)

“Those are for protection while I am guarding the house. If someone tries to stab me with a knife while I am wearing them, the knife will not penetrate me,” he said. “I wear them very late at night.”

We live in a safe part of one of Africa’s safest cities, but the use of gris-gris(pronounced greegree) – or protective charms – is as active here as anywhere else on the continent. They come in the form of necklaces, earrings, rings, armbands, and belts and generally have very specific uses.

“They also make them for bullets,” Sonko said.

Senegal’s professional wrestlers are perhaps the most decadent users of gris-gris. The sport is cherished by the Senegalese, who flock to stadiums each Sunday night to watch muscle-bound men with shaved heads duke it out in a circular sand ring. But before the matches begin, there is a drawn-out gris-gris ceremony during which the fighters put on their magical arm bands and have jugs full of good-luck fruit juices poured over their heads by a fawning entourage.

Taxi drivers also use gris-gris to protect them on the road. In this case, the gris-gris is applied to the vehicle itself, instead of to the driver – usually it is a lock of horse hair tied to the rear bumper, sort of like a tail. From the looks of the cabs, though, these things don’t prevent bust ups.

Elsewhere, in the region, gris-gris is a must-have for anyone who engages in battle. Fighters in Liberia’s civil war are famous for having worn women’s wigs while taking potshots at eachother, believing the wigs would deflect bullets. Creepy.

More recently, in Congo where rebels are up to some nightmarish things on a routine basis, a Spaniard was taken hostage during a bizarre vacation. Congo’s Information Minister announced to the press before his release a few days later that the rebels had shaved off all of the Spaniard’s body hair to make good luck charms, believing non-African hair has special powers in battle. A great story that turned out to be false – his hair was still on when he was released.

Anyway, none of that really matters. Gris-gris or not, Sonko’s belts are cool and Kelly’s likely to have some made to wear for aesthetic reasons.

Ramadan

This morning I woke up before 6am, went down to the kitchen in a half-slumber and started eating. I had half a mango, two pieces of toast, a bowl of cereal, a cup of yogurt, a mug of coffee, a glass of orange juice and a pint of water. I was stuffed to the gills before the sun came up at 630am – which was the goal. I’d made a decision, for the first time in my 33 years, to go from dawn till sunset without food or water, just to see what it is like for the millions of people around me doing the same thing.

It is Ramadan, the ninth month of the Islamic calendar when Muslims abstain from worldly pleasures during daylight hours as a way to show their faith. It is a bit like the traditional conception of the Christian Lent, meant to involve 40 days of fasting. But in practice, it’s completely different. For one thing, people actually do it!

Ramadan, this year, runs from Aug. 11 to Sept. 10, so I’ve already had a glimpse at what happens in Senegal – businesses close down, people drive absent-mindedly, and the daily prayers – when people prostrate themselves on mats anywhere and everywhere in response to the muezzin’s call – appear to the eye to be much more heart-felt than normal. I’ve also noticed people take a lot of pride in not complaining about the fast, which makes it all the more mysterious.

Here’s what it was like for me:

730 – Still feeling full, I bike to work under the already oppressive sun. I wonder if the construction workers are fasting.

800 – The water cooler looks really good when I arrive at the office. And wow, it would be nice to have a raisin Danish and a coffee like I usually do. Ah well…

900 – I start wondering if my mouth is getting parched? What will it be like in ten hours?

1100 – I momentarily wonder what will I have for lunch? Oh, right, nothing…

1230 – My colleagues are eating grilled fish with homefries and a wonderful sauce. I start concentrated deeply on work. Seven hours left till sundown.

1400 – One of my colleagues walks around the office offering chocolates from a box. I take two of them and put them in my desk drawer. I can hear them calling my name. I tell them to wait.

1530 – My eyes are starting to feel dry and burn a little, which makes me blink more often than normal. I have just the faintest hint of headache. My belly is grumbling. I take another chocolate from the box and stick it in my desk next to the others.

1630 – I get a surprising energy boost that arrives from nowhere. This is usually the time of day I want to take a nap. I feel clear-headed.

1730 – I’m biking home and notice the surf is really good. Is surfing a worldly pleasure? Some things are better left unsolved.

1800 – Kelly and the boys give me a surf pass and within five minutes I’m out on the waves. The empty feeling in my belly is replaced by surf stoke.

1900 – I get home and start really feeling thirsty. Sonko and I start counting down the minutes. He’s thinking coffee, I’m thinking water.

1927 – Time is going VERY slowly.

1930 – The sun dips below the horizon. Three pints of water. Then dinner. Ahhhh…

All in all, it really was not too bad. There was no pain or serious discomfort. Instead it seemed like about a half-dozen moments of serious temptation during the day that required an act of will to overcome. For Muslims, this is an important act of faith, but I reckon a bit of exercising the will could be useful for anyone of any creed. Nonetheless, I’ll be taking lunch tomorrow.

Oh that? That's just a witch.

After a nice morning snoozing under a sun umbrella on N'Gor Island, followed by a very tasty lunch at an Italian restaurant, Kelly and I started to stroll back to the beach for the boat ride home. But our progress was halted by a strange sound.

"EEEEEeeeeeeee..... EEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeee..... EEEEEEEEEeeeeeeee....." came the sound. It was quite high-pitched and alarming and stopped us in our tracks.

A gentleman named Ben Moussa selling T-shirts nearby noticed our worried faces.

"Don't worry," he said. "That's just one of the women of the island who has fallen under a spell. It happens out here. She'll be fine soon."

I had to take a peek. She was in the kitchen of the Italian restaurant where we'd just eaten. She was flat on her belly and a man was holding her down. About five other men and women were milling about, watching her and chatting.

"EEEEEEeeeeeeeee," she said.

She didn't look upset or hurt or scared. She almost looked amused. So we left.

When we got home, Yvonne explained that the Lebou -- the tribe of fishermen that has for centuries populated the peninsula upon which Dakar was built -- often fall victim to the spirits of their ancestors. Apparently if they fail to pay respect to the dead and adhere to traditional values, they become haunted, and sometimes fall into bizarre trances. A good solution to a trance is to make a sacrifice.

"They will have to kill a cow," Yvonne said.

I asked a local if he believed that ancestors can really make women say "EEEEEEEeeeee".

"When you see it all around you since you were a child, you grow up believing it, yes. You can't help but believe it. The Lebou are people of the sea and there are many spirits," he said. "It is just normal."

It might also be a good excuse to have a nice steak?

Some Funny Shorts

1. As soon as Rich got home from work, I went to the Casino supermarket. Because most places here do not accept Visa, you must always have cash on hand. Rich told me to grab some money from the desk. I took some colorful bills and went on my way.

At Casino, I loaded up the grocery cart. The total came to 75,000 cfa which is about $150. I handed the cashier a 100 bill... but something was wrong. She kept speaking to me in French. I assumed that I didn't have enough, so I gave her more. She still kept talking. And talking. And then, the manager came over and began talking to me in French. I had no idea what was happening... Until I examined the bill I gave her to pay with... it was money from Rich's trip to Kenya. The wrong countries currency. Ugh.

2. Yvonne asked me how often I shave the boys heads. Yes, she thought I had been shaving their heads all this time as black babies are usually born with lots of hair.

3. I downloaded the new episode of Grey's Anatomy. However, it took 11 hours.

4. Every night, we lose not only the power, but the water as well. Toilets do not flush, dishes can not be done, and showers can not be taken. Hmmmmfff..

5. It is far cheaper to have an outfit made by a tailor than to go shopping for one. Basically it is the cost of the fabric. Same thing with having furniture made...basically the cost of the wood.