Scrawled in red magic marker across the white door inside the police station are the words "Commissioner of Domestic Affairs." The door itself is half-open and, from my spot in line in the hallway outside, I can see a man of barely twenty wearing a Liverpool soccer jersey and a ball cap, flirtatiously interviewing a young woman.
He’s clearly the commissioner, and I need a stamp from him in order to open up a Senegalese bank account. He’s getting goofy with this girl, and she’s acting a bit annoyed, but not enough to hurt her own chances of getting a stamp.
"Il faut patienter," says Babakar, a colleague of mine who is helping me navigate this task. "We must be patient."
That’s a common refrain in Dakar, and incredibly good advice in a place where unemployment is so deeply rooted that onion-like layers of government bureaucracy are seen as a viable means of keeping people at work.
This young man behind his desk is a lucky one, I realize. Loads of his friends and relatives are probably in the streets trying to find something to do for a handout – wash a parked car, guard a parked car, help someone park a car... He may even have nephews in the Talibes, I imagine, the swarm of pre-pubescent children who spread out across Dakar every morning with yellow bowls to gather donations for the Maribou, the Muslim spiritual leader.
"Why do you need this certificate of residency?" he finally asks me when I’ve "patienter"-ed myself to the front of the line.
He knows the answer.
"To open a bank account," I say, a bit embarrassed.
"To open a bank account," he says with a half-snarl in his voice. He looks at me and he sees money. "Come back in 24 hours."
"OK, thanks," I say getting up to leave.
The sign behind his desk reads, "Only God knows what tomorrow will bring."
Earlier in the day Babakar and I had visited an unmarked building on a non-descript road in order to get another document stamped by the chief of the neighborhood – a stamp I need in order to get the other stamp from the young commissioner.
(NOTE: I think in the U.S. you just need to bring a utility bill with your name and address on it, right? That wouldn’t work here because there’s no post. I’ll tell you about the bizarre process of paying rent and utility bills later.)
And yes… I said chief. He wasn’t in tribal attire, just a sporty shirt, pants and sandals. But he had the gravitas of a chief nonetheless. Another lucky one who’d found gainful employment in the disbursement of ink.
"Sit down," he said, pointing to a wooden chair by the wall in his courtyard.
I sat.
It was remarkably cool despite the midday heat outside. Behind him, a woman was sweeping dust and keeping the compound nice and neat. Beside him, a young man in a polo shirt wielding a stamp was standing next to a plastic table.
I wonder how you apply for the job of chief.
Babakar, a few words in Wolof. Passport goes down on the table. Document comes out, scribble scribble. "Give him 250 CFA (50 cents)," Babakar says. Done. Stamp.
No hassles here. I guess he’s going for volume.
Anyway, this was last Thursday and I still don’t have a bank account. The Commissioner was true to his word and the document was ready when he said it would be, but the bank was inexplicably closed today. I’ll try again tomorrow.
Even if I get an account, an ATM card could take months. A friend told me last night that he’s been waiting six months for his ATM card to be ready. He may be back in Europe before it arrives.
No big deal.
The more time I spend around here the more I realize how distasteful it would be to complain. I’m doing just fine.
And for the details, well, "Il faut patienter."
Monday, October 26, 2009
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Wave-hound
Dakar is a wave magnet. It juts far out into the Atlantic , catching swells from three cardinal directions. The means that on almost any given day you can find a place to surf – heaven for a wave-hound like me.
One morning last week, I got up before work and zipped over to Vivier’s reef – a sweet little spot facing West that has a narrow channel and a perfect wave breaking off urchin-infested rock ledges on either side.
The last time I’d been able to surf before work was in 1999, when I was a reporter for the Journal Tribune in Maine . There’s no better way to start the day, but the experience here in Dakar was quite a bit different than the morning sessions of a decade ago.
The sea in Maine during the fall and winter months can be turbulent, cold and devoid of life. The fish have gone south or offshore for the winter and the pleasure boats have long since been pulled from their moorings. The surroundings are unspeakably beautiful, but also lethal. A 6mm layer of neoprene rubber prevents a quick death by freezing.
Many times I’ve sat beyond the breakers at Higgins Beach , often with snowflakes falling around me, looking out toward the horizon and wondering about the surfers and the beaches on the other side, exotic nooks and crannies just off the nearest points of land in every direction.
Now here I am.
Floating over a reef swarming with fish, wearing shorts, a rash guard and a golf hat against the sun. I see a hand-built wooden pirogue loaded up with Lebou fishermen pushing up the coast. The water ripples and flying fish the size of a finger break the surface and travel low through the air like dragonflies. On the shore I see five Muslims conducting their first of five daily prayers. Another two people are walking toward the rocks in front of the channel, carrying snorkel gear and spear guns. These are locals who make a living selling fish to the seaside restaurants… heading to the office as it were.
A set comes in, the first swell feathering in the light offshore breeze as it gets stopped up by the shallow reef. An easy drop as the wave jacks up to a couple of feet overhead, and a hard left bottom turn sends me on my way down the line. I can see boulders and coral heads pass beneath me through the clear water. I kick out and paddle back up along the channel, watching the rest of the waves in the set peel mechanically along the reef, mirror images of each other.
By now the pirogue, brightly painted in yellow, red, green and black, has arrived within 50 meters of the reef I’m surfing. A school has been spotted and the crew is yelling in Wolof, setting up the nets and positioning the boat. The engine revs and the boat cruises a wide circle around the school as the crew throws the net out behind the boat. One of the crew, wearing a scuba mask, leaps of the moving boat and into the area rapidly being encircled by the net. I’m not sure what his job is, but he’s diving down into the school, appearing quite busy. The circle is completed by the pirogue and the rest of the crew starts pulling in the net for the catch. The chatter is loud and excited.
Another set comes in. Another ride over the coral heads. The spear fishermen are now in the water passing north over the next reef. I paddle back up the channel.
The pirogue is nearly done bringing in the net and I can see they’ve managed a reasonable haul. They move along, and after a little while so do I…. Time for work.
This is what its like surfing on the wrong side of the Atlantic . Totally different. But the smile on my face as I arrive to the office turns out exactly the same
One morning last week, I got up before work and zipped over to Vivier’s reef – a sweet little spot facing West that has a narrow channel and a perfect wave breaking off urchin-infested rock ledges on either side.
The last time I’d been able to surf before work was in 1999, when I was a reporter for the Journal Tribune in Maine . There’s no better way to start the day, but the experience here in Dakar was quite a bit different than the morning sessions of a decade ago.
The sea in Maine during the fall and winter months can be turbulent, cold and devoid of life. The fish have gone south or offshore for the winter and the pleasure boats have long since been pulled from their moorings. The surroundings are unspeakably beautiful, but also lethal. A 6mm layer of neoprene rubber prevents a quick death by freezing.
Many times I’ve sat beyond the breakers at Higgins Beach , often with snowflakes falling around me, looking out toward the horizon and wondering about the surfers and the beaches on the other side, exotic nooks and crannies just off the nearest points of land in every direction.
Now here I am.
Floating over a reef swarming with fish, wearing shorts, a rash guard and a golf hat against the sun. I see a hand-built wooden pirogue loaded up with Lebou fishermen pushing up the coast. The water ripples and flying fish the size of a finger break the surface and travel low through the air like dragonflies. On the shore I see five Muslims conducting their first of five daily prayers. Another two people are walking toward the rocks in front of the channel, carrying snorkel gear and spear guns. These are locals who make a living selling fish to the seaside restaurants… heading to the office as it were.
A set comes in, the first swell feathering in the light offshore breeze as it gets stopped up by the shallow reef. An easy drop as the wave jacks up to a couple of feet overhead, and a hard left bottom turn sends me on my way down the line. I can see boulders and coral heads pass beneath me through the clear water. I kick out and paddle back up along the channel, watching the rest of the waves in the set peel mechanically along the reef, mirror images of each other.
By now the pirogue, brightly painted in yellow, red, green and black, has arrived within 50 meters of the reef I’m surfing. A school has been spotted and the crew is yelling in Wolof, setting up the nets and positioning the boat. The engine revs and the boat cruises a wide circle around the school as the crew throws the net out behind the boat. One of the crew, wearing a scuba mask, leaps of the moving boat and into the area rapidly being encircled by the net. I’m not sure what his job is, but he’s diving down into the school, appearing quite busy. The circle is completed by the pirogue and the rest of the crew starts pulling in the net for the catch. The chatter is loud and excited.
Another set comes in. Another ride over the coral heads. The spear fishermen are now in the water passing north over the next reef. I paddle back up the channel.
The pirogue is nearly done bringing in the net and I can see they’ve managed a reasonable haul. They move along, and after a little while so do I…. Time for work.
This is what its like surfing on the wrong side of the Atlantic . Totally different. But the smile on my face as I arrive to the office turns out exactly the same
One Day at a Time
I have been here for four mornings thus far, and seem to have already found myself in a bit of a routine.
I usually wake around 5-6 (still on teacher schedule I think), get my vitals taken, and open the window shade to await the rising sun. I sit here in silence and 'just be'. This is time I spend ridding myself of the nightmares or worst case scenarios. I somehow get myself back on track, and the tears take a vacation for the day.
By the time the sun rises over Hadlock field and it's multicolor trees, I am feeling good. Breakfast is ordered, the doctors arrive with their encouragement, and then I anxiously await the visitors of the day. One of the nurses, Cathy, found me a laptop to use that belongs to the floor that has made a HUGE difference. I have 'accidentally' ordered yarn, pattern books, health and beauty aids that are nowhere to be found in Africa, French tapes, etc. I have even been getting caught up on prime time TV....Grey's Anatomy, House, and today I will tackle the Office.
I am allowed to shower once a day and also can take a wheel chair ride. I'm not comfortable with either just yet, so visitors beware of the new greasy hair style I am sporting.
There are times in the day that are difficult. The clock stops at times, and I wonder how I am going to do this for a few months. I am surrounded with knitting, books, magazines, and all sorts of goodies. But, the mental battle of fighting worry and stress takes away from any desire to pursue a hobby or relax.
Most of the time, I repeat my mantra in my head, 'I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.'
And to be honest, I really don't have a choice. These boys need to be nurtured just a few months longer, and I know 'I can do this'. For them, I can do this.
I usually wake around 5-6 (still on teacher schedule I think), get my vitals taken, and open the window shade to await the rising sun. I sit here in silence and 'just be'. This is time I spend ridding myself of the nightmares or worst case scenarios. I somehow get myself back on track, and the tears take a vacation for the day.
By the time the sun rises over Hadlock field and it's multicolor trees, I am feeling good. Breakfast is ordered, the doctors arrive with their encouragement, and then I anxiously await the visitors of the day. One of the nurses, Cathy, found me a laptop to use that belongs to the floor that has made a HUGE difference. I have 'accidentally' ordered yarn, pattern books, health and beauty aids that are nowhere to be found in Africa, French tapes, etc. I have even been getting caught up on prime time TV....Grey's Anatomy, House, and today I will tackle the Office.
I am allowed to shower once a day and also can take a wheel chair ride. I'm not comfortable with either just yet, so visitors beware of the new greasy hair style I am sporting.
There are times in the day that are difficult. The clock stops at times, and I wonder how I am going to do this for a few months. I am surrounded with knitting, books, magazines, and all sorts of goodies. But, the mental battle of fighting worry and stress takes away from any desire to pursue a hobby or relax.
Most of the time, I repeat my mantra in my head, 'I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.'
And to be honest, I really don't have a choice. These boys need to be nurtured just a few months longer, and I know 'I can do this'. For them, I can do this.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Home Sweet Home
As some of you may know, I have flown back to the US due to complications with this pregnancy. I am so grateful that our doctor in Senegal told us to get home as soon as possible.
I am now at Maine Med, where I will be on hospitalized bed rest for at least another month and half, possibly more. Although the hospital setting can be alarming, I must admit, there is a part of me that feels so safe and relieved to be here.
I am now at Maine Med, where I will be on hospitalized bed rest for at least another month and half, possibly more. Although the hospital setting can be alarming, I must admit, there is a part of me that feels so safe and relieved to be here.
- I have a beautiful private room.
- There is an extremely caring nursing staff that are taking good care of me.
- The Hi Risk Doctors are experts.
- I have cable. Better yet, there are English speaking channels.
- I can order off the menu any meal I want. And, I can read every item and don't have to use my translator.
- There are no lizards roaming around this hospital.
- I can take 1 1hour wheel chair ride a day. I am considering coordinating wheelchair races with the other ladies here.
- I don't have to wear anything but pajamas all day long.
- I will be an expert in day time soap opera television.
- I have a beautiful view of the changing foliage out my window.
- My godson, Liam, runs around the room and hall saying 'Auntie Kully' repeatedly and makes all around him smile and laugh. I think he should pursue a career in hospital therapy.
I don't know what I would do without my friends and family. You know who you are...my room is cozy, I have everything I need here, your support means the world to me, and I count the minutes until your visits. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
The only thing that breaks my heart is leaving Rich behind. I am worried about him, he is worried about me, and we are both extremely worried about our two healthy beautiful boys. As hard as this is, we know that I am getting the best care possible.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Things to do...
Driving down the decrepit highway, I can feel my fists grip the wheel more tightly with each passing mile. There are no exits, no signs, no turnoffs, and I’m going in the wrong direction with just fifteen minutes before a meeting I’ve arranged with the man who will hopefully install the generator in my house. Kelly’s at the paint shop waiting for me. All around me, cars that look like they belong in a junkyard rattle past, their drivers speeding along with the confidence of someone who knows this road. Cracked windshield, a rear bumper made entirely of tape, a car veers off to the left and then back again to avoid some kids carrying loads of lumber across the highway. On either side of the road, a chaos of crumbling buildings and teaming masses of market-goers. I’m lost and getting loster.
This was 915am on a day in which Kelly and I had just three things to do: buy some paint for the house, meet the guy who will install our generator, and get a few household items. It’s the kind of agenda that could’ve been taken care of in 30 minutes at Wal Mart. But the day didn’t end until dark, and even then we didn’t get it all done. It was the perplexing obstacles that seemed to rise up in front of us at every turn that made it a West African day about town instead of a trip to the mall. Here are some highlights:
-The generator guy never actually showed up.
-A man offered Kelly and I a cage full of sparrows as we trekked by foot in the 100degree heat more than mile in search of a bank that wasn’t crippled by a power outage to pay cash for our paint.
-Kelly and I bounced down a crumbling Dakar street, dodging goats and children, to find Mauritanian fabric from a tiny shop in which we got amazingly friendly service from people who spoke only Wolof.
-Dust from the Sahara, blown down by the seasonal winds, covered every inch of our bodies and the windshield of our car before lunchtime.
-A completely unexpected rain storm flooded our neighborhood that evening, nearly cutting us off from getting home.
-The gas station in our neighborhood ran out of gas.
-We couldn’t find a curtain rod for less than $35, but were told we could have an ironworker handcraft a complete set for next to nothing.
- Guys with machine guns stood along the road every 50 meters or so, directing traffic.
In the end, we managed to get the paint (which cost $250 for just two small rooms), rescheduled the generator guy and got about half of the household good we needed. I’m told that’s about par for the course around here – schedule three things, but only do one or two.
As tiring as it was, it was fun. I think it beats a trip to Wal Mart anyday.
This was 915am on a day in which Kelly and I had just three things to do: buy some paint for the house, meet the guy who will install our generator, and get a few household items. It’s the kind of agenda that could’ve been taken care of in 30 minutes at Wal Mart. But the day didn’t end until dark, and even then we didn’t get it all done. It was the perplexing obstacles that seemed to rise up in front of us at every turn that made it a West African day about town instead of a trip to the mall. Here are some highlights:
-The generator guy never actually showed up.
-A man offered Kelly and I a cage full of sparrows as we trekked by foot in the 100degree heat more than mile in search of a bank that wasn’t crippled by a power outage to pay cash for our paint.
-Kelly and I bounced down a crumbling Dakar street, dodging goats and children, to find Mauritanian fabric from a tiny shop in which we got amazingly friendly service from people who spoke only Wolof.
-Dust from the Sahara, blown down by the seasonal winds, covered every inch of our bodies and the windshield of our car before lunchtime.
-A completely unexpected rain storm flooded our neighborhood that evening, nearly cutting us off from getting home.
-The gas station in our neighborhood ran out of gas.
-We couldn’t find a curtain rod for less than $35, but were told we could have an ironworker handcraft a complete set for next to nothing.
- Guys with machine guns stood along the road every 50 meters or so, directing traffic.
In the end, we managed to get the paint (which cost $250 for just two small rooms), rescheduled the generator guy and got about half of the household good we needed. I’m told that’s about par for the course around here – schedule three things, but only do one or two.
As tiring as it was, it was fun. I think it beats a trip to Wal Mart anyday.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Some quickies...
It's a Small World
Last night at dinner, I heard what seemed to be an American English accent saying, 'Kelly, is that you?' Shocked that anyone knew me here, I surprisingly said 'Yes'. Sure enough, they too were an expat family from Washington DC living in Dakar since last December. Julie explained that word has gotten out through the expat community in Dakar that 'a nice American pregnant white woman named Kelly' has just arrived in Dakar. We spent some time talking with her and her family. Coincidentally, she happens to be a mid-wife here in Dakar; we are setting up prenatal classes with her.
Small Accomplishments
Today was the first day I ate at a restaurant without Rich, who translates the menu and orders for me in French.
I was determined to give it a try by myself. I went to a lunch cafe that we have been to a few times. On the drive there, I practiced ordering my large bottle of water, nem, and falafel sandwich.
Sure enough, when the waitress came over I said 'Bonjour. Ca va? Je voudrais un grande bouteille de l'eau, et falafel, et un nem. ' I'm not sure how good my accent was but she seemed to understand as she said, 'Merci' and left with a smile. I let out a big sigh of relief and an incredible sense of accomplishment came over me.
Now don't be mad mom, but it seems I forgot my manners. The only thing I forgot to say was please, rather 'sil vous plait'.
Next time.
The Twinnies are Kicking
The last two days have been quite exciting. The boys have been moving and kicking up a storm. I have felt some subtle internal kicks for a few weeks, but today as I sat down with my hands crossed on my tummy, I felt a big kick on my hand. At first it scared me and I immediately jumped and pulled my hand away....forgetting for a moment that it was a growing baby inside.
Last night at dinner, I heard what seemed to be an American English accent saying, 'Kelly, is that you?' Shocked that anyone knew me here, I surprisingly said 'Yes'. Sure enough, they too were an expat family from Washington DC living in Dakar since last December. Julie explained that word has gotten out through the expat community in Dakar that 'a nice American pregnant white woman named Kelly' has just arrived in Dakar. We spent some time talking with her and her family. Coincidentally, she happens to be a mid-wife here in Dakar; we are setting up prenatal classes with her.
Small Accomplishments
Today was the first day I ate at a restaurant without Rich, who translates the menu and orders for me in French.
I was determined to give it a try by myself. I went to a lunch cafe that we have been to a few times. On the drive there, I practiced ordering my large bottle of water, nem, and falafel sandwich.
Sure enough, when the waitress came over I said 'Bonjour. Ca va? Je voudrais un grande bouteille de l'eau, et falafel, et un nem. ' I'm not sure how good my accent was but she seemed to understand as she said, 'Merci' and left with a smile. I let out a big sigh of relief and an incredible sense of accomplishment came over me.
Now don't be mad mom, but it seems I forgot my manners. The only thing I forgot to say was please, rather 'sil vous plait'.
Next time.
The Twinnies are Kicking
The last two days have been quite exciting. The boys have been moving and kicking up a storm. I have felt some subtle internal kicks for a few weeks, but today as I sat down with my hands crossed on my tummy, I felt a big kick on my hand. At first it scared me and I immediately jumped and pulled my hand away....forgetting for a moment that it was a growing baby inside.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Keep the Cannibals Away
“Coconut trees are good because they keep the cannibals away,” said our new friend Samba, a tall man with a brightly-colored woolen cap who insisted on helping with our purchase of plants at the outdoor nursery.
“You will like living in Senegal, but it is important to learn our philosophy so that when you return to America you can teach your friends and family there,” he said.
I didn’t bother telling Samba that there weren’t many cannibals or coconut trees in New England or New York these days, but he wouldn’t have been interested anyway. He was on to new things. Anyone care for a pinch of dirt mixed with blood and spit rolled into some newspaper to ward off evil spirits?
“This will ensure that you two and your unborn babies have good fortune here. Some advice that I offer for free. Just rub it on yourself,” said Samba, who’s timid older brother hid behind enormous sunglasses, attempting to light a cigarette with a broken lighter.
With all the uninvited action, it was difficult to concentrate on the task at hand – to buy as couple of potted plants for our new house from Waly, the gentle gardener who tended this patch of seaside soil.
There was no end to the choices – palms, papayas, almonds, ferns, hostas, aloe, and a massive number of other incredibly healthy-looking greens and flowers stretching up along the roadside as far as the eye could see. Standing in the shade of the plants that grew there, we’d picked out about seven different specimens and were negotiating the price and sorting out the delivery when Samba strolled over, making a rather normal transaction into a true Dakar experience.
“I would love to help you plant these at your house,” Samba offered.
“No thanks, Samba,” I said.
The plants were cheap, so it was not too painful when we finally realized the only way to prevent Samba from giving us anymore handfuls of dirt or suggestions on how to keep evil spirits at bay was to give him a buck so he and his brother could grab a coke and some couscous down the road. He was either a sorcerer, or a guy who knew how to freak out a newcomer to get a free meal. Not believing in ju-ju, I reckoned the latter.
Twenty minutes later the donkey cart with our plants arrived at the villa and we arranged them around the house. Plants can really make an empty place seem alive. And while we were exceedingly happy with how these new additions fit into our home, I found myself paying particular attention to a plant that had clearly set its roots deep into the soil on the property long before we’d arrived. A sturdy coconut tree planted by the front door.
“You will like living in Senegal, but it is important to learn our philosophy so that when you return to America you can teach your friends and family there,” he said.
I didn’t bother telling Samba that there weren’t many cannibals or coconut trees in New England or New York these days, but he wouldn’t have been interested anyway. He was on to new things. Anyone care for a pinch of dirt mixed with blood and spit rolled into some newspaper to ward off evil spirits?
“This will ensure that you two and your unborn babies have good fortune here. Some advice that I offer for free. Just rub it on yourself,” said Samba, who’s timid older brother hid behind enormous sunglasses, attempting to light a cigarette with a broken lighter.
With all the uninvited action, it was difficult to concentrate on the task at hand – to buy as couple of potted plants for our new house from Waly, the gentle gardener who tended this patch of seaside soil.
There was no end to the choices – palms, papayas, almonds, ferns, hostas, aloe, and a massive number of other incredibly healthy-looking greens and flowers stretching up along the roadside as far as the eye could see. Standing in the shade of the plants that grew there, we’d picked out about seven different specimens and were negotiating the price and sorting out the delivery when Samba strolled over, making a rather normal transaction into a true Dakar experience.
“I would love to help you plant these at your house,” Samba offered.
“No thanks, Samba,” I said.
The plants were cheap, so it was not too painful when we finally realized the only way to prevent Samba from giving us anymore handfuls of dirt or suggestions on how to keep evil spirits at bay was to give him a buck so he and his brother could grab a coke and some couscous down the road. He was either a sorcerer, or a guy who knew how to freak out a newcomer to get a free meal. Not believing in ju-ju, I reckoned the latter.
Twenty minutes later the donkey cart with our plants arrived at the villa and we arranged them around the house. Plants can really make an empty place seem alive. And while we were exceedingly happy with how these new additions fit into our home, I found myself paying particular attention to a plant that had clearly set its roots deep into the soil on the property long before we’d arrived. A sturdy coconut tree planted by the front door.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
A Note of Thanks...
From Rich and I... Thanks to all the friends and family that have sent us extensive emails keeping us filled in on the 'goings on' at home. Your notes mean the world to us, and have helped us feel connected despite being so far away. Thank you for your support and love.
xo
xo
Some like it hot...
Summer months in Dakar are August, September, and October. Despite being the rainy season during these months, we have yet to see a bit of rain. Temps during the day hover around 100 degrees Fahrenheit. Being pregnant, and officially 'large', my ankles have seen better days. In fact, for the last few days, you can not even see a bit of ankle bone. When I can, I have tried to listen to my body and rest by the pool or take afternoon naps. Pregnancy and this constant heat is not easy... A/C is a luxury and most places, even restaurants may not have it.
Wow...if I can survive this heat now, imagine how easy it will get when I am not pregnant!
Rich is in heaven with the waves here in Senegal. On days when he works the late shift at work he will surf in the morning. On days when he works the early shift he will surf in the evening. It has been almost 10 years since he has been able to surf everyday, and he is absolutely thrilled. There are many places to watch him surf that have cabana bars; in the evenings I watch him while I enjoy the sunset and a cold coca-cola! His surf talent is incredible...he rips through well over head high waves without any problem. Okay, I'll stop bragging. Videos to come soon.
xo
Wow...if I can survive this heat now, imagine how easy it will get when I am not pregnant!
Rich is in heaven with the waves here in Senegal. On days when he works the late shift at work he will surf in the morning. On days when he works the early shift he will surf in the evening. It has been almost 10 years since he has been able to surf everyday, and he is absolutely thrilled. There are many places to watch him surf that have cabana bars; in the evenings I watch him while I enjoy the sunset and a cold coca-cola! His surf talent is incredible...he rips through well over head high waves without any problem. Okay, I'll stop bragging. Videos to come soon.
xo
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Tea Time
There is something quite fascinating to watch here in Senegal and that is 'tea time'. Often you will see large gatherings of mostly men and boys circled around a brewing kettle on the side of the road.
These gatherings are not just about wanting to drink a cup of tea, but more about socializing, people watching, chatting with friends, gossip, jokes, etc. while the tea is brewing.
The tea is called 'ataaya' and it almost looks like a Guinness beer when served. Ataaya is a West African tea with an extremely high caffeine content mostly made from large amounts of green tea leaves and lots of sugar.
There are some precise laws to follow when making this tea. The main rule is that making tea shall never be rushed.
Green tea leaves should be infused with a small amount of water and a large amount of sugar for hours. The 'in-charge' tea maker must constantly watch the kettle to make sure to remove from heat when the lid starts to rattle. The first infusion is usually ready after an hour. Then, the tea maker pours the tea from the kettle into 4 tiny shot glasses from 3 feet above. This will ensure lots of froth. The glasses are then emptied into the kettle and finally, then poured again back into the glasses which are now heated and covered with froth. Truly, these tiny shot glasses have the appearance of Guinness with a nice amount of froth at the top.
The first infusion is a considered a strong wake up call, only given to strong men and 'those that dare'. The 2nd infusion is strong and sugary. The 3rd is 'sweet as love' as they say here.
At Rich's office, the guard makes them ataaya everyday around noon. Rich said that they only receive two rounds, not the full three, which makes me wonder....which of the 3 infusions he receives.
These gatherings are not just about wanting to drink a cup of tea, but more about socializing, people watching, chatting with friends, gossip, jokes, etc. while the tea is brewing.
The tea is called 'ataaya' and it almost looks like a Guinness beer when served. Ataaya is a West African tea with an extremely high caffeine content mostly made from large amounts of green tea leaves and lots of sugar.
There are some precise laws to follow when making this tea. The main rule is that making tea shall never be rushed.
Green tea leaves should be infused with a small amount of water and a large amount of sugar for hours. The 'in-charge' tea maker must constantly watch the kettle to make sure to remove from heat when the lid starts to rattle. The first infusion is usually ready after an hour. Then, the tea maker pours the tea from the kettle into 4 tiny shot glasses from 3 feet above. This will ensure lots of froth. The glasses are then emptied into the kettle and finally, then poured again back into the glasses which are now heated and covered with froth. Truly, these tiny shot glasses have the appearance of Guinness with a nice amount of froth at the top.
The first infusion is a considered a strong wake up call, only given to strong men and 'those that dare'. The 2nd infusion is strong and sugary. The 3rd is 'sweet as love' as they say here.
At Rich's office, the guard makes them ataaya everyday around noon. Rich said that they only receive two rounds, not the full three, which makes me wonder....which of the 3 infusions he receives.
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