no, thats not a typo. thats the title of this post, when you translate it into french...or more specifically write it on a french keyboard like you would on an american one...theyre tough. but on we go.
so i sat at home and wrote a blog post on just exactly how much like an alham the plane im going to take to ghana to visit devon is, thinking that id just put it on my memory key and take it down to the local internet cafe, plug it in, and upload it thanks to the miracles of modern technology. but i arrive at the cafe and find that they (like most things here) dont want to cooperate fully. sure the powers on and the internets running, but the computers dont have usb outlets (theyre that old). even if they did they would be of no use to me since the interface that they use doesnt allow you to open up an external hard drive...so long story short is that you will have to wait till monday to hear all about my upcoming adventure to ghana (i can tell youre on the edge of your seat with anticipation asking yourself "is it dangerous?" "what exactly do a plane and an alham hane in common?" and perhaps most urgently, "will there be goats involved?"
ps did i mention that the title of this post is supposed to be "foiled again!!" i know that its customary to put the title at the beginning of the piece, but ive never been one to let myself get tied down by something as old and stagnant as custom now have i?
the answers await monday (so long as the powers on). untill then inchallah
love;
jqke
(thats "love, jake" in french)
Saturday, September 30, 2006
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Update
The good news: I dont have malaria (its official - i was tested).
The bad news: I'm still kind of out of it...cant really sleep past 3.30 am anymore for whatever reason. so im tired. and hot.
oh more good news: i pooed yesterday for the first time in a while (yeah i know too much info but you gotta take the good when it comes here).
just thought id update for anyone who was worrying about my "potential" malaria.
i dont think ill be going anywhere this weekend. gonna try and kick this "stomach flu" that everyone in CIEEs got.
thats all
love
jake
oh ps - maxs comment is the funniest thing that ive read that i havent written (hahahaha just kiding about that last part...but seriously. its funny).
The bad news: I'm still kind of out of it...cant really sleep past 3.30 am anymore for whatever reason. so im tired. and hot.
oh more good news: i pooed yesterday for the first time in a while (yeah i know too much info but you gotta take the good when it comes here).
just thought id update for anyone who was worrying about my "potential" malaria.
i dont think ill be going anywhere this weekend. gonna try and kick this "stomach flu" that everyone in CIEEs got.
thats all
love
jake
oh ps - maxs comment is the funniest thing that ive read that i havent written (hahahaha just kiding about that last part...but seriously. its funny).
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Bakel by the Numbers
So Ian and I went to Bakel this weekend which (sorry for EVERYONE whose already heard this line but it’s the only one I’ve got) is about as far as you can get away from Dakar without leaving Senegal. Let me illustrate for you. If Dakar is here ---->, than Bakel would be all the way over on Karly’s blog. But down at the bottom. Hidden in her archives. All the way at the back and buried somewhere between her first and second battles with the cockroaches (how it got there is beyond me). Along the Senegal river. Next to Mauritania. (Karly’s blog can be found over there by the way ------->).
For lack of a better way to tell this story were going to do it by the numbers…read on fearless adventurers, read on.
Number of hours traveled: 24+
Let’s see how this breaks down…we might need a few more sets of (sub?) numbers to do this right…
Dakar to Kaolak: 4 hours by sept places.
That’s French for station wagon packed with seven people. And the driver. Yeah, It’s cozy. Kind of like everything else in Africa. We spent the night in Kaolack (its kind of a dump – I wouldn’t back unless I had to). Friday morning we left for Tambacounda.
Kaolak to Tambacounda: 6 hours by Alham.
That’s Arabic for a white van (you know the scary kind that’s always seen around murder scenes, bank robberies, and other instances of mass mayhem) packed with people…which brings me to our next number (and our first sub-sub-numbers):
Number of people you can fit in an Alham (driver not included): 20.
There’s only room for 18. But like I said. Africa’s cozy. Kids will sit on anyone’s lap (unless you’re puking). Which brings me to…
Number of times you can puke in 4 hour on an Alham: Five.
No it wasn’t me that was puking. It was the woman I was sitting next to. I can even tell you what she had for lunch (Yassa). Did I mentioned I got puked on? Yeah it was delicious. Ok, so after we got to Tambacounda we left for Bakel.
Tambacounda to Bakel: 3 hours by sept places. As this was the end of our journey there, we’ll move on to the more exciting bits of the weekend.
Number of goals I almost failed to meet this weekend: 2
Coming to Africa I had only two goals: 1) Don’t die, and C) stay out of African jails. As it would happen, I both almost died and got arrested. It’s true. On the trip from Tamba to Bakel we got stopped by a police officer. He checked our papers and even started to search the car. Now while I was doing nothing illegal, my companion, Ian, happens to be in the country without a visa. Which I think means he’s illegal (ohhhh man I hope this doesn’t get him into trouble…). Luckily the police officer thought that his (expired) Mauritanian visa meant that he was up to no trouble and didn’t arrest us. Now I know what you’re thinking, how can twobabs be arrested for one toubab’s bad papers? Well I don’t know but the story is definitely more exciting that way. And that’s what I’m going for here. Now how I almost died.
Coming back to Dakar, I developed a killer headache. I’m talking like there’s a baby T-rex that’s waking up and about to hatch Zeus-style from my forehead (you know you liked that classical Greek reference). Except before hatching babyRex is going to sharpen his claws on my skull. Not fun. Even less fun when your neck gets stiff as an oscillating fan that…well doesn’t oscillate anymore. Even less fun when you’re overheating and feel like your body is about 10000 degrees. After consulting my Lonely Planet, I decided that I had either a bad case of dehydration (I guess a 3 hour hike through the African desert without so much as a bottle of water will do that to you) and/or malaria and/or heatstroke. Which pretty much is not what you want to happen in Africa. Luckily I feel better now and am (for the moment) still alive and kicking (though thankfully the babyRex isn’t). But that’s the reason you’re all getting this post on Tuesday and not Monday. Cause yesterday I felt like I was going to give birth through my forehead.
On a related note: everyone at CIEE seemed to be sick yesterday (Monday). Am I the only one that thinks that this, while sucking a whole whole lot, is really funny at the same time? I mean what are the odds? Seriously there were like 15 kids who weren’t even in class, another three or four who left early (I myself came in late), and I think I only met one girl who wasn’t sick. Seriously. It’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.
Number of goats you can fit on a sept place: 10+
This is one of the things that goes under the heading “craziest things I’ve ever seen.” En route from Bakel to Tambacounda (on the way back home) we stopped on the side of the road to pick up a couple of passenger (we had an extra place in the car and well I guess the driver needed the money). No problem right? Except we see that they’ve got about 12 suitcases with them. There’s no way they can fit all that stuff in the car. Its gonna have to go on top. So they cram as much of the suitcases as they can in the trunk and load the rest on top of the car (no problem, there’s a rack for that exact purpose).
Then come the goats. One by one. Ian and I are sitting in the car as they bring the goats from behind a tree or under a hat or somewhere crazy and start heaving them up on top of the car. We’re counting…four…five…six. That’s it right? They can’t put anymore up there. Well, they can. And they did. I have to say I didn’t think they could fit all those suitcases and 10 goats in/on the car. But the driver did it. And here’s the kicker…if it weren’t for the suitcases that were on the top, there could have easily been 15+ goats up there. And that’s a conservative estimate. Again…the craziest thing I’ve ever seen.
Number of times I almost got goat peed/spat on: 15
The goats only peed twice (thankfully) and (thankfully) the guys in front had the smarts to close the windows (an Alhumdulilaa if I’ve ever used one). But there was one goat who must not have liked very much the taste of car exhaust (lord knows why) and would spit every 10-15 minutes. We’re not talking little lugies either. We’re talking cover the window in spit. I mean this goat had volume. It was nuts.
Number of showers taken: 0
No, that’s not a typo. Zero showers taken. In four days. Not to mention I didn’t have a change of clothes. Saying that I was filthy is so much of an understatement its ridiculous. I mean I had been puked on (though it was only a little bit…and on my pants too..but still), almost goat peed/spat on, not to mention that Bakel is right up next to the desert which means its really dusty and really hot. Which means that not only did I sweat like the fat kid in gym class, but the dust would kick up and stick to me. When I got back home and finally took a shower, it wasn’t until my third washing with soap and water that the water ran off me cleanish. Like I said. I’m talking dirty. Even Devon wouldn’t have touched me. I was that gross. I didn’t even want to touch me.
Number of people that can ride the bike that my dad just bought: 2 (at the same time!)
Yes, that’s right. My dad just bought a bike built for two. This one goes under the heading of “greatest things my dad’s found at a yardsale” right up there with that painting of the dude in the sombrero and all the other ridiculously awesome stuff he’s bought that my mom wants to throw away. I know you’re jealous. Now Devon and I can ride down the street singing that song that goes something like “and then we’ll meet along the street on a bicycle built for two.” So how about it Devon? You bring your helmet, I’ll bring the bike…and then we’ll meet…Along the street…With our bicycle built for two…
(wait, did he really just try and pull that?)
Alright, that’s it for the numbers. Check out my pictures later this week (the link is over there ----->). I’ll update them on Thursday inchallah.
Love,
Jake
PS – on a completely unrelated note…Michael Jackson’s “Number One’s” album is probably the greatest thing that has yet to be unleashed in Africa. Especially “Thriller.” Best. Song. Ever.
For lack of a better way to tell this story were going to do it by the numbers…read on fearless adventurers, read on.
Number of hours traveled: 24+
Let’s see how this breaks down…we might need a few more sets of (sub?) numbers to do this right…
Dakar to Kaolak: 4 hours by sept places.
That’s French for station wagon packed with seven people. And the driver. Yeah, It’s cozy. Kind of like everything else in Africa. We spent the night in Kaolack (its kind of a dump – I wouldn’t back unless I had to). Friday morning we left for Tambacounda.
Kaolak to Tambacounda: 6 hours by Alham.
That’s Arabic for a white van (you know the scary kind that’s always seen around murder scenes, bank robberies, and other instances of mass mayhem) packed with people…which brings me to our next number (and our first sub-sub-numbers):
Number of people you can fit in an Alham (driver not included): 20.
There’s only room for 18. But like I said. Africa’s cozy. Kids will sit on anyone’s lap (unless you’re puking). Which brings me to…
Number of times you can puke in 4 hour on an Alham: Five.
No it wasn’t me that was puking. It was the woman I was sitting next to. I can even tell you what she had for lunch (Yassa). Did I mentioned I got puked on? Yeah it was delicious. Ok, so after we got to Tambacounda we left for Bakel.
Tambacounda to Bakel: 3 hours by sept places. As this was the end of our journey there, we’ll move on to the more exciting bits of the weekend.
Number of goals I almost failed to meet this weekend: 2
Coming to Africa I had only two goals: 1) Don’t die, and C) stay out of African jails. As it would happen, I both almost died and got arrested. It’s true. On the trip from Tamba to Bakel we got stopped by a police officer. He checked our papers and even started to search the car. Now while I was doing nothing illegal, my companion, Ian, happens to be in the country without a visa. Which I think means he’s illegal (ohhhh man I hope this doesn’t get him into trouble…). Luckily the police officer thought that his (expired) Mauritanian visa meant that he was up to no trouble and didn’t arrest us. Now I know what you’re thinking, how can twobabs be arrested for one toubab’s bad papers? Well I don’t know but the story is definitely more exciting that way. And that’s what I’m going for here. Now how I almost died.
Coming back to Dakar, I developed a killer headache. I’m talking like there’s a baby T-rex that’s waking up and about to hatch Zeus-style from my forehead (you know you liked that classical Greek reference). Except before hatching babyRex is going to sharpen his claws on my skull. Not fun. Even less fun when your neck gets stiff as an oscillating fan that…well doesn’t oscillate anymore. Even less fun when you’re overheating and feel like your body is about 10000 degrees. After consulting my Lonely Planet, I decided that I had either a bad case of dehydration (I guess a 3 hour hike through the African desert without so much as a bottle of water will do that to you) and/or malaria and/or heatstroke. Which pretty much is not what you want to happen in Africa. Luckily I feel better now and am (for the moment) still alive and kicking (though thankfully the babyRex isn’t). But that’s the reason you’re all getting this post on Tuesday and not Monday. Cause yesterday I felt like I was going to give birth through my forehead.
On a related note: everyone at CIEE seemed to be sick yesterday (Monday). Am I the only one that thinks that this, while sucking a whole whole lot, is really funny at the same time? I mean what are the odds? Seriously there were like 15 kids who weren’t even in class, another three or four who left early (I myself came in late), and I think I only met one girl who wasn’t sick. Seriously. It’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.
Number of goats you can fit on a sept place: 10+
This is one of the things that goes under the heading “craziest things I’ve ever seen.” En route from Bakel to Tambacounda (on the way back home) we stopped on the side of the road to pick up a couple of passenger (we had an extra place in the car and well I guess the driver needed the money). No problem right? Except we see that they’ve got about 12 suitcases with them. There’s no way they can fit all that stuff in the car. Its gonna have to go on top. So they cram as much of the suitcases as they can in the trunk and load the rest on top of the car (no problem, there’s a rack for that exact purpose).
Then come the goats. One by one. Ian and I are sitting in the car as they bring the goats from behind a tree or under a hat or somewhere crazy and start heaving them up on top of the car. We’re counting…four…five…six. That’s it right? They can’t put anymore up there. Well, they can. And they did. I have to say I didn’t think they could fit all those suitcases and 10 goats in/on the car. But the driver did it. And here’s the kicker…if it weren’t for the suitcases that were on the top, there could have easily been 15+ goats up there. And that’s a conservative estimate. Again…the craziest thing I’ve ever seen.
Number of times I almost got goat peed/spat on: 15
The goats only peed twice (thankfully) and (thankfully) the guys in front had the smarts to close the windows (an Alhumdulilaa if I’ve ever used one). But there was one goat who must not have liked very much the taste of car exhaust (lord knows why) and would spit every 10-15 minutes. We’re not talking little lugies either. We’re talking cover the window in spit. I mean this goat had volume. It was nuts.
Number of showers taken: 0
No, that’s not a typo. Zero showers taken. In four days. Not to mention I didn’t have a change of clothes. Saying that I was filthy is so much of an understatement its ridiculous. I mean I had been puked on (though it was only a little bit…and on my pants too..but still), almost goat peed/spat on, not to mention that Bakel is right up next to the desert which means its really dusty and really hot. Which means that not only did I sweat like the fat kid in gym class, but the dust would kick up and stick to me. When I got back home and finally took a shower, it wasn’t until my third washing with soap and water that the water ran off me cleanish. Like I said. I’m talking dirty. Even Devon wouldn’t have touched me. I was that gross. I didn’t even want to touch me.
Number of people that can ride the bike that my dad just bought: 2 (at the same time!)
Yes, that’s right. My dad just bought a bike built for two. This one goes under the heading of “greatest things my dad’s found at a yardsale” right up there with that painting of the dude in the sombrero and all the other ridiculously awesome stuff he’s bought that my mom wants to throw away. I know you’re jealous. Now Devon and I can ride down the street singing that song that goes something like “and then we’ll meet along the street on a bicycle built for two.” So how about it Devon? You bring your helmet, I’ll bring the bike…and then we’ll meet…Along the street…With our bicycle built for two…
(wait, did he really just try and pull that?)
Alright, that’s it for the numbers. Check out my pictures later this week (the link is over there ----->). I’ll update them on Thursday inchallah.
Love,
Jake
PS – on a completely unrelated note…Michael Jackson’s “Number One’s” album is probably the greatest thing that has yet to be unleashed in Africa. Especially “Thriller.” Best. Song. Ever.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Do you mind if we dance wif yo dates?
So I’m reading Karly’s blog yesterday (or rather today…I’m posting this tomorrow in what is sure to be a confusing mélange of verb tenses), and I feel the need to add my two cents (or one and a half cents – that’s about all they’re worth) about this whole “cultural assimilation” bit that they’re trying to feed us.
I will say that I wasn’t wholly unprepared for the fact that I would never fit in: after all I am the kid who wanted to repeat Otter from Animal House’s famous line when they step into the bar where Otis Day and the Nights are playing – you know the scene – when the band stops playing and everyone in the bar turns and stares: “Boone, we’re the only white people here.”
Unfortunately, two rather large obstructions got in the way of my moment of comic genious upon stepping off the airplane: 1) there was nobody in my immediate vicinity who would have cared, thought it was witty, clever, funny, or even knew what the hell I was talking about and c) we weren’t, in fact “the only white people here.”
No,
For rather obvious reasons, no matter how hard I try, I won’t be able to become “one of the locals.” It’s rather unsettling always getting weird looks (“you lost?” tends to be read in the faces of people walking down the streets), but I had resigned myself before coming here to the fact that everything I had learned back in the sixth grade about how to blend into crowds to avoid getting beat to a pulp by eighth graders would in Dakar be about as useful as a sequined winter parka. That is to say it would only be of use in our inevitable escape from an African prison. (Confused? So am I. Somewhere in one of the first posts I think I explain the whole sequin thing if you really care that much. If not, and I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t, read on.)
No matter how much Wolof I eventually learn, people will always revert to French when meeting me. I’m starting to shake the feeling that people are only talking to me because they think I have money, but I feel that that will always be in the back of my mind when a stranger comes up to me on the street and says “Do you need a guide?” I fear that merchants will always hassle me when I go downtown, no matter how savvy I may be about negotiating
It seems that the only hope for myself and my fellow toubabs from CIEE lies in the aforementioned sizable toubab population of
I guess that is the question that I am here to answer.
Love
Jake
Monday, September 18, 2006
Cheibudjen in Paradise
You know...like the Jimmy Buffett song "Cheesburgers in Paradise" only they don't have cheesburgers here and as much as I hate to say it Dakar is far from paradise. Read Karly's blog to find out more. She's better at tackling serious subjects like the inability to assimilate culturally than I am. And rude awakenings.
It can be found over there --------->
But onwards we bravely travel. This weekend we visited Africa's answer to Hawaii. or the Florida keys. Or Heaven: Toubab Dialow. Its a little village on the coast south of Dakar. And its Paradise. thats right. With a capital "P."
The beaches were gorgeous, not crowded (!!!), and clean. The hotel was rediculously romantic (i think karly said disgustingly romantic...and that about sums it up), kinda crazy looking and overlooked the cliffs. My room was au bord de la mer (thats french for SEASIDE AND SEA VIEW!!!) and i shared it with some delightful people. The weather was perfect. It barely rained while we were there, the sun was hot the water was warm, and the breeze was gentle. the waves in the ocean were big enough to be almost scary, but made for some excellent body surfing without breaking you and making you plea for mercy, uncle, or cry for your mommy when faced with the awesome wrath that is mother nature's awesome power and might. I came back home a lot tanner and exhausteder.
But this is still Africa, and no matter how perfect a place might seem, there's always something that goes amiss. Let's start from the beginning:
The ride there: The thing about drivers in africa is that nobody really knows where things are. sure they've got a general idea where toubab dialow is (somewhere that way by that place with the thing), but then they look at the 10 toubabs sitting in the back of his van who stare at him blankly when asked if this is the turn to the hotel or will this road plunge us all into a horrible firey death at the hands of the African escarpment? (at least i think thats what he asked). Apparently all of Dakar takes the one dirt road out of the city on fridays at 11am so it should have been no surprise really to find that there were a million other cars going where we wanted to go. and i know i might be repeating myself but in Africa where theres room for one person you can be damned sure that there will be three people there. this is a fine (albeit somewhat cramped) philosophy when dealing with personal space but the thing about cars is that well...you try to put two cars in the same space and youget whats known as a fender-bender. or to be more specific two fender-benders. within 100 feet of each other (i'm not making this up...that distance is accurate. we measured). but thankfully this place is an ambulance chaser's nightmare (nobody particularly cares about petty accidents like that) so after making sure that the lights still worked (though that might be an optimistic assessment of what the driver did when he got out of the car - at least he got out of the car and pretended to check for damage) we were on our merry way again. we arrived without further incident.
though i must mention - the brake signal - you know the red light that tells drivers behind you that the car is stopping..i know its usually custom to put it on the outside of the car so iwas more than a little surprised to find that it was actually on the inside of our bus there...
Now I know I've said that my room was practically perfect (like Mary Poppins...and you Mom - I'm so cute its disgusting). But the operative word in that sentence is pratically. Practically means no running water. Practically means that the very concept of running water is perhaps a misnomer. Perhaps walking water would better describe the state of water pressure. Or sauntering. Or moseying. But definetly not running. Practically means mosquitos inside the mosquito net (though I will say they at least gave us mosquito nets). Practically means my "bed" is a piece of foam on a shelf of rocks (though we did get bedsheets, and a blanket - though i couldnt say why when the temperature at night is easily 80-90 degrees).
Don't let this think I'm going through a hostile phase. I truly enjoyed every second I was there. Maybe it's saying something about how I've changed that I can go to a place like this and find it in me to love every minute I spend there enough to guarantee that I will go back, even though there's no running water. You know? I mean I'd like to think that this represents some sort of paradigm-shattering change within me. That I have grown enough as a person not to thrive in a situation where the water casually ambles out of the faucet, not runs, where mosquito-proof isn't an actual requirement for being a mosquito net.
But let's be honest with ourselves here. This was about as close to paradise as I'm going to get in a long time. The whole time I kept asking myself - What are we doing here? We're college kids. We don't belong in a room au bord de la mer! We belong in stinky, cramped dorm rooms! We're rowdy, rambunctious, damn college kids! We dont belong in a place thats so tranquil that dogs and cats can eat together, sharing the brotherly food of cheibudjen together, out of the same bowl! This is probably the weirdest thing I've seen - I still don't believe my eyes and wish I could have taken a picture because it really happened and I know you don't believe me. Cause let's face it. Dogs and cats eating together...out of the same bowl...without killing each other? It's the kind of think that only happens in dreams.
Don't wake me up.
Love,
Jake
Oh yeah, ps pictures will be up tomorrow inchallah. Find them by following the picture link over there ------>
It can be found over there --------->
But onwards we bravely travel. This weekend we visited Africa's answer to Hawaii. or the Florida keys. Or Heaven: Toubab Dialow. Its a little village on the coast south of Dakar. And its Paradise. thats right. With a capital "P."
The beaches were gorgeous, not crowded (!!!), and clean. The hotel was rediculously romantic (i think karly said disgustingly romantic...and that about sums it up), kinda crazy looking and overlooked the cliffs. My room was au bord de la mer (thats french for SEASIDE AND SEA VIEW!!!) and i shared it with some delightful people. The weather was perfect. It barely rained while we were there, the sun was hot the water was warm, and the breeze was gentle. the waves in the ocean were big enough to be almost scary, but made for some excellent body surfing without breaking you and making you plea for mercy, uncle, or cry for your mommy when faced with the awesome wrath that is mother nature's awesome power and might. I came back home a lot tanner and exhausteder.
But this is still Africa, and no matter how perfect a place might seem, there's always something that goes amiss. Let's start from the beginning:
The ride there: The thing about drivers in africa is that nobody really knows where things are. sure they've got a general idea where toubab dialow is (somewhere that way by that place with the thing), but then they look at the 10 toubabs sitting in the back of his van who stare at him blankly when asked if this is the turn to the hotel or will this road plunge us all into a horrible firey death at the hands of the African escarpment? (at least i think thats what he asked). Apparently all of Dakar takes the one dirt road out of the city on fridays at 11am so it should have been no surprise really to find that there were a million other cars going where we wanted to go. and i know i might be repeating myself but in Africa where theres room for one person you can be damned sure that there will be three people there. this is a fine (albeit somewhat cramped) philosophy when dealing with personal space but the thing about cars is that well...you try to put two cars in the same space and youget whats known as a fender-bender. or to be more specific two fender-benders. within 100 feet of each other (i'm not making this up...that distance is accurate. we measured). but thankfully this place is an ambulance chaser's nightmare (nobody particularly cares about petty accidents like that) so after making sure that the lights still worked (though that might be an optimistic assessment of what the driver did when he got out of the car - at least he got out of the car and pretended to check for damage) we were on our merry way again. we arrived without further incident.
though i must mention - the brake signal - you know the red light that tells drivers behind you that the car is stopping..i know its usually custom to put it on the outside of the car so iwas more than a little surprised to find that it was actually on the inside of our bus there...
Now I know I've said that my room was practically perfect (like Mary Poppins...and you Mom - I'm so cute its disgusting). But the operative word in that sentence is pratically. Practically means no running water. Practically means that the very concept of running water is perhaps a misnomer. Perhaps walking water would better describe the state of water pressure. Or sauntering. Or moseying. But definetly not running. Practically means mosquitos inside the mosquito net (though I will say they at least gave us mosquito nets). Practically means my "bed" is a piece of foam on a shelf of rocks (though we did get bedsheets, and a blanket - though i couldnt say why when the temperature at night is easily 80-90 degrees).
Don't let this think I'm going through a hostile phase. I truly enjoyed every second I was there. Maybe it's saying something about how I've changed that I can go to a place like this and find it in me to love every minute I spend there enough to guarantee that I will go back, even though there's no running water. You know? I mean I'd like to think that this represents some sort of paradigm-shattering change within me. That I have grown enough as a person not to thrive in a situation where the water casually ambles out of the faucet, not runs, where mosquito-proof isn't an actual requirement for being a mosquito net.
But let's be honest with ourselves here. This was about as close to paradise as I'm going to get in a long time. The whole time I kept asking myself - What are we doing here? We're college kids. We don't belong in a room au bord de la mer! We belong in stinky, cramped dorm rooms! We're rowdy, rambunctious, damn college kids! We dont belong in a place thats so tranquil that dogs and cats can eat together, sharing the brotherly food of cheibudjen together, out of the same bowl! This is probably the weirdest thing I've seen - I still don't believe my eyes and wish I could have taken a picture because it really happened and I know you don't believe me. Cause let's face it. Dogs and cats eating together...out of the same bowl...without killing each other? It's the kind of think that only happens in dreams.
Don't wake me up.
Love,
Jake
Oh yeah, ps pictures will be up tomorrow inchallah. Find them by following the picture link over there ------>
Thursday, September 14, 2006
See I can be serious too!
The rains lifted and the sky was clear. The heat was still oppressive, but the dust that had choked the air for days had been washed out completely.
The expedition began.
Who am I kidding? I can't write this.
Its supposed to be a story comparing my journey to school today to an expedition through africa...wading across raging rivers, being turned back by lakes so big you couldnt see to the other side (by the way it rained last night)...you know Heart of Darkness style - but i just cant bring myself to do it. For one thing I hated HoD. for another, i dont think i could write "and we entered into the heart. of the darkness. it truly was dark. we were in its heart. a dark, cold, black heart." a million times. So sorry to all you Joseph Conrad fans out there (you know...I actually had to look his name up) but if you want that..well i hear libraries are open. cause i just cant do it.
love
jake
The expedition began.
Who am I kidding? I can't write this.
Its supposed to be a story comparing my journey to school today to an expedition through africa...wading across raging rivers, being turned back by lakes so big you couldnt see to the other side (by the way it rained last night)...you know Heart of Darkness style - but i just cant bring myself to do it. For one thing I hated HoD. for another, i dont think i could write "and we entered into the heart. of the darkness. it truly was dark. we were in its heart. a dark, cold, black heart." a million times. So sorry to all you Joseph Conrad fans out there (you know...I actually had to look his name up) but if you want that..well i hear libraries are open. cause i just cant do it.
love
jake
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
notes from my notebook
Well I figured that since I only posted once last week, I'd bombard you all with posts this week. In today's installment: things that interested me enough to make a note of, but not enough to put in a post.
But first...I updated my pictures which you can see by clicking the link on the right over there ----->
Now this list of things that were interesting enough to write down but not interesting enough to put in a blog will all come out now.
We'll start from the beginning: the plane trip
Air France coffee - STRONG (is it because it's French?)
Almost as soon as I arrived in paris, i started thinking in french - weird
Des que jue suis arrive a paris, jai pense en francais
The smell - smells like our house here used to...smells like France...musty?? mouldy??
Dakar - 1st impressions
Landing was a little hard..."whoops ground came up a little faster there"
turned lights off in cabin for landing...dark runway. (i'm not gonna lie it was a little freaky)
shanty town may have been passed on our final approach (i know think it was the shanty town that i pass every day on my way to school...)
other things: le viking - good food, good tunes, good beer, good peeps
Goals for Senegal trip:
dont die
stay out of african jail
Things to write about:
thats all
love
jake
But first...I updated my pictures which you can see by clicking the link on the right over there ----->
Now this list of things that were interesting enough to write down but not interesting enough to put in a blog will all come out now.
We'll start from the beginning: the plane trip
Air France coffee - STRONG (is it because it's French?)
Almost as soon as I arrived in paris, i started thinking in french - weird
Des que jue suis arrive a paris, jai pense en francais
The smell - smells like our house here used to...smells like France...musty?? mouldy??
Dakar - 1st impressions
Landing was a little hard..."whoops ground came up a little faster there"
turned lights off in cabin for landing...dark runway. (i'm not gonna lie it was a little freaky)
shanty town may have been passed on our final approach (i know think it was the shanty town that i pass every day on my way to school...)
other things: le viking - good food, good tunes, good beer, good peeps
Goals for Senegal trip:
dont die
stay out of african jail
Things to write about:
- doing evening prayers with the little brothers (an interesting cross cultural experience...i was doing them again later and my aunt came up..looked at me...looked at the maid...looked back at me...and then her and the maid broke out laughing. i dont appreciate being the butt of jokes that i can't laugh at too...)
- all the white people at the supermarket in downtown (le score) - its really quite obvious that toubabs like shopping at certain places - mostly these places are large, clean and air conditioned.
- politricks (no...not a typo)
- 3rd world tech: vhs @ cult & soc. class --> the computer lab
- It's always good to know that no matter where you are in the world, you can always find the Kama Sutra in english (yes...another toubab place)
- The saddest thing i've seen so far - a guy doing his afternoon prayers on a cardboard box instead of a rug
- the funniest thing ive seen so far - guys washing their taxicabs - the people dont care enough to pick up the trash thats strewn all across the street but they'll meticulously wash their cabs?? (though i have to admit they did look pretty darn clean)
- the chair renting business being run out of Hannah's house (her name's a palindrome AND you can rent chairs from her!)
- Freaking camels down the road from le regal - but the weird one that we noticed is the ones in the cage behind the fence, not the one tied to the post...i guess this is africa.
thats all
love
jake
Monday, September 11, 2006
How to avoid being Sacrificed
So it's Monday and I'm posting and that can only mean one thing: Jake survived yet another weekend and the power is (knock on wood) still on. (PS - I'm terrified of writing that last sentence - especially the bit about the power - because it seems like everytime I say something like that the power goes out).
After almost getting killed (twice) by the Great African Escarpment (a note to geography students - the escarpment is very real and very very scary), making this mellinium's greatest archeological discovery (or maybe not), and hanging out under Africa (yes, I've been under a continent - you jealous?), Saturday's manifestation (that's French for manifestation) looked like it would be a piece of cake. Delicious chocolate fudge cake with a tall glass of ice cold milk (not that I'm missing American food or anything...).
The thing about Africa, though, is that there is no cake. Milk's very hard to come by too. So I was out of luck.
So Saturday night Brinan (my toubab cousin) and myself put on African/Muslim garb (the kind that we borrowed from our brothers) and some sandals and walked to the manifestation. Things are going along just splendiferioucly (no comment): guys are singing what I'm told was verses from the Koran, little kids are sitting in the middle of the tent with their shoes off, tea (or maybe it was really sugared up coffee) is passed around and we all partake in the general merriment. Then some guy starts talking Wolof. With my much less than splendid command of even the most basic greetings, this is (understandebly - sp???) a bit difficult to follow.
Then things start to get interesting.
A goat is brought out into the center of the tent. Without any gory details, his head ends up on the floor, blood spattering everywhere, and I'm eating raw goats meat (wait, I thought he said no gory details?)
Then a bull is brought out. Same result.
Then the marabout starts looking around the crowd. Uh oh. His eyes dart from person to person. He looks at my little brother. He looks at my toubab cousin. He looks at me.
He gives a little smile.
"Time to go" I say.
And that's exactly what happened. Well, almost all of it. Everything except for the part about the goat. And the bull. And the marabout and me (ps - do you ever get annoyed with my constant lying and then the "oh wait im lying" trick i pull??). Truth be told, it was kinda interesting, and probably would have been more interesting if I had understood more of it.
Oh but this is true. I swear to it.
We're walking to our adventures with the escarpment and I notice something that strikes me as odd...a bunch of bulls and a few camels are penned up on the side of the road. Then I look closer and see that theres a camel tied to a post. You know, like horses in the wild wild west. except this was a camel. and were in one of Africa's largest metropolitan areas. And here is a petting zoo that was apparently visited by some bedouin cowboy. Like I said...Africa's different.
So its later that afternoon (after escaping the escarpment) that were walking along the road back home and we notice that soem of the camels and cows are missing. In their places are piles. of meat. chunks of meat. theyve got pots fired up and are apparently cooking the meat (im actually really upset that i didn't ask for some...meat here is delicious - camel or otherwise).
Apparently I'm holding up some people's lunch plans (though why they would want to dine with me is beyond me). That's my adventure filled weekend - look for pictures tomorrow (inchallah - which means God (and probably more importantly electricity) willing).
Love
Jake
After almost getting killed (twice) by the Great African Escarpment (a note to geography students - the escarpment is very real and very very scary), making this mellinium's greatest archeological discovery (or maybe not), and hanging out under Africa (yes, I've been under a continent - you jealous?), Saturday's manifestation (that's French for manifestation) looked like it would be a piece of cake. Delicious chocolate fudge cake with a tall glass of ice cold milk (not that I'm missing American food or anything...).
The thing about Africa, though, is that there is no cake. Milk's very hard to come by too. So I was out of luck.
So Saturday night Brinan (my toubab cousin) and myself put on African/Muslim garb (the kind that we borrowed from our brothers) and some sandals and walked to the manifestation. Things are going along just splendiferioucly (no comment): guys are singing what I'm told was verses from the Koran, little kids are sitting in the middle of the tent with their shoes off, tea (or maybe it was really sugared up coffee) is passed around and we all partake in the general merriment. Then some guy starts talking Wolof. With my much less than splendid command of even the most basic greetings, this is (understandebly - sp???) a bit difficult to follow.
Then things start to get interesting.
A goat is brought out into the center of the tent. Without any gory details, his head ends up on the floor, blood spattering everywhere, and I'm eating raw goats meat (wait, I thought he said no gory details?)
Then a bull is brought out. Same result.
Then the marabout starts looking around the crowd. Uh oh. His eyes dart from person to person. He looks at my little brother. He looks at my toubab cousin. He looks at me.
He gives a little smile.
"Time to go" I say.
And that's exactly what happened. Well, almost all of it. Everything except for the part about the goat. And the bull. And the marabout and me (ps - do you ever get annoyed with my constant lying and then the "oh wait im lying" trick i pull??). Truth be told, it was kinda interesting, and probably would have been more interesting if I had understood more of it.
Oh but this is true. I swear to it.
We're walking to our adventures with the escarpment and I notice something that strikes me as odd...a bunch of bulls and a few camels are penned up on the side of the road. Then I look closer and see that theres a camel tied to a post. You know, like horses in the wild wild west. except this was a camel. and were in one of Africa's largest metropolitan areas. And here is a petting zoo that was apparently visited by some bedouin cowboy. Like I said...Africa's different.
So its later that afternoon (after escaping the escarpment) that were walking along the road back home and we notice that soem of the camels and cows are missing. In their places are piles. of meat. chunks of meat. theyve got pots fired up and are apparently cooking the meat (im actually really upset that i didn't ask for some...meat here is delicious - camel or otherwise).
Apparently I'm holding up some people's lunch plans (though why they would want to dine with me is beyond me). That's my adventure filled weekend - look for pictures tomorrow (inchallah - which means God (and probably more importantly electricity) willing).
Love
Jake
Monday, September 04, 2006
Everything is cooler in Africa
::I edited this post. Mostly just the end of it. I had to clean it up somewhat because, well I was a little bit rushed when finishing it before::
Back from the weekend and I think I can say one thing with pretty much certain definitivity (yeah im making up words again): Africa is the just like the western world, except if you turned it (stay with me here) upside-down, inside-out, frontwards-backwards, leftwards-rightwards, threw it all in a blender, blended until mushy, froze that, then thawed it and mixed it with some tabasco sauce for a little heat and spice.
Still with me? Too bad. I'll illustrate with a few examples from this weekend (which might have been one of the coolest three days of my life...)
We'll start from the beginning: Friday.
It must be mentioned that when we went into Dakar the first weekend, my friends and I noticed a sign on the side of a road across the street from a group of goats eating cardboard boxes from a pile of trash overlooking the temperate waters of the tropical Atlantic (yeah and that's not the weirdest thing I've observed here). This sign was for "L'Oceanarium," a business (I guess, I mean I don't really know what else to call it) that specialized in taking people on all sorts of maritime adventures from kayak renting to boat rides to scuba diving. Yes, Scuba diving AND kayaking. At the same place. So my friends and I resolved to return in a week and go scuba diving because well what else am I going to do with my weekend right? For the rest of the week, as we told our friends back at school about this idea every conversation went like this (and though I do have exaggerative tendancies, here I am not kidding, every.single.conversation.):
Them: Scuba diving, huh? that's pretty cool.
Me: yeah man i know seriously right?
them: are you licensed to go?
me: no
them: dont you need to be?
me: come on, this is africa! no rules here (its true..there arent. I checked).
them: wow. thats really cool. dont die!
me: well ill see what i can do.
Fast forward to last Friday around 3.30pm. I'm floating on the bottom of the tropical atlantic ocean under 20 feet of salt water. a crazy french guy named "michele" is grabbing onto my friend's back while his crazy french girlfriend is grabbing onto mine.
scuba diving was probably one of the coolest things ive ever done, and to be honest i cant wait to go back (oh and i will be going back - sorry mom). its crazy. and french. only without the stench of body odor. you know i never really realized how much effort they put into those tropical fish exibits at the aquarium because thats exactly what i felt like i was swimming through. to be honest the whole thing felt kind of artificial and i had to remind myself every now and then that yes, i was in fact in africa. under water. strapped to a tank of air. being held up (or down depending on my boyancy at that particular moment) by a crazy french girl. looking at tropical fish.
i saw so many different types of life ill give you a partial list here (please note these are the lay-person's name for them so you guys can understand exactly what it was i saw - you know the point of a writer is to paint a picture in the head of his readers and its hard to get a picture of fishicius biggius):
sea urchins
big yellow fish
little yellow fish
little blue fish
fish with all sorts of rainbows on their backs
Dory from Finding Nemo (evidently she forgot she found him - i had to remind her where australia was too)
starfish
starfish eating sea urchins
that evil octopus lady's eels from the little mermaid
weird french guy
weird french guys girlfriend
two toubabs (would that be...dare i say it...twobabs?)
Welcome to Africa.
And that was just Friday. We shall press onwards to saturday.
Saturday:
Saturday we got to go to the Senegal vs. Mozambique football match (thats what they call a soccer game in Africa). It was really cool. Senegal Won 2-0. it was amazing. i wanna go back. But two things really stuck out.
1) how truly easy it is to find 5 toubabs when there surrounded by 50.000 screaming african fans. i mean you might think this would be difficult finding five people in 50.000 but toubabs have a tendency to...how you say...stick out a little bit.
2) how even going to the bathroom is cooler than in the states.
there must be only one bathroom in the entire stadium because every male in the stadium was trying to get through that one 2 foot wide door. it was pandemonium. people tyring to get in, people trying to get out. people trying to just stand there and block everyones way. cats, dogs, goats eating cardboard (still, it wasnt the weirdest thing ive observed while here). once you finally manage to fight your way in, you enter the bathroom to find people lined up at the stalls, rather calmly. its a stark contrast from the chaos that you must endure on youre way into the bathroom. so you wait in line for your turn to pee into the turkish toilet (thats a fancy name for a hole in the ground).
but as ive begun to learn in africa, wherever there is room for one person, there will be two people occupying that space. apparently, even toilets. so there you are standing in a turkish toilet, bumping elbows, hips, heads, shoulders, whatever, with a complete stranger, while you both are trying to pee down the same 2 inch hole in the ground (which is standing 5 feet away it might be noted), while trying to not pee on your own feet as well as avoid your...neighbors (somehow that just doesnt convey the sense of...intimacy inherent in the act).
did i mention i had a pigeon in my pocket for dinner?
Welcome to Africa.
Blaze onwards to Sunday:
Sunday is the fabled Goree trip, a trip that nobody was looking forward to, but everyone loved (by everyone, i mean really only me as far as i know - though i do think that others are going to be returning with me). goree is basically this island. its beautiful. look for pictures later this week or read karly's blog over there ------>
but thats not the fun part. the fun part was that morning, before we left (karly i dont mean to steal your thunder, but i think this story deserves to be told a million times):
It starts like any other morning. I met hannah and laurie (my toubaba neighbors) and we went to go to collect brinan (my toubab cousin). on the way over to brinans, hannah asks me "do you think its going to rain? should i bring a raincoat?"
I look up at the sky, pause for a second, and act decisively: "nahh..you probably wont need it"
the timing of this cannot be overstated, for as soon as i finished those words the sky laughed at me.
this i swear is true. it laughed.
right on cue, raindrops started to fall.
"should i go back and get it?" hannah asks. were at brinans house by now.
"nah, itll stop soon" i assured her.
apparently the sky thinks im a funny guy, because it laughed. it guffawed. it was like a little kid watching by tom and jerry cartoons.
it started to pour.
"maybe it would be a good idea,' i conceded. of course by this point it was already too late, and running back to the house to fetch a raincoat would involve a short jog followed by a swim through the sea of brinans house followed by the river that leads to my house. followed by another short sprint inside.
so it rains. we catch a cab to school. were waiting for everyone to show up and karly notices a bulge in my raincoat pocket (no its not what youre thinking).
whats that? she asked.
i reveal a piece of baguette filled with greyish-brownish goop wrapped in computer paper.
oh its my pigeon sandwich. my mom made it with leftovers from last night. i didnt really like it (i mean it was kinda funky tasting and the idea of pigeon sausage just doesn't sit right with me) so im probably going to give it to one of the talibes. i reply.
oh ok cool.
we go on chatting idly for a while until karly says something:
wait a minute...you realize how weird that is right...having a pigeon sandwich in your pocket?
yeah. i said...laughing. cause its true. i mean how often do you carry around a pigeon sandwich? but this is africa. things are weird like that.
about a half an hour later waiting on the bus to take us to the ferry to take us to goree (sounds a bit complicated, but simplicity isnt really that big of a thing here). the other bus decides its not going to cooeperate and so the bus drivers get together and decide to preform an experiment. can a school bus filled with 20 toubabs be turned into a tow truck (i'll give you a hint - it cant. but maybe it was because there were too many toubabs on the bus). so while this is going on...karly turns to me and says what is quite possibly the funniest thing ive ever heard:
"you know, here we are. sitting on a bus. trying to tow another bus. and youve got a pigeon sandwich in your pocket. and this isnt weird?"
Welcome to Africa.
Here is my new definition of Africa: "Africa is when a normal state of affairs includes sitting on a bus towing another bus through a minor sea, with a pigeon sandwich in your pocket. "
love
jake
ps: at least this wasnt us: "The boat was also overloaded. Now it is at the bottom of the lake,"
http://edition.cnn.com/2006/WORLD/africa/09/05/congo.boat.ax.ap/index.html
not that you know, africa is scary or dangerous or anything....and there were a lot more than 35 people on our boat...
Back from the weekend and I think I can say one thing with pretty much certain definitivity (yeah im making up words again): Africa is the just like the western world, except if you turned it (stay with me here) upside-down, inside-out, frontwards-backwards, leftwards-rightwards, threw it all in a blender, blended until mushy, froze that, then thawed it and mixed it with some tabasco sauce for a little heat and spice.
Still with me? Too bad. I'll illustrate with a few examples from this weekend (which might have been one of the coolest three days of my life...)
We'll start from the beginning: Friday.
It must be mentioned that when we went into Dakar the first weekend, my friends and I noticed a sign on the side of a road across the street from a group of goats eating cardboard boxes from a pile of trash overlooking the temperate waters of the tropical Atlantic (yeah and that's not the weirdest thing I've observed here). This sign was for "L'Oceanarium," a business (I guess, I mean I don't really know what else to call it) that specialized in taking people on all sorts of maritime adventures from kayak renting to boat rides to scuba diving. Yes, Scuba diving AND kayaking. At the same place. So my friends and I resolved to return in a week and go scuba diving because well what else am I going to do with my weekend right? For the rest of the week, as we told our friends back at school about this idea every conversation went like this (and though I do have exaggerative tendancies, here I am not kidding, every.single.conversation.):
Them: Scuba diving, huh? that's pretty cool.
Me: yeah man i know seriously right?
them: are you licensed to go?
me: no
them: dont you need to be?
me: come on, this is africa! no rules here (its true..there arent. I checked).
them: wow. thats really cool. dont die!
me: well ill see what i can do.
Fast forward to last Friday around 3.30pm. I'm floating on the bottom of the tropical atlantic ocean under 20 feet of salt water. a crazy french guy named "michele" is grabbing onto my friend's back while his crazy french girlfriend is grabbing onto mine.
scuba diving was probably one of the coolest things ive ever done, and to be honest i cant wait to go back (oh and i will be going back - sorry mom). its crazy. and french. only without the stench of body odor. you know i never really realized how much effort they put into those tropical fish exibits at the aquarium because thats exactly what i felt like i was swimming through. to be honest the whole thing felt kind of artificial and i had to remind myself every now and then that yes, i was in fact in africa. under water. strapped to a tank of air. being held up (or down depending on my boyancy at that particular moment) by a crazy french girl. looking at tropical fish.
i saw so many different types of life ill give you a partial list here (please note these are the lay-person's name for them so you guys can understand exactly what it was i saw - you know the point of a writer is to paint a picture in the head of his readers and its hard to get a picture of fishicius biggius):
sea urchins
big yellow fish
little yellow fish
little blue fish
fish with all sorts of rainbows on their backs
Dory from Finding Nemo (evidently she forgot she found him - i had to remind her where australia was too)
starfish
starfish eating sea urchins
that evil octopus lady's eels from the little mermaid
weird french guy
weird french guys girlfriend
two toubabs (would that be...dare i say it...twobabs?)
Welcome to Africa.
And that was just Friday. We shall press onwards to saturday.
Saturday:
Saturday we got to go to the Senegal vs. Mozambique football match (thats what they call a soccer game in Africa). It was really cool. Senegal Won 2-0. it was amazing. i wanna go back. But two things really stuck out.
1) how truly easy it is to find 5 toubabs when there surrounded by 50.000 screaming african fans. i mean you might think this would be difficult finding five people in 50.000 but toubabs have a tendency to...how you say...stick out a little bit.
2) how even going to the bathroom is cooler than in the states.
there must be only one bathroom in the entire stadium because every male in the stadium was trying to get through that one 2 foot wide door. it was pandemonium. people tyring to get in, people trying to get out. people trying to just stand there and block everyones way. cats, dogs, goats eating cardboard (still, it wasnt the weirdest thing ive observed while here). once you finally manage to fight your way in, you enter the bathroom to find people lined up at the stalls, rather calmly. its a stark contrast from the chaos that you must endure on youre way into the bathroom. so you wait in line for your turn to pee into the turkish toilet (thats a fancy name for a hole in the ground).
but as ive begun to learn in africa, wherever there is room for one person, there will be two people occupying that space. apparently, even toilets. so there you are standing in a turkish toilet, bumping elbows, hips, heads, shoulders, whatever, with a complete stranger, while you both are trying to pee down the same 2 inch hole in the ground (which is standing 5 feet away it might be noted), while trying to not pee on your own feet as well as avoid your...neighbors (somehow that just doesnt convey the sense of...intimacy inherent in the act).
did i mention i had a pigeon in my pocket for dinner?
Welcome to Africa.
Blaze onwards to Sunday:
Sunday is the fabled Goree trip, a trip that nobody was looking forward to, but everyone loved (by everyone, i mean really only me as far as i know - though i do think that others are going to be returning with me). goree is basically this island. its beautiful. look for pictures later this week or read karly's blog over there ------>
but thats not the fun part. the fun part was that morning, before we left (karly i dont mean to steal your thunder, but i think this story deserves to be told a million times):
It starts like any other morning. I met hannah and laurie (my toubaba neighbors) and we went to go to collect brinan (my toubab cousin). on the way over to brinans, hannah asks me "do you think its going to rain? should i bring a raincoat?"
I look up at the sky, pause for a second, and act decisively: "nahh..you probably wont need it"
the timing of this cannot be overstated, for as soon as i finished those words the sky laughed at me.
this i swear is true. it laughed.
right on cue, raindrops started to fall.
"should i go back and get it?" hannah asks. were at brinans house by now.
"nah, itll stop soon" i assured her.
apparently the sky thinks im a funny guy, because it laughed. it guffawed. it was like a little kid watching by tom and jerry cartoons.
it started to pour.
"maybe it would be a good idea,' i conceded. of course by this point it was already too late, and running back to the house to fetch a raincoat would involve a short jog followed by a swim through the sea of brinans house followed by the river that leads to my house. followed by another short sprint inside.
so it rains. we catch a cab to school. were waiting for everyone to show up and karly notices a bulge in my raincoat pocket (no its not what youre thinking).
whats that? she asked.
i reveal a piece of baguette filled with greyish-brownish goop wrapped in computer paper.
oh its my pigeon sandwich. my mom made it with leftovers from last night. i didnt really like it (i mean it was kinda funky tasting and the idea of pigeon sausage just doesn't sit right with me) so im probably going to give it to one of the talibes. i reply.
oh ok cool.
we go on chatting idly for a while until karly says something:
wait a minute...you realize how weird that is right...having a pigeon sandwich in your pocket?
yeah. i said...laughing. cause its true. i mean how often do you carry around a pigeon sandwich? but this is africa. things are weird like that.
about a half an hour later waiting on the bus to take us to the ferry to take us to goree (sounds a bit complicated, but simplicity isnt really that big of a thing here). the other bus decides its not going to cooeperate and so the bus drivers get together and decide to preform an experiment. can a school bus filled with 20 toubabs be turned into a tow truck (i'll give you a hint - it cant. but maybe it was because there were too many toubabs on the bus). so while this is going on...karly turns to me and says what is quite possibly the funniest thing ive ever heard:
"you know, here we are. sitting on a bus. trying to tow another bus. and youve got a pigeon sandwich in your pocket. and this isnt weird?"
Welcome to Africa.
Here is my new definition of Africa: "Africa is when a normal state of affairs includes sitting on a bus towing another bus through a minor sea, with a pigeon sandwich in your pocket. "
love
jake
ps: at least this wasnt us: "The boat was also overloaded. Now it is at the bottom of the lake,"
http://edition.cnn.com/2006/WORLD/africa/09/05/congo.boat.ax.ap/index.html
not that you know, africa is scary or dangerous or anything....and there were a lot more than 35 people on our boat...
Thursday, August 31, 2006
These people dont kid around when it comes to weather...
So the rainy season started officially today.
I know, I know, you're thinking "Wait, isn't the rainy season supposed to last from July to October? How can it just now be starting?"
Actually, you probably weren't thinking anything close to that, maybe something closer to "I'm hungry" or "I wonder what Mr (fill in the blank) is going to give us for homework tomorrow" or "Oh crap, did I feed Ms. (fill in the blank again)'s cats yesterday?"
But the rainy season officially started today.
This morning, I awoke to the sound of hurricane force winds blowing outside my window. It was like the screaling lamb baby from last Sunday morning, only calmer, and gentler. Then the rain started. It probably rained for a good two or three hours. And man, I don't mean none of that gentle summer rain. I don't even mean one of those torrential cloudbursts that pass lasts ten, maybe fifteen minutes and then passes to leave the world thoroughly quenched and a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. This was hurricane-type stuff (or at least what I'd imagined the hurricane type stuff to be like...)
It wasn't only raining cats and dogs, but rats and mice, cockroaches, goats, cows, horses, donkeys, baby lambs (we killed it!), and every other type of livestock imaginable. And the thing about Africa is - they've got plenty of animals.
Luckily it stopped right as I was about to leave for school so the walk to school didn't make the shower I took that morning redundant.
One thing I will never, ever again take for granted: sewage and water drainage systems.
I felt like Christopher Columbus, or Ferdinand Magellan traversing the seven seas of the world, and that was just on my way out of my neighborhood. It seemed that every potential exit was blocked by puddles with names like "the dirty sea," "ocean of soggy shoes," and "the sea of lets-hope-that-car-doesnt-drive-too-close-to-the-curb-or-else-ill-get-more-than-a-little-bit-wet." I had to ford not only the river, but the whole damn panama canal (luckily no oxen died along the way, just my shoes got a little bit wet).
Anyways, I made it out safely (and for the most part pretty dry). I could have taken a cab (in fact one guy came up to me and actually offered me a ride - people are so nice here...or just think that toubabs are a) lazy and c)throw their money around), but what fun would that have been seriously? In order to ensure that it doesn't rain for the rest of the day, I brought my raincoat (because you know things just work like that here).
Pictures should be coming soon...check back in a bit...
Anyways, It's class time. Talk to you soon in'challa
Love,
Jake
I know, I know, you're thinking "Wait, isn't the rainy season supposed to last from July to October? How can it just now be starting?"
Actually, you probably weren't thinking anything close to that, maybe something closer to "I'm hungry" or "I wonder what Mr (fill in the blank) is going to give us for homework tomorrow" or "Oh crap, did I feed Ms. (fill in the blank again)'s cats yesterday?"
But the rainy season officially started today.
This morning, I awoke to the sound of hurricane force winds blowing outside my window. It was like the screaling lamb baby from last Sunday morning, only calmer, and gentler. Then the rain started. It probably rained for a good two or three hours. And man, I don't mean none of that gentle summer rain. I don't even mean one of those torrential cloudbursts that pass lasts ten, maybe fifteen minutes and then passes to leave the world thoroughly quenched and a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. This was hurricane-type stuff (or at least what I'd imagined the hurricane type stuff to be like...)
It wasn't only raining cats and dogs, but rats and mice, cockroaches, goats, cows, horses, donkeys, baby lambs (we killed it!), and every other type of livestock imaginable. And the thing about Africa is - they've got plenty of animals.
Luckily it stopped right as I was about to leave for school so the walk to school didn't make the shower I took that morning redundant.
One thing I will never, ever again take for granted: sewage and water drainage systems.
I felt like Christopher Columbus, or Ferdinand Magellan traversing the seven seas of the world, and that was just on my way out of my neighborhood. It seemed that every potential exit was blocked by puddles with names like "the dirty sea," "ocean of soggy shoes," and "the sea of lets-hope-that-car-doesnt-drive-too-close-to-the-curb-or-else-ill-get-more-than-a-little-bit-wet." I had to ford not only the river, but the whole damn panama canal (luckily no oxen died along the way, just my shoes got a little bit wet).
Anyways, I made it out safely (and for the most part pretty dry). I could have taken a cab (in fact one guy came up to me and actually offered me a ride - people are so nice here...or just think that toubabs are a) lazy and c)throw their money around), but what fun would that have been seriously? In order to ensure that it doesn't rain for the rest of the day, I brought my raincoat (because you know things just work like that here).
Pictures should be coming soon...check back in a bit...
Anyways, It's class time. Talk to you soon in'challa
Love,
Jake
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Oh the irony never ceases to amaze me
Ahoy,
So yesterday was certainly interesting. I'm writing an update to my blog in which I make note of the situation in Africa: namely that technology here is unreliable at best. I mean it's kind of hard to write 15 emails AND post on a blog when the power goes out randomly.
So I'm writing my post about you know, my homestay family and life in a real-live Senagalese house, and I signed off saying something like "well I'm going to go before the power shuts off and I lose this entire post." So I hit "publish post" and guess what happens.
no, the power stays on.
The freaking internet dies. I dont know what happend, how it happened. but the entire post was gone. I swear to it. You know i think these Senagalese are on to something here..
Theres a belief in spirits here that pass through the air and cause mischeif. theyre called jinne, and come in both the good and evil flavors. if an evil jinne happens to be coming by at the exact moment when you compliment someone, then the jinne will come down and bring some horibble misfortune upon the kid or whatever. you know, its like murphy's law. this is why a senagalese mother will stare at you in horror if you say "oh what a cute kid you have" but will think the world of you if you tell that same child she's ugly as a villain. you know...not like i would know.
now i was told that these jinne couldnt read, that they would only act if you said something. well. apparently theyre evolving. or learning. or something far far worse...invading our computers. i mean can you imagine what would start happening if a whole army of spirits invaded our computers and started screwing up everything we did? chaos would reign! the dead would crawl out of their graves and start walking down the streeet! the cab drivers in dakar would actually use their meters!! cats and dogs would live together in harmony!!
its a scary proposition, and i dont want it to happen.
***
oh my god it almost happened again. i go to save it and somehow the damn jinne deleted it. luckily i had copy/pasted it. so i could retreive it. but i swear these jinne are out to get me.
***
Ok so my family. well my african family. theyre cool. ive got 2 younger brothers...4 and 5 which as anyone who knows me is like what ive always wanted. theyre cute (or ugly?) and all...but they follow me around a lot. which as anyone who knows me is precisely what annoys me. so now that classes have started im kind of hiding at school..not that i dont go home. its just you know..you gotta give a guy some space to keeps his sanity..
my mother and father are nice. the food here is fantastic. rice and/or french fries with meat (and though i dont know what it is, it aint the mystery meat you get for school lunches) and a fantastic sauce. i mean its got some serious taste.
speaking of meat. funny story:
so this past saturday we go out to a club. you konw nothing special...i mean ti was fun but thats not the story. so i got back at 2.30 and it wasnt 3 before i got to bed.
fast forward to...oh say 7am. i am awakened by the most god awful screal (for thats the only word that can truly describe what it was) from behind my house. it sounds like a swiss yodeler blowing his nose into a fog horn over the PA system at madison square garden. now take that sound, and put it through one of those machines that plays tapes backwards and fast forwards it. now turn the volume up to 11 (this is what those amps were made for) and youve about got it. so that sound every three minutes for no less than 3 hours. thats right. at 10.00, i heard someone walk up. a guy said a few words, and after one last screal, it was silent. i checked my clock. thank god.
well after that i layed in bed for a while...though i couldnt go back to sleep.
so later that day, my little brother says to me "did you hear the lamb this morning?"
"how could i not have" i answered.
"well you know what we did with it?"
no
you sure?
yeah im sure
we KILLED it! (at this point he gets really excited and laughs...i mean its really kinda cute)
really?
yeah.
and you know that meat we had at lunch today?
yeah.
we KILLED it!
so now i know what clarice starling was trying to silence in going after buffalo bill...and i feel exactly what she was feeling. id rather face a serial killer in a girl suit in his own basement in the dark than have to endure another hour of the screaling of the lambs (or maybe they were goats)
welcome to africa jake.
Karr (thats for the jinne)
love
jake
So yesterday was certainly interesting. I'm writing an update to my blog in which I make note of the situation in Africa: namely that technology here is unreliable at best. I mean it's kind of hard to write 15 emails AND post on a blog when the power goes out randomly.
So I'm writing my post about you know, my homestay family and life in a real-live Senagalese house, and I signed off saying something like "well I'm going to go before the power shuts off and I lose this entire post." So I hit "publish post" and guess what happens.
no, the power stays on.
The freaking internet dies. I dont know what happend, how it happened. but the entire post was gone. I swear to it. You know i think these Senagalese are on to something here..
Theres a belief in spirits here that pass through the air and cause mischeif. theyre called jinne, and come in both the good and evil flavors. if an evil jinne happens to be coming by at the exact moment when you compliment someone, then the jinne will come down and bring some horibble misfortune upon the kid or whatever. you know, its like murphy's law. this is why a senagalese mother will stare at you in horror if you say "oh what a cute kid you have" but will think the world of you if you tell that same child she's ugly as a villain. you know...not like i would know.
now i was told that these jinne couldnt read, that they would only act if you said something. well. apparently theyre evolving. or learning. or something far far worse...invading our computers. i mean can you imagine what would start happening if a whole army of spirits invaded our computers and started screwing up everything we did? chaos would reign! the dead would crawl out of their graves and start walking down the streeet! the cab drivers in dakar would actually use their meters!! cats and dogs would live together in harmony!!
its a scary proposition, and i dont want it to happen.
***
oh my god it almost happened again. i go to save it and somehow the damn jinne deleted it. luckily i had copy/pasted it. so i could retreive it. but i swear these jinne are out to get me.
***
Ok so my family. well my african family. theyre cool. ive got 2 younger brothers...4 and 5 which as anyone who knows me is like what ive always wanted. theyre cute (or ugly?) and all...but they follow me around a lot. which as anyone who knows me is precisely what annoys me. so now that classes have started im kind of hiding at school..not that i dont go home. its just you know..you gotta give a guy some space to keeps his sanity..
my mother and father are nice. the food here is fantastic. rice and/or french fries with meat (and though i dont know what it is, it aint the mystery meat you get for school lunches) and a fantastic sauce. i mean its got some serious taste.
speaking of meat. funny story:
so this past saturday we go out to a club. you konw nothing special...i mean ti was fun but thats not the story. so i got back at 2.30 and it wasnt 3 before i got to bed.
fast forward to...oh say 7am. i am awakened by the most god awful screal (for thats the only word that can truly describe what it was) from behind my house. it sounds like a swiss yodeler blowing his nose into a fog horn over the PA system at madison square garden. now take that sound, and put it through one of those machines that plays tapes backwards and fast forwards it. now turn the volume up to 11 (this is what those amps were made for) and youve about got it. so that sound every three minutes for no less than 3 hours. thats right. at 10.00, i heard someone walk up. a guy said a few words, and after one last screal, it was silent. i checked my clock. thank god.
well after that i layed in bed for a while...though i couldnt go back to sleep.
so later that day, my little brother says to me "did you hear the lamb this morning?"
"how could i not have" i answered.
"well you know what we did with it?"
no
you sure?
yeah im sure
we KILLED it! (at this point he gets really excited and laughs...i mean its really kinda cute)
really?
yeah.
and you know that meat we had at lunch today?
yeah.
we KILLED it!
so now i know what clarice starling was trying to silence in going after buffalo bill...and i feel exactly what she was feeling. id rather face a serial killer in a girl suit in his own basement in the dark than have to endure another hour of the screaling of the lambs (or maybe they were goats)
welcome to africa jake.
Karr (thats for the jinne)
love
jake
Thursday, August 24, 2006
A day of firsteses
Is that even a word?
You know what: poetic license rules here. If I say it's a word, then golly gee surely it's a word (it is, but don't call me shirly).
Well, actually it's been more like a few days of firsteses. I shall chronicle them here for your further perusal and enjoyment:
First day wearing pants in a tropical climate:
Now this may seem like suicide, what with it being so hot that fish are laying eggs already fried (did I get that right??) and all. I certainly thought so when Dan told me that he never wore shorts. But it turns out that people here don't take you seriously here unless you're wearing pants. Evidently only kids wear shorts and once you reach adulthood and are considered an adult you don't wear shorts anymore.
Now since we all know that I a) want to be treated like an adult and c) want to be taken seriously by all my friends (wait, when did I ever say to take me seriously?), it only seemed logical to put a pair of pants on.
It actually wasn't that bad. I've got some microfiber pants and they're pretty breathable - so for the most part I get to stay comfortable AND be taken seriously by the cabbies (hey anything to get that fare from 3000 to 2500). It's really a win-win situation. Well, maybe only a win situation since I'm the only one winning, but that just doesn't have the same pzazz (how do you spell that anyways???).
First Senegalese meal:
Mom, you may want to skip this one. It ain't pretty...
Food in Senegal (I mean like, real Senegalese food...not like we haven't been eating real food...but sush I'm telling the story) is delicious. Yes, it's rice, fish, and vegetables. You know...everything they told us it would be. Pretty fragrant and savory. Overall tastes good.
Now the experience of eating food is...well let's just say it ain't like at home. Picture this:
You walk into a room. A colorful straw mat is sitting on the floor, with four cushions arranged in a circle. A kettle of water sits on top of a bowl off to the side. The head of the house brings in a large bowl, about 2 feet across, covered with large plate. He sets it down on the floor in the middle of the mat. Everyone pours water from the kettle over their hands, washing off any dust that might have accumulated throughout the day. The plate is removed revealing the deliciousosity beneath.
So what, you may be thinking. So they eat on the floor? Well, there's a little difference. It's kind of hard to eat without plates. And it's even harder to eat without silverware. Yeah, Mom, that's right. I'm eating with my hands. It's not even with little bread like Etheopian food with that bread stuff that you pick up the deliciousosity with. There's no bread. Just rice. And deliciousosity. So you pick up a ball of rice with your right hand (cause you know...you um...well...touch certain parts...well you wipe your butt with your left hand), then grab a chunk of whatever you want from the middle of the bowl, roll your rice and deliciousosity together into a ball (much much much harder than it sounds), open your mouth, insert ball, chew, swallow, repeat as needed. In reality, it's much harder, much messier, and much more fun. I've never been allowed to play with my food, but here I am, being told to roll my food into a ball and out of necessity, have to shovel it into my mouth all the while trying to get as little of the messy rice onto the floor and my lap.
So mom, when I come home and sit on the floor, refuse to use a fork and knife, and shovel the food into my mouth while avoiding my left hand like the plague, don't worry. It's just a habit I've picked up here and I'm sure I'll grow out of it (riiiiight)...
Oh by the way, if this post is under par, you know, less than the excellence in writing that you have come to expect from me (wait...excellence? in writing? you must be reading the wrong blog...) you can blame Karly, she's in here trying to make plans for dinner, effectively distracting my focus from more pressing matters.
First Senegalese proverb:
"Guests are like farts: they may kill you, but they will pass with the wind."
There are some things that are just best left unexplained.
First ride on public transportation:
Yes, I braved the streets of Dakar on a Car Rapide (get ready for the most cliche joke ever) which, despite their name, aren't all that rapide. They're actually quite slow. And quite crowded. And quite chaotic. and loud. But I made it out of the experience alive, and will surely be taking it more often (its about 90865% cheaper than taking a cab - wait does that math even add up?).
First fly killed with my bare hands:
So I don't know if you've heard but this place is crawling with flies like um...bees to honey (??????). And apparently in Senegal, you're not considered a real man until you've killed a fly with your bare hands while taking a cold shower. It's some sort of right of passage thing or something. I don't know, I don't make the rules (except for maybe this one). But yeah, turns out killing flies is really not that hard to do. Just be patient, like anything else in life.
Actually, what real Senegalese do is just..well just ignore them. They're used to it. So that'll be my goal for soon.
But seriously, it's so satisfying killing them. And flies are annoying.
That's about all the firsts up to now. I'm sure you'll hear all about my first bout of chronic traveller's diaherrea (well, maybe I'll spare you that one). Next time be prepared for an in-depth look at the emotional curve and follow my journey from my honeymoon phase to my hostile phase to my humor phase to my home phase...I'll explain it all a little bit later. Should be delightful. Stay tuned next week, same bat time, same bat channel.
Love
Jake
PS - apparently pluto's not a planet? Whats going on? What is my aunt sally going to steal from uncle ned? My faith in the status of the universe is destroyed if They can just add and subtract planets from our solarsystem at will. I for one don't like it. It's too much power in these guys' hands. I mean, pretty soon there goes neptune and uranus (and all the delightfully immature jokes that come with a name like that), then saturn and jupiter...then mars. Before you know it we won't be living on a planet anymore...
I for one won't stand for it.
You know what: poetic license rules here. If I say it's a word, then golly gee surely it's a word (it is, but don't call me shirly).
Well, actually it's been more like a few days of firsteses. I shall chronicle them here for your further perusal and enjoyment:
First day wearing pants in a tropical climate:
Now this may seem like suicide, what with it being so hot that fish are laying eggs already fried (did I get that right??) and all. I certainly thought so when Dan told me that he never wore shorts. But it turns out that people here don't take you seriously here unless you're wearing pants. Evidently only kids wear shorts and once you reach adulthood and are considered an adult you don't wear shorts anymore.
Now since we all know that I a) want to be treated like an adult and c) want to be taken seriously by all my friends (wait, when did I ever say to take me seriously?), it only seemed logical to put a pair of pants on.
It actually wasn't that bad. I've got some microfiber pants and they're pretty breathable - so for the most part I get to stay comfortable AND be taken seriously by the cabbies (hey anything to get that fare from 3000 to 2500). It's really a win-win situation. Well, maybe only a win situation since I'm the only one winning, but that just doesn't have the same pzazz (how do you spell that anyways???).
First Senegalese meal:
Mom, you may want to skip this one. It ain't pretty...
Food in Senegal (I mean like, real Senegalese food...not like we haven't been eating real food...but sush I'm telling the story) is delicious. Yes, it's rice, fish, and vegetables. You know...everything they told us it would be. Pretty fragrant and savory. Overall tastes good.
Now the experience of eating food is...well let's just say it ain't like at home. Picture this:
You walk into a room. A colorful straw mat is sitting on the floor, with four cushions arranged in a circle. A kettle of water sits on top of a bowl off to the side. The head of the house brings in a large bowl, about 2 feet across, covered with large plate. He sets it down on the floor in the middle of the mat. Everyone pours water from the kettle over their hands, washing off any dust that might have accumulated throughout the day. The plate is removed revealing the deliciousosity beneath.
So what, you may be thinking. So they eat on the floor? Well, there's a little difference. It's kind of hard to eat without plates. And it's even harder to eat without silverware. Yeah, Mom, that's right. I'm eating with my hands. It's not even with little bread like Etheopian food with that bread stuff that you pick up the deliciousosity with. There's no bread. Just rice. And deliciousosity. So you pick up a ball of rice with your right hand (cause you know...you um...well...touch certain parts...well you wipe your butt with your left hand), then grab a chunk of whatever you want from the middle of the bowl, roll your rice and deliciousosity together into a ball (much much much harder than it sounds), open your mouth, insert ball, chew, swallow, repeat as needed. In reality, it's much harder, much messier, and much more fun. I've never been allowed to play with my food, but here I am, being told to roll my food into a ball and out of necessity, have to shovel it into my mouth all the while trying to get as little of the messy rice onto the floor and my lap.
So mom, when I come home and sit on the floor, refuse to use a fork and knife, and shovel the food into my mouth while avoiding my left hand like the plague, don't worry. It's just a habit I've picked up here and I'm sure I'll grow out of it (riiiiight)...
Oh by the way, if this post is under par, you know, less than the excellence in writing that you have come to expect from me (wait...excellence? in writing? you must be reading the wrong blog...) you can blame Karly, she's in here trying to make plans for dinner, effectively distracting my focus from more pressing matters.
First Senegalese proverb:
"Guests are like farts: they may kill you, but they will pass with the wind."
There are some things that are just best left unexplained.
First ride on public transportation:
Yes, I braved the streets of Dakar on a Car Rapide (get ready for the most cliche joke ever) which, despite their name, aren't all that rapide. They're actually quite slow. And quite crowded. And quite chaotic. and loud. But I made it out of the experience alive, and will surely be taking it more often (its about 90865% cheaper than taking a cab - wait does that math even add up?).
First fly killed with my bare hands:
So I don't know if you've heard but this place is crawling with flies like um...bees to honey (??????). And apparently in Senegal, you're not considered a real man until you've killed a fly with your bare hands while taking a cold shower. It's some sort of right of passage thing or something. I don't know, I don't make the rules (except for maybe this one). But yeah, turns out killing flies is really not that hard to do. Just be patient, like anything else in life.
Actually, what real Senegalese do is just..well just ignore them. They're used to it. So that'll be my goal for soon.
But seriously, it's so satisfying killing them. And flies are annoying.
That's about all the firsts up to now. I'm sure you'll hear all about my first bout of chronic traveller's diaherrea (well, maybe I'll spare you that one). Next time be prepared for an in-depth look at the emotional curve and follow my journey from my honeymoon phase to my hostile phase to my humor phase to my home phase...I'll explain it all a little bit later. Should be delightful. Stay tuned next week, same bat time, same bat channel.
Love
Jake
PS - apparently pluto's not a planet? Whats going on? What is my aunt sally going to steal from uncle ned? My faith in the status of the universe is destroyed if They can just add and subtract planets from our solarsystem at will. I for one don't like it. It's too much power in these guys' hands. I mean, pretty soon there goes neptune and uranus (and all the delightfully immature jokes that come with a name like that), then saturn and jupiter...then mars. Before you know it we won't be living on a planet anymore...
I for one won't stand for it.
Monday, August 21, 2006
Because what else could I do?
This was just too good to be true...from an article at slate hypothesizing about the Frenchification of American politics:
"It's only a matter of time before the House cafeteria starts serving Perrier and pommes frites, and Republicans stop pronouncing the final "t" when they refer to Speaker Hastert.
"It's only a matter of time before the House cafeteria starts serving Perrier and pommes frites, and Republicans stop pronouncing the final "t" when they refer to Speaker Hastert.
In retrospect, we should have seen the tell-tale signs of Frenchness all along: Bush's Parisian refusal to work in August, Cheney's snooty contempt for American culture, Condi's flair for haute couture, Bolten's Marie-Antoinettish tax cuts, and Rumsfeld's penchant for les head-butts. All this time, we've mistaken W for the Peter Sellers in Being There, when in every aspect of his job, Bush is actually Inspector Clouseau."
The article can be found here:
http://www.slate.com/id/2148008/?nav=tap3
How's the weather down there?
It’s hot in Dakar
How hot is it?
It’s so hot inDakar
It’s so hot inDakar
Dakar
How humid is it?
It’s so humid in Dakar that fish I was talking about earlier…well he wasn’t really walking into the bar…he was swimming into the bar (…you know…cause there was so much humidity in the air…he could swim through the air…cause of all the humidity…come on…try to stay with me?)
It’s so humid inDakar
There’s also geckos in my shower. And in my bedroom. And in the hall. And all over outside. They climb up the wall with their legs all sprawled around them like this (it's supposed to look like a gecko.. like that dude from geico only with X's and O's and |'s and slashes):
X O X
\ | /
\| /
/| / | X | X
|
<--- Insert spanish upside-down question mark here.
I guess I’m not an academic.
Love
Jake
How hot is it?
It’s so hot in
It’s so hot in
How humid is it?
It’s so humid in Dakar that fish I was talking about earlier…well he wasn’t really walking into the bar…he was swimming into the bar (…you know…cause there was so much humidity in the air…he could swim through the air…cause of all the humidity…come on…try to stay with me?)
It’s so humid in
There’s also geckos in my shower. And in my bedroom. And in the hall. And all over outside. They climb up the wall with their legs all sprawled around them like this (it's supposed to look like a gecko.. like that dude from geico only with X's and O's and |'s and slashes):
X O X
\ | /
\| /
/| / | X | X
|
<--- Insert spanish upside-down question mark here.
I guess I’m not an academic.
Love
Jake
Sunday, August 20, 2006
Words of wisdom from Dakar
I went into Dakar centreville today. It was a very productive day.
I learned many things in Dakar from the cabbies:
1) Always negotiate the fare before you get into the cab - its awfully hard to argue a man down from 5.000 CFA ($10) when you and your four companions are hurtling down a three-lane road while dodging goats, donkeys, carts, taxis, mopeds, people, buses, the people dangling off of the backs of the buses, oh and did I mention people?
2) Car doors don't always open when you pull the handle. In fact, the presence of a handle isn't even a requisite for it to be considered a car door. Many cabs prefer to forgo this cumbersome equipment in favor of the more efficient "jimmy the door open and give it a little shove" technique.
3) Knowledge of the streets and major landmarks (British Embassy) of Dakar is not a requirement for one to become a cabbie. In fact, asking for directions is not considered in anyway a disgrace to one's manhood. The person being asked for directions need not be a friend, acquaintence, or even someone you know. He/she will, however, by the time you are done asking for directions, be an intimate friend.
4) The center lane of a three lane road is for traffic travelling in both directions cabs, buses, cars: it seems the only limitation on this lane is that a) you not have livestock attached to your mode of transport and c) there not be dudes hanging off the back of your van.
and finally
5) Hanging on to the back of a car while wearing rollerskates is an acceptable mode of transport. You don't even need to know the driver of the car. Just so long as it is rolling at a resonably rapid pace.
That's all for now. its 2.45 am and it's raining! I don't want my comptuer to get shocked. Seriously...if its not one thing with the electricity its another. rolling blackouts followed by lightning storms.... More later...
love,
Jake
I learned many things in Dakar from the cabbies:
1) Always negotiate the fare before you get into the cab - its awfully hard to argue a man down from 5.000 CFA ($10) when you and your four companions are hurtling down a three-lane road while dodging goats, donkeys, carts, taxis, mopeds, people, buses, the people dangling off of the backs of the buses, oh and did I mention people?
2) Car doors don't always open when you pull the handle. In fact, the presence of a handle isn't even a requisite for it to be considered a car door. Many cabs prefer to forgo this cumbersome equipment in favor of the more efficient "jimmy the door open and give it a little shove" technique.
3) Knowledge of the streets and major landmarks (British Embassy) of Dakar is not a requirement for one to become a cabbie. In fact, asking for directions is not considered in anyway a disgrace to one's manhood. The person being asked for directions need not be a friend, acquaintence, or even someone you know. He/she will, however, by the time you are done asking for directions, be an intimate friend.
4) The center lane of a three lane road is for traffic travelling in both directions cabs, buses, cars: it seems the only limitation on this lane is that a) you not have livestock attached to your mode of transport and c) there not be dudes hanging off the back of your van.
and finally
5) Hanging on to the back of a car while wearing rollerskates is an acceptable mode of transport. You don't even need to know the driver of the car. Just so long as it is rolling at a resonably rapid pace.
That's all for now. its 2.45 am and it's raining! I don't want my comptuer to get shocked. Seriously...if its not one thing with the electricity its another. rolling blackouts followed by lightning storms.... More later...
love,
Jake
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
My life as a MasterCard commercial...
Camera reveals a kid running through a clothes store trying on different shirts with a tropical theme.
Narrator (with text on screen):
Shirts, socks, underwear: $74.53
Our intrepid hero is now sitting on a doctor's table in his skivvies (wait is that even spelled right?). The doctor turns around to reveal a 6-inch syringe filled with a glowing yellow liquid. The kid's eyes widen in fear.
Narrator (with text on screen):
Doctor's appointment, vaccines, medications: $378.12
That same kid is now standing in front of a white sheet. A bright light flashes, surprising the kid. The shot freezes on the dazed and confused look on the kids face. Camera pans out and we see the picture in a passport.
Narrator (with text on screen):
Student visa, plane ticket, passport: $1,846.06
The kid now steps off of a plane into bright sunlight wearing his ugly new shirt. Cut to getting the passport stamped by a dark, angry official. Cut to our heroic traveller stepping out of the airport onto the street in a bustling African city, two large suitcases in tow.
Narrator (do I really have to say it again?):
Realizing you're not in Kansas anymore: Priceless.
There are some things money can't buy. For everything else, there's Master Card.
* * *
With that little 30 second spot I introduce you to my life these past three months. And for everything I've bought there's probablly 28 things that I should have bought but didn't for one reason or another (or so I think so). Well, mostly just one reason and I call it the "Eh, I'll wait and see" attitude I tend to take around with me anywhere I go.
Usually, it works pretty well, I end up taking only what I know I need, and very little else. It's quite efficient. But I've never really embarked upon an adventure quite like this one (usually the wait and see just deals with weeklong trips to Maine or Philly or something like that - Not third world countries). That coupled with the fact that my second suitcase is half empty - and I've already packed everything I "need" - make me think that time my waiting and seeing will come back and...well let's just say it isn't likely to be pretty.
I'm hoping one of two things happens: 1) That I will have packed exactly everything I will need, and nothing more (proving once again the "wait and see" thesis correct - to my delight which I will rub into the faces of all the overprepared girls until they hit me with the high-heels that they brought "just in case we go out to someplace fancy and I want to wear that dress that I brought that I would only wear if we went to someplace fancy" because they're so damn sick of hearing me brag about how sweet of a packer I am) or C) That I will be woefully unprepared for this little jaunt to Dakar (after all how can 10 pairs of underpants last me 4 months? I only do laundry once a month!) and will have my face rubbed in the fact that that one girl had the foresight to bring her fancy-pants winter coat because the sequins on it happen to be the only thing that can break through African prison bars so we can make our escape.
Now obviously I'm pulling for option number two. Why you ask? Do you want to be proved wrong?
No, but breaking out of an African jail cell with fancy-pants seqins off of a fancy-pants winter coat in the middle of the Tropics would make for a kick-ass story. So Karly, bring your coat.
Love
Jake
PS - Yall can check out Karly's blog over there ------->
Click on the link that says "Karly's Adventures in Africa." I'm sure she'll have more entertaining stories to share anyways...
Narrator (with text on screen):
Shirts, socks, underwear: $74.53
Our intrepid hero is now sitting on a doctor's table in his skivvies (wait is that even spelled right?). The doctor turns around to reveal a 6-inch syringe filled with a glowing yellow liquid. The kid's eyes widen in fear.
Narrator (with text on screen):
Doctor's appointment, vaccines, medications: $378.12
That same kid is now standing in front of a white sheet. A bright light flashes, surprising the kid. The shot freezes on the dazed and confused look on the kids face. Camera pans out and we see the picture in a passport.
Narrator (with text on screen):
Student visa, plane ticket, passport: $1,846.06
The kid now steps off of a plane into bright sunlight wearing his ugly new shirt. Cut to getting the passport stamped by a dark, angry official. Cut to our heroic traveller stepping out of the airport onto the street in a bustling African city, two large suitcases in tow.
Narrator (do I really have to say it again?):
Realizing you're not in Kansas anymore: Priceless.
There are some things money can't buy. For everything else, there's Master Card.
* * *
With that little 30 second spot I introduce you to my life these past three months. And for everything I've bought there's probablly 28 things that I should have bought but didn't for one reason or another (or so I think so). Well, mostly just one reason and I call it the "Eh, I'll wait and see" attitude I tend to take around with me anywhere I go.
Usually, it works pretty well, I end up taking only what I know I need, and very little else. It's quite efficient. But I've never really embarked upon an adventure quite like this one (usually the wait and see just deals with weeklong trips to Maine or Philly or something like that - Not third world countries). That coupled with the fact that my second suitcase is half empty - and I've already packed everything I "need" - make me think that time my waiting and seeing will come back and...well let's just say it isn't likely to be pretty.
I'm hoping one of two things happens: 1) That I will have packed exactly everything I will need, and nothing more (proving once again the "wait and see" thesis correct - to my delight which I will rub into the faces of all the overprepared girls until they hit me with the high-heels that they brought "just in case we go out to someplace fancy and I want to wear that dress that I brought that I would only wear if we went to someplace fancy" because they're so damn sick of hearing me brag about how sweet of a packer I am) or C) That I will be woefully unprepared for this little jaunt to Dakar (after all how can 10 pairs of underpants last me 4 months? I only do laundry once a month!) and will have my face rubbed in the fact that that one girl had the foresight to bring her fancy-pants winter coat because the sequins on it happen to be the only thing that can break through African prison bars so we can make our escape.
Now obviously I'm pulling for option number two. Why you ask? Do you want to be proved wrong?
No, but breaking out of an African jail cell with fancy-pants seqins off of a fancy-pants winter coat in the middle of the Tropics would make for a kick-ass story. So Karly, bring your coat.
Love
Jake
PS - Yall can check out Karly's blog over there ------->
Click on the link that says "Karly's Adventures in Africa." I'm sure she'll have more entertaining stories to share anyways...
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
In the Beginning...
Now that I know that at least 3 people have read this, there's but one questionthat I know is on everyone's mind:
What is a butter story?
For those of you whose zip code is not 06804 or privileged enough to be "in the know," I'll enlighten you here.
Reader Beware: It's not a pretty story.
The original Butter story goes something like this:
First some exposition:
In the 8th grade, my school made all the kids go on an "Outward Bound" trip at the beginning of the school year. Basically it was a chance for all of the new kids (like me) to spend some time with the old kids and make some friends.
For those of you not familiar with it, our OB trip consisted mainly of team-building activities such as ropes courses, a 3-day camping trip with some delightful rice pudding (but that's a different story for a different time), waking up at 6 am to run down a narrow path in the pre-dawn light and jump into a freezing cold lake, and having the crap scared out of you so much during a game of manhunt that you had hold hands with a bunch of guys you had just met just to make sure you all made it back to the lodge without being sliced to bits by the serial killers and man-eating demons that haunt the forests of northern England.
In between all of this we had to eat (of course). The food was terrible. On the one hand, it was institutional food, which meant it was pretty much mystery meat with a side of mush. On the other hand it was English cuisine, which meant it was pretty much mystery meat with a side of mush and a cup tea every afternoon at four.
Now that that's out of the way, the story:
One day, my new friend and I walk down to the cafeteria for breakfast (or maybe it was lunch - anyways that's not important). As we're going through the line, picking out what we want to eat, we come across a scoop of something in a little bowl. A heated exchange developed between myself and my friend that went something like this:
"Dude, grab me some of that ice cream."
"Ice cream? Where?"
"Right there, in that little dish."
"Dude, that's not ice cream, it's butter."
"No way, look at the color. It's definetly ice cream."
"Come on, who would serve such a small bowl of ice cream? It's butter."
"Come on, look at it. It's scooped like ice cream."
"No way man. You try it and tell me what it is."
"No. What if it's butter. You try it if you want the butter so bad."
So we tried it. And it was butter.
Or maybe it was ice cream. I can't remember.
With that in mind, I give to you the definition of a butter story:
Any story told that in and of itself contributes nothing to the conversation. It is absolutely, completely, and utterly pointless, not only in its moral (indeed, butter stories often are characterized by anything that can remotely be described of a moral, point, insight or otherwise), but in the way it fails to advance the conversation beyond the story itself.
So that's the butter story in all its glory. I hope you enjoy what will surely be many more to follow.
Love,
Jake
What is a butter story?
For those of you whose zip code is not 06804 or privileged enough to be "in the know," I'll enlighten you here.
Reader Beware: It's not a pretty story.
The original Butter story goes something like this:
First some exposition:
In the 8th grade, my school made all the kids go on an "Outward Bound" trip at the beginning of the school year. Basically it was a chance for all of the new kids (like me) to spend some time with the old kids and make some friends.
For those of you not familiar with it, our OB trip consisted mainly of team-building activities such as ropes courses, a 3-day camping trip with some delightful rice pudding (but that's a different story for a different time), waking up at 6 am to run down a narrow path in the pre-dawn light and jump into a freezing cold lake, and having the crap scared out of you so much during a game of manhunt that you had hold hands with a bunch of guys you had just met just to make sure you all made it back to the lodge without being sliced to bits by the serial killers and man-eating demons that haunt the forests of northern England.
In between all of this we had to eat (of course). The food was terrible. On the one hand, it was institutional food, which meant it was pretty much mystery meat with a side of mush. On the other hand it was English cuisine, which meant it was pretty much mystery meat with a side of mush and a cup tea every afternoon at four.
Now that that's out of the way, the story:
One day, my new friend and I walk down to the cafeteria for breakfast (or maybe it was lunch - anyways that's not important). As we're going through the line, picking out what we want to eat, we come across a scoop of something in a little bowl. A heated exchange developed between myself and my friend that went something like this:
"Dude, grab me some of that ice cream."
"Ice cream? Where?"
"Right there, in that little dish."
"Dude, that's not ice cream, it's butter."
"No way, look at the color. It's definetly ice cream."
"Come on, who would serve such a small bowl of ice cream? It's butter."
"Come on, look at it. It's scooped like ice cream."
"No way man. You try it and tell me what it is."
"No. What if it's butter. You try it if you want the butter so bad."
So we tried it. And it was butter.
Or maybe it was ice cream. I can't remember.
With that in mind, I give to you the definition of a butter story:
Any story told that in and of itself contributes nothing to the conversation. It is absolutely, completely, and utterly pointless, not only in its moral (indeed, butter stories often are characterized by anything that can remotely be described of a moral, point, insight or otherwise), but in the way it fails to advance the conversation beyond the story itself.
So that's the butter story in all its glory. I hope you enjoy what will surely be many more to follow.
Love,
Jake
Saturday, July 22, 2006
Hello World
Nothing much here. Just unnecessary ramblings, rants, and stories.
I guess I'm supposed to say here what I want this blog to be. Basically: a way for me to not have to write a million emails to a million different people every week. Laziness, I suppose you could call it.
Hopefully I'll end up updating at least once a week once I'm in Senegal. Stories, pictures, anecdotes (wait - aren't those just more stories?).
I'll most likely fail at making this somewhat clever, delightfully humorous, and mildly entertaining.
But if you don't read this for laughs or entertainment, then at least know it's a sign that as long as I'm posting I'm still alive. At least we can take comfort in that.
Love
Jake
I guess I'm supposed to say here what I want this blog to be. Basically: a way for me to not have to write a million emails to a million different people every week. Laziness, I suppose you could call it.
Hopefully I'll end up updating at least once a week once I'm in Senegal. Stories, pictures, anecdotes (wait - aren't those just more stories?).
I'll most likely fail at making this somewhat clever, delightfully humorous, and mildly entertaining.
But if you don't read this for laughs or entertainment, then at least know it's a sign that as long as I'm posting I'm still alive. At least we can take comfort in that.
Love
Jake
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