Life After the Flood

Having been in Dakar for about two weeks I now have a new name, family, language and culture.  I’m still reeling from this sudden change but as the dust settles and I find my bearings allow me to try to explain how it all came about.

It began with a flood.  When the thunderheads began rolling in a few hours after my arrival in Dakar I thought nothing of them, I love thunderstorms and I’ve seen plenty in the States so I paid them no mind.  What I failed to account for was the Senegalese rain, heavy torrents of water that continued for hours, flooding our dorm with inches of murky, brown water and reaching knee-level in the courtyard outside: welcome to the rainy season in Western Africa

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There have been many similar storms since my arrival, and the streets of Dakar are covered in a seemingly permanent layer of water, but I am now safely ensconced in my house in the city neighborhood of Mermoz where I will live for the next four months.  As I write this I am sitting in the dark, not by choice but because we are experiencing yet another blackout that will likely last a few more hours.  Blackouts are common in Senegal, where electricity is expensive and utilities unstable, but they are most frequent during the rainy season (a backwards blessing in that the rain brings cooler temperatures while the fans remain still).

I think there are fifteen of us in my new home in Mermoz – I say “think” because it is bad luck to count people in Senegal and when I asked my host sister she was unsure, but it is definitely upwards of twelve.  There are sisters, stepsisters, son-in-laws, great-uncles and now an American living side by side, taking their meals together and existing, at least since I’ve been here, without conflict.  I should clarify and mention that it is currently Ramadan, so the family eats at 5 am and then breaks the fast at sundown, but I join them for dinner around the communal bowl in the middle of our stone courtyard.

The Senegalese diet is largely rice and meat based, with some vegetables depending on the dish.  Although fruit vendors abound on the side of the road, fruit is rarely served with a meal and dairy is entirely absent.  Food is eaten with the right hand here, although I have to confess that I use a spoon, as do some of the younger children in the house, while the elders dine with their hands.

The common language of the family is Wolof, which I am attempting to learn but which is spoken at an impossible, lighting speed.  Entirely different from English and French, Wolof is the prevalent local language here in Senegal and is more widespread that the nominally national language of French.  Naturally there are some communication barriers, first revealed when I introduced myself. “Caitlin” is difficult to pronounce with a Senegalese accent and when I tried “Catie” it became “Kah-tee” which seems to have stuck.

I am actually enjoying having a different name while here in Senegal.  It’s still difficult to see these adventures in Africa as a continuation of my Georgetown experience and I can more easily separate my time here as Kah-tee from my time as Caitlin in the US.

After two weeks this still seems entirely different from anything I have ever done before and having jumped in headfirst I’m now just beginning to find my way around.