the view from here

Hello everyone, it has been quiet here for us, thus the lack of posting. We are busy creating our new familiar, our daily routines, our everyday normal - which once established, doesn't seem that exciting or new anymore. With that in mind, I'll fill you in on some of the particulars.

It continues to be blazing hot here. Not for a moment do we forget that we are at the edge of the Sahara desert. The forecast for this week puts us near 100 degrees every day. The humidity seems to be moving out though, so it's just hot. As Carl calls it - Africa hot. I feel like we're extending the summer season by continuing our trips to the pool. But really, I know we'll be going to the pool year round. Once the tourists leave, the beaches will be quieter and we will probably be the only ones at the water (kind of like New Englanders in Florida in February). I hear that by January, the ocean will cool down, suggesting it's more like a northern Maine beach in the middle of summer. I'll let you know if it ever reaches the ankle numbing stage of cold. Something tells me this side of the ocean, this near the equator, doesn't know that kind of cold.



Every weekend we try to get out for lengthy walks. On Sunday we took a nice hike up to the lighthouse where there is a gorgeous view of the penninsula and the western most point of the continent. And, yes, it was well into the 90's in the morning as we were walking. I won't go so far as to say we've acclimated to the heat, but we all did fine. Matthew even commented that the walk will be much nicer when it's cooler - this is in stark contrast to his distinct desire to not join us on the walks every weekend. I guess he's given up on the protests and knows he's walking.



Our truck continues on it's extended European vacation. Last postcard indicates it is in La Havre, France. If you're up on your geography, you will note that it is still quite a distance away from us. With any luck, it will arrive within the next couple of weeks. Of course, we've been saying that for quite some time now.



We are all engaged in our French language lessons. Matthew gets French every day at school and Carl and I are provided lessons (intense lessons) twice a week for 1.5-2 hours. Did I say intense? Today, for me, was grammar review and those pesky verbs. My class partner was absent today. She sent me her best wishes for the session, knowing full well that as the only student I'd be on for the whole lesson - no sleeping in class today! I survived, barely able to babble in English (let alone French) when I arrived back home.

Is there any topic in particular any one is curious about? Anything anyone wants to know about living here that they just haven't been able to ask? Matthew might share how loud the toilets are; I'm sure Carl would love to talk more about the seafood or maybe his new grill - let's just say, he's missing the Weber.

A little fabric

As many of you know, I have been anxiously awaiting a trip into the fabric district here in Dakar. I had been advised not to venture down without someone knowledgeable about fabric and the area in general as it is a very, very busy marketplace. After a couple of false starts, a trip was scheduled for last weekend and with two other intrepid souls, I set off to begin the acquisition of fabric.

The day started with the promise of a torrential downpour as seriously dark clouds gathered over the ocean and a strong wind whipped the dust around. Carl suggested we reschedule. Was he kidding? There was no cancelling this trip! It would take a lot more than rain to keep us away from the possibilities to be found in the market. Besides, if it was raining, less people might be there, right? Armed with raincoats and umbrellas, we set out. As it was, the rain quickly cleared off and the market was wall to wall people. Our one saving grace was that the temperature stayed quite pleasant for the duration.

Once downtown, we set off on foot through the market area. To say that the area is congested is an understatement of gigantic proportions. What we in America consider personal space is very definintely public space here in Senegal. There is no comfort zone to surround you (either real or imaginary) and one must be prepared to be jostled about, encouraged to purchase things you never knew you needed or wanted, and be completely overwhelmed by the proximity of so many people, sights, sounds, and smells for the duration. Having said that, if one carries a healthy sense of caution and awareness, you can survive said adventure unscathed.

We had not intended to go into the Sandaga market on this trip - our plan was to visit a few shops on the periphery, look for fabric and stop in a gift shop or two. Sandaga is located in the very heart of downtown Dakar. It is crowded, hot, and very, very oderous (for the sake of brevity, I will not share with you my real feelings on the odor). Anything and everything can be purchased here and this is where we found the fabric we were looking for - the bright, patterned batiks so often admired in this country. Senegalese women use this fabric for their day to day and special occasion dresses with stunning results. The colors are mostly bold and provide striking contrast to the desert landscape.


At one shop, the vendor invited us to tour his factory where hundreds of men were sewing - clothing, bags, anything and everything made of fabric. These items would then be sold on the street or exported. The shop reminded me of Lowell, Massachusetts, at the turn of the last century, only more colorful and staffed by men rather than young girls. Literally, every space in the building was crammed with sewing machines, fabric, and people.

As I didn't take any photos while on this trip, visit www.khm.uio.no/utstillinger/madeinafrica/english/marked_2.html for a bit more history and some photos.

We're going back to the market again, once we've recovered from this trip and have done something with the fabric we bought. Next on the list is to find a tailor.