February 28

Hi friends!
Ok so this weekend was obviously a Real World style adventure (a house full of drunken twenty something year olds from different backgrounds all sharing one kitchen and one bathroom-drama ensues).  HOWEVER before I tell you anything that happened there, I feel the need to share with you a bizarre occurance from this morning: I got stink-bombed by the police.
Well, not just me, but everyone at the school where I teach...which is kind of even weirder.  Basically, there have been these professors' strikes at the University, which have now devolved into students' strikes (they're not receiving their scholarship money, nor the education they were promised, as the professors are on strike)...and apparently, revolutionary fever is just in the air because now, this has led to rioting amongst even younger students-like those in high school and middle school.  Anyways, a few hours into our classes today, we start to hear some disturbances outside of the classroom-students are yelling, and throwing rocks and things at the sides of the buildings, and are generally just causing an uproar.  As they start to get violent, the police get called in, and in an effort to disperse the crowds, they started throwing smoke bombs and stink bombs...and being the trained, careful professionals that they are, they throw these "peace-making agents" DIRECTLY INTO THE CLASSROOMS.  Because that's going to help.
So everyone panics and flees the classroom (the smell was awful and everyone was mostly just confused and scared) and so that was the end of classes for the day...I went with the teachers to hide out in the teachers' lounge until the police got the riots under control (where we also tended to a student who had a seizure in respinse to the gases used in the stink bombs...because why would you ever call in a trained medical professional to deal with something like that?  Luckily she ended up being fine, but it just seemed a bit...odd).
So that was my morning;  apparently this isn't even too much of an anomaly, the teachers indicated that this is not the first time that this has happened in the recent past.  I just can't believe that students have to "learn" in an environment like that.
Anyways, back to Ile N'Gor.  Well, we ended up only staying oen night...as we were kicked out for the rest of the weekend because apparently, they only wanted 8 people staying in the house...not 17.  Whoops.  You would think that teh proprietor would be more laid back about this sort of thing, since this is Senegal (see example above), but hey, what can you do.  On Friday night, I took a little star-gazing walk with my friend Jenn, where we were met by a new "friend;" a man that lived in the house next door...and felt no need to wear pant.  Or any underwear.  So he just stood there talking to us for several minutes, ending each phrase with "il n'y a aucune de probleme" ("there is no problem here") despite the fact that there was, in fact, the very legitimate problem of his exposure.  He left us to go back inside (where we prayed he'd put on some pants), but then returned to talk to us again, sans pantalons, and so naturally Jenn and I took off at a dead sprint back to our own house.
Yikes.
Besides that, there were no major disasters...spent the next day on the beach, then used our money we got back to go out to eat at this fabulous little Turkish place with a second story terrace (best meal I've had in Senegal thus far)...and then we bought copious amounts of chocolate and peanuts and watched Eat Pray Love.  Because we were in that kind of a mood.  It was a great little getaway weekend, as promised-kind of a nice escape from the hustle and bustle of the city.
Sooooo that's about all I've got for you today...I'll post again before we leave for our excursion to Toubacouta on Thursday.  Ba ci kanam

February 24

Today I had my first "full day" at the middle school-I have no class on Thursdays, so it looks like I'll be working from about 9am to 3pm there.  It's still exam week for the students, and so since there was not too much for me to do (other than administer an English exam, which included reading all of the prompts and passages out loud for comprehension, followed by answering any of the students' questions regarding the exam), one of the professors I have been working with, M. Aidara, decided to take me out exploring.  During the lunch-hour equivalent, we drove to his son's private preschool, to show me the contrast between public and private education in Senegal.  Whereas in the public school, there is inadequate space and seating for students, overcrowding, and a major lack of materials, this preschool looked like an upscale Montessori school in the US.  It was wonderful, the director gave us a tour, which included the general education room, where students help each other learn numbers and letters, the kitchen, where students learn nutrition and some basic "cooking," the nursery, which includes a vegetable garden, as well as a chicken and pigeon roost, a rabbit hutch, and a goat pen, so that the students learn, in the words of the director, to be cultivators, not hunters, and develop an appreciation for nature and their environment (which Senegalese children REALLY need, based on the obscene amounts of littering and general pollution found throughout Dakar), and more.  They even have a computer for the students to use, so that they can develop basic technological skills.  The most shocking part of this school (called Case des tout petit enfants de HLM, by the way), however, is not the quality, but the cost. M. Aidara told me that each month, one only pays 5,000 CFA, or about 10 USD to send one's child there.  Which absolutely blows my mind because in the US, that could barely cover an hour of babysitting, let alone a month of childcare and top notch education, for your kid.
Anyways, it was a really interesting experience...and afterwards, we dropped his son off at his mother-in-law's house (because that's normal of him to take me there, apparently), and now she has been added to the army of middle-aged Senegalese women intent on finding me a Senegalese husband (her first question upon meeting me being, "Tu es 'Madame' ou 'mademoiselle?'").  And then she gave me a coconut to take home to my host family!  All in all, not a bad day.
Now I'm just sitting at Caesar's (a faux-American restaurant with free wifi!) and looking forward to some relaxation tomorrow at Ile N'Gor...I'll let you know how that goes!  Ba ci kanam

February 23

Hello friends!
Unfortunately, I really don't have much to tell you...other than a few random little episodes I guess.  Last night, I was watching TV with Tabara when the power went off, and all of a sudden, every adult I have ever met in the town of Ouakam was in our living room surrounding us, screaming at one another in Wolof.  Obviously, due to the volume and pace of the interaction, I understood nothing, and after about an hour of listening to the fighting (which was punctuated by the newborn baby, Mohammed, Cole, and Maguette crying in the background), they dispersed as suddenly as they appeared.  After about 15 minutes of shellshocked silence, Aminata called me out to accompany her to pick up some millet from a woman who lives nearby, and on the walk, I asked her what had happened.  I was envisioning some conflict involving a major issue (I don't know, like murder or theft or something worthy of the melee in my house), but according to Aminata, the entire fight consisted of the fact that her mother, who is pregnant, felt a little ill that day and said she couldn't cook lunch.  And then everyone freaked out.  So, while Senegalese people often seem to be great at letting the little things go, and focusing more on the big picture, there are certainly times where even their common logic takes a back seat to cultural decorum.
Yikes.
Oh and also, it turns out I've been scaring all of the little children in the neighborhood...babies who have never seen a white person before tend to cry when they first meet me.  But, according to my host sisters, it has nothing to do with my skin color.  Apparently, it's because of my "scary green eyes."  Uhh what? The explanation given was that because my eyes are so much lighter than everyone else's here, they think they look green...and scary.  Like a monster.  I feel really bad because the kids are all so cute and the mothers all think it's super funny to watch them panic as they are forced to approach me.  Luckily, they're all starting to get used to me, but still.
Alright well Wolof class is about to start so I'm off... hopefully I'll come up with some more excitign things to share with you in the next few days.  A tout a l'heure

February 21

Nanga def
So sadly our salsa dancing plans fell through-everyone was all set to go and as we were walking doan the sketchy alleyway towards where we thought the club, New Africa, was located, the power across Dakar went out.  Makign it impossible for us to find the place (which likely didn't have power anyway)...and leaving us stranded in a dark alleyway.  But, alhamdulilahi, ther was one building in all of Sacre Coeur III (the quartier we were in) with a power generator, and it was...a french patisserie!  so, instead of dancing the night away, we ate our weight in chocolate pastries.  Actually the night was far better than we anticipated.
Not a very eventful weekend...did laundry, started learning how to cook (much more to follow as I do more hands-on things), hung out with the family...the usual.
One exciting event of the weekend was when Colé, the perpetually energetic 3 year old girl, decided to pour her Ananas (popular pineapple soda drink) into the burning incense pot...and set it on fire.  While I panicked (and where I assume any American parent would immediately call 911 and then send the child to a minimum of 5 years of therapy), the family responded by laughing and slapping the pot with a damp towel, subduing the flames.  And, after this, they dangled Colé over the flames while she shrieked with laughter, pretending to cook her.  And then she left the fire alone.  It was a weird and mildly disturbing example of effective Senegalese parenting.
And speaking of children, today I started my internship with a local middle school by the name of Abdoulaye Mathurieu Diop...I'll be working in classrooms teaching English, French, History, and whatever else they need me for, doign whatever the teacher needs.  Each classroom has about 85 students to one teacher, which is an absolutely insane ratio, so I'm happy to help however I can.  Maryem, the teacher I work with on Mondays and Tuesdays, has been incredibly welcoming and helpful, and has been giving me all sorts of background information, on the schools, the students, the educational system, and more.  I'll keep you posetd as I start to do more there!
That's all about I have for now, but I'll post again in the next few days.  Mangiy dem, ba ci kanam.

February 18

So weird fact: apparently Tabara (my eldest host sister) got mugged at Gamou too!  I didn't find out until yesterday when she and the rest of the family got back but it turns out Tivaouane just didn't go too well for the Diops this year.  Her story is way sadder than mine: she went out to buy gifts for the little kids, and got disoriented on her way.  She was alone, and some guy there offered to help her find her way...after about 20 minutes of leading her around the city and chatting, he suddenly turns and says, "actually, I don't know where you want to go!" and takes off, leaving Tabara alone to realize taht her pocket is unzipped and all her money gone.  Luckily, she could hear the mosque in the distance from where the man left her, so she found her way back by following the chants.  We bonded over trading traumatic stories yesterday while running errands for Yaay (Maman)...which ended in Tabara promising to teach me how to cook on Sunday (after laundry, of course), so that I could be utile (useful) and therefore get a husband.  Prefereably a Senegalese one, apparently.
Oh, and speaking of food, I solved the mystery of the milk-rice; apparently, it's called "laax," and it's served on special occasions (we had it this week because of the baby-namming ceremonies), because it's fast and easy to prepare, allowing the women to spend less time cooking, and more time celebrating!  It's actually a great system.
Tonight, several of the students on the program have decided to explore the Dakar nightlife a little more and try out New Africa, a well-known salsa club in Sacré Coeur III.  Dance clubs just seem to be a less threatening, more casual environment than bars here, because Senegalese men can't force you to give them your cell phone number if you're too busy dancing to talk.
Beyond that, nothing else is really going on...hope everyone has a great weekend!

February 18

Asalaam Maleikum
Sorry for the delay between posts...just got back from Tivaouane yesterday afternoon, but I'll fill you in on the previous week before I guiev you those details (if you want to skip directly to the excitement that ensued there...and trust me, there was much excitement, feel free to skip ahead).
Friday night was our official one month anniversary of being here in Dakar-so a group of about 6 of us decided to celebrate by eating Western food!  We went to l'Institut Francais and ate our body weight in brie burgers and vegetables (I never thiought I'd say this, but I could KILL to have green food on a consistent basis), and clebrated with a victory toast of bissap cocktail...followed by live mbalax music at a local bar/club, Le Mermoz.  All in all a solid celebration.
Then this weekend, Aminata taught me how to faire le menage (do housework), which included cleaning, sweeping, and other domestic chores which I am utterly unaccustomed to doing.  They laugh at me because apparently i hold the broom wrong.  I literally do not understand how my T-rex arms are supposed to do what these willowy Senegalese women do.  Luckily it's not really a problem for the long run.
On Saturday, Aminata, Tabara and I went on another fabric shoppign excursion, because Aminata says that it's boring that I wear the same clothes all the time and I need to act more Senegalese if I ever hope to find myself a Senegalese husband.  So we formed a plan that I would scout out what I wanted with Aminata, then we'd send Tabara in to buy it, in order to avoid the toubab price inflation.  Worked lieka  charm...but when Tabara called me in to pay the normal, fair price, the vendor got really upset and started yellign at us in Wolof.  Pretty sure there was some inappropraite language used but I couldn't be positive.  At any rate, by the end he wasn't even that mad, just impressed.
Sunday was our baby naming ceremony for Issakha and Neenyah's baby.  His name is Papegueye, and everyone from the community came by the house at some piouitn durign the day to congratulate the parents and meet the little one, as well as to partake in celebratory feasting.
Ok on to Tivaouane recapping:  so I ended up going with my host mother's sister, Mme Yaye, (who lives in a seperate house) and her daughter.  Mme Yaye works at UCAD, and so we took a chartered bus along with other university employees to get to the Gamou celebrations.  Now Tivaouane, if you were to look at a map, should take no longer than an hour or 2 from Dakar.  However, to this estimate is derived by making the highly overly-ambitious assumption that there will eb paved roads for the trip.  This is not the case.  The journey took us over 4 hours (a majority of which is off roading), with no air conditioning and people packed into seats like sardines.  Oh and because it is a religious pilgrimage, everyone is dressed in their finest tarditional garb-which means a long skirt or pant with a long sleeved long dress or boubou over it and a head scarf.  For certain parts of the celebrations, it is even mandatory to cover your nose and mouth as well as your hair...and let me just say that I can never ever be a part of a faith that requires a hijab, for the sole reason that I simply cannot breathe.  It was rough.
Arriving in Tivaouane was like stepping into a riot-masses of people were swarming everywhere, with vendors clamoring along the sides of the roads, harrassing all passers-by to look at their wares.  Being the only toubab there, you can imagien I attracted a bit more unwanted attention from them.  After disembarking from the bus, we pushed and shoved our way to our lodgings.  Accomodations in Tivaouane are abandoned buildings rented out by locals to religious pilgrims-one room (about the size of a one room double dorm room) served 12 women-we slept on mats on the floor-and one bathrrom stall served everyone in the buildin,g (I'm assuming a few hundred residents).  Also, by bathroom stall, I mean a tiny little cubicle with a hole in the ground and a bucket of rinsing water next to it.  I like to think of it as "rustic."
Anyways, after sharing communal meals of rice and meat from a large tin pot, we ventured out into the city to visit with friends and acquaintances.  And this is where the fun starts for me.  So apparently in my traditional clothes, I no longer look white, but rather North African, and so instead of hearing "toubab" repeatedly shouted at me, I received a number of racial slurs generally reserved for North Africans.  Which was weird, but a change of pace I suppose.  And then, while pushing through a crowd with Mme Yaye and her daughter, a man punched me in the stomach, knocking me off balance, and as I was falling, stole my wallet and camera.  Fortunately, as I was on my way down, I reached out to grab him in an attempt to regain my balance, not even realizing he was attampting to steal from me.  Fortunately, in doign so, I slapped his hand and he dropped my phone (which I recovered) and so he only made off with my camera and the other contents of my wallet (that beign about 20 dollars and a photocopy of my ID-nothing real).  The people around me were outraged and were all so kind and helpful.  Unfortunately, the crowd being fantastic camouflage, the voleur got away, but at least minimal damage had been done.
After the incident, we returned to our room, where Mme Yaye proceeded to tell everyone in our path what had happened-gossip here is pretty much the primary form of communication.  Anyways, everyone was very sympathetic and appropriately outraged that something like this could possibly happen in their country, and everyone was apologizing to me as if they themselves had perpetrated the act.  It was really nice seeing how the community here reacts to help one another out.
Anyways, after the excitement died down, the real religious experience began-Gamous is an event where Muslims pray all night long, sleeping in intervals, and listen to the marabous, or leaders, speak and give sermons.  Since all of these activities were conducted in either Arabic or Wolof, I didn't understand much, but it was certainly a sight to see.  And despite all of the crowds and noise and confusion, being with so many people, all of whom are simply there to be a part of a religious community and pray, created an environment that allowed for intense meditation-all of the chaos sort of fades into white noise at a certain point.  It was exhausting, but at the same time, relaxing.
Anyways, after a few hours of snatched sleep, we headed home at dawn, and I honestly have never in my life been so happy to see a cold bucket shower waiting for me.  The rest of the day was spent in Ouakam waiting for friends, family, and neighbors to return at various times from their respective pilgrimages...the best part about all of this is that we eat reeeeally well, with fresh fruits and pastries to celebrate the holiday (beignets, or fried dough, being the highlight).  And had an early night after a dinner of what teh students here have been referring to as "rice milk," a dish served either hot or cold consisting of milk/cream mixed with millet (or some sort of grain).  It's kind of like yoghurt or oatmeal, just with a weird texture.  It seems to be served every Sunday night (or every night that follows a day off of work), but we have yet to figure out the significance...I'll ask on Sunday.
Sorry for the lengthy post, I hope I didn't bore you all too much...I'll be sure to better keep up with writing so they don't need to be as long.  Ba ci kanam

February 11

Today is our one-month anniversary since leaving the US-quite the milestone if you ask any of us still left standing.  It is also a Friday which means that it is acceptable for everyone, even toubabs, to dress up in their finest traditional Senegalese gear and parade around like we actually belong here.  In my outfit's maiden voyage, I keep getting comments from random Senegalese people saying that I look like Shree, the star of a popular Indian soap opera here.  Which I'm cool with because at least being mistaken for being Indian isn't being recognized immediately as an American.
To celebrate, a few of us are going to the Institut Francais to see a movie (Ramata-it's about some middle aged woman in Dakar who turns cougar and starts dating a 25 year old.  Needless to say, it was the only movie playing tonight) and have non-Senegalese food for dinner.  And maybe even have some alcohol...as long as our uber religious families don't find out.  And just an FYI, movies cost like 2 USD here.  It's sick.
Beyond that, nothing too crazy is on the immediate agenda...I just wanted to let you all know that after today, I will likely not have any internet access for close to a week because, assuming I go to Tivaouane with my family on their pilgrimage for Gamou (Muhammed's birthday) I will be in transit for a while.  However I made Tabara promise not to lose me there so we should be all good-and being rather identifiable as a toubab I can't imagine I'd be hard to find in the event that I somehow get seperated (which I won't, Mom, I promise to hold onto someone's hand at all times).  Anyways I plan on taking lots of photos and can't wait to let you all know how it goes!  Ba ci kanam

February 10

So last night I had dinner with Andrew's family...we spent about a half hour trying to figure out how we were connected and finally landed on this:  that his mother's cousin is related to my mother's cousin.  Or something.  Anyways, he and his wife invited over two other couples who work with them at the embassy here in Dakar.  I brought along a friend, Keturah, from my program to keep the couples trend going.
When we got there, it was like we left the country.  They live in a gorgeous three-story house in Mamelles, which is only a short distance from my home in Ouakam, but they could not be more different.  Not only do they have running water and a generator to combat power outages, but they have a cook and a nanny/housekeeper, as well as some of the most tastefully decorated rooms I have ever seen.  Both Andrew and his wife speak French, but neither of them speak any Wolof.  The weird thing about it is that they seem to have no need; the only people that they seem to come into contact with are government officials and other Westerners.  When I asked Andrew if he liked Dakar, he responded in the negative without any hesitation; "There's so much rubbish everywhere."  Which is undoubtably true, but I just found it amusing that that was the first thing he said about life here.  Although the more I think about it, the more that "rubbish everywhere" does seem to define the city of Dakar; it's noisy, dusty, chaotic, and constantly moving (not to mention the trash that people seem to just throw anywhere), but it seemed to me that in living such an isolated life there, he and his family are missing the beautiful parts of the city, too.  In having a job where one constantly moves around, I absolutely understand feeling hesitant to get too attached to a country of which one isn't really a part-I just don't think that I could ever live in a country without at least trying.
It was wonderful hearing about the different couples' experiences-they all have lived such exciting and full lives.  Plus it was nice to be in an English speaking household (and eat pasta and salad and lemon meringue pie!).  Andrew and Sara were incredibly gracious hosts and were more welcoming than I would have imagined.  But upon leaving, Keturah and I couldn't help but feel like we were actually going home, and not departing from it.  I felt so relieved reentering my little home in Ouakam (and a police car even offered us a ride home because he said he didn't want us walking home alone), and I just couldn't help thinking how one could pass up the opportunity to really be a part of the life and culture here.  Maybe it's a sign that I'm finally adjusting to my life here for the semester, or maybe it's just been so long since I've had a hot shower that I've forgotten exactly what that kind of thing feels like (one of the couples at dinner complained of the fact that their hot tub was currently leaky and it was taking a long time to get it fixed), but I am definitely growing attached to my family and life in Ouakam.
Anyways, one of the other students is currently waiting for me to go exploring in Fann, so I need to wrap up-but I will be back to post more in a bit.  Ba beneen yoon

February 8

Just a few quick things for today:
first things first, I saw the baby ans he's soooo cute.  Poor Nyaneh wanted a girl (she has a husband and 2 sons already), and her labor was fairly difficult, but I think she's just happy that the baby is healthy...and seems to sleep more than the average newborn.
Also, I went to UCAD for my History of Islam class yesterday, and it actually happened!  Well, the professor showed up over 30 minutes late, and the kid in front of me answered 3 seperate phone calls during the lecture, but still, the important thing is that I am now on track to graduate on time. 
College classes here are bizarre; the little things that you take for granted in the US are just absent here.  For example, there is no eraser for the blackboard, and the board itself has a giant whole right in the middle of it, so the professor has a difficult time writing notes.  And, as I mentioned earlier, students have no qualms about answering cell phones in class, or getting up and leaving, or shouting things out to the professor (which can be all to frequent in a class about Islam, especially because where our professor wants to take a historical approach, the devout Muslims that compose most of the class insist upon taking a theological approach).
Beyond that, I don't have much else to tell you, but I'll be sure to post again later in the week.

February 7

As of this morning I am an auntie!  Isaakha's wife finally had her baby early this morning, a little boy-their third son.  She was due February 1 and looked about ready to pop since I've been here so everyone is relieved.  I get to see him this afternoon so I am very excited.
In comparison to that, everything else seems a little less exciting...we went to the Keur Moussa monastery this Saturday as a big group, and it was gorgeous-it's a ways out of the city, and was actually a bit of a shock; when we arrived, everything seemed eerily clm-there were no dust clouds, no kaar rapides threatening to mow you down, no construction work, and no men harassing us.  And, there was more greenery in this one concentrated place than I think there is in the rest of Senegal combined.  It was unbelievably calm and peaceful-they grow all of their own food there, so we were fortunate enough to sample some of their produce (the highlight being the pamplemousse, or grapefruit, products)-I brought some back for my host family and they were ecstatic-Mohammed even gave me a high five instead of the usual slap.
We attended mass there (my first one...well, my first one where I wasn't sitting in a back pew with a coloring book next to Maria) and it was anything but a traditional Catholic experience-while all of the hymns and chants were conducted in Latin and French, they were accompanied by traditional West African instruments, among them several types of drums, and a Kora, which is somewhat of a harp/guitar hybrid.  It was definitely an interesting mix of Christianity and African culture-especially because within the ranks of the monks, a majority were Senegalese, and only the eldest few were the white French founders of Keur Moussa.  Everywhere you go here, there are reminders of colonialism and the damage it has done to the country.
On our way back, we stopped at Lac Rose-a lake with such a high salinity that in direct sunlight, the water actually looks bright pink.  Unfortunately, there was no direct sunlight on Saturday, so in my pictures, it just looks gross and brown.  But do a google image search if you're curious.  Because there is noooo way we are ever going back there, to call it an out of the way destination is the understatement of the year.  We basically had to off-road it for an hour and a half from Keur Moussa to find it, and more than one of my fellow travelers succumbed to car sickness due to the conditions of the ride.
However, the surrounding sand dunes were a lot of fun-there were camels, and we got to see a nice view of the natural setting.  If you are ever to go to Senegal, however, this is definitely not one of the spots I would recommend-too much work for too little payoff.
Anyways, Superbowl Sunday rolls around and there is nowhere to watch the game-first of all, because it's very late at night here, and second of all, because there is no power ever.  But I think the birth of a child in our house trumps a football game for excitement so it's all good.  I did laundry and other household errands with the girls yesterday (and sampled some delicious street food from a local vendor-think spicy french fries meet potato chips), and the fataaya woman told me that, as I was fast approaching spinsterhood, she would teach me how to cook if I visited her regularly, and then find me a Senegalese husband before I dry up and become completely undesirable.  Thank goodness I have such kind and helpful people here, right in my very own backyard!
I've been spending a lot of time in Ouakam, getting to know the little roads and all of the people-I'm even befriending a number of the kids who live nearby.  Everyone is incredibly friendly (and always curious) so it's easy.  My family even invited me to join them on their 3 day religious pilgrimage in a week (I'm going to see if it's acceptable to miss class to do it...and if it's not awkward for a Jew to go on a Muslim religious pilgrimage).  At any rate it was nice of them to invite me, and even if I don't go, that means I'll get to stay here to witness the naming ceremony for the new baby.  It's a win-win!
Nothing else too exciting to relate, but I am supposed to have my actual, real-live first day of class at UCAD today, so keep your fingers crossed that this class is a thing that exists in reality and that I am enrolled in it!  Hope you're all surviving the frozen tundra that is America, feel free to come visit sunny Africa at any time in the next 3 months-I'll be here.
Yendul ak jamm

February 3

I have no classes on Thursdays, and since my internship has yet to start (if it ever gets organized) I decided to have an impromptu adventure day with Jen, one of the Canadians studying at WARC.  We walked downtown and made a stop at N'Ice Cream (obviously), followed by a leisurely stroll through Marche Sandaga, where we both did some gift shopping for you folks back home (get excited...the bargaining/harassment I went through was of epic proportions, I hope you all appreciate it).  We then proceeded to get a bit lost (which, I've decided, id the only way to really find anything here since street names/general organization doesn't exist) and befriended a rando named Samba, who, when we started complaining about being hungry, dropped us off at this great little fast food restaurant that he recommended.  After eating our fill, we met up with one of Jen's friends through her host family connections here (she is also a study abroad student) at the Palais Presidentiel, and we went to a french patisserie for coffee and dessert (#2).  We wandered about the area for a bit, this being the 'nice' part of town, where all of the political and commercial establishments are located, before heading home.  Despite there being no street names, I think that I'm getting a pretty good handle of where things are in relation to one another-my one lingering problem is my gross underestimations of how long it takes to walk places.  Thank goodness I have my trusty boots, otherwise my feet would be toast.
Oh, and randomly on the way home, like several miles from where we last left him, we ran into Samba again!  So of course he said it was fate and asked for our phone numbers...but he eventually settled for just giving us his.  I guess if we're ever in the market for good food we now have a contact.
Class tomorrow then...field trip to the Keur Moussa Monastery and Rose Lake on Saturday.  It'll definitely be nice to get away from the city for a day (and that means that I miss one of the laundry days so score for me).  I'll be sure to take (and post) photos for you all to see.
Sending you all sunny vibes from Africa!

February 2

My second attempt to take a UCAD class was foiled on Monday-it seems that the university repeatedly and without apology continues to print and distribute schedules filled with classes that do not actually exist.  Fortunately, after a bit of scrambling, I found a real one (I know it's real because another student here has been there, and because I emailed the professor, who shockingly responded at all, in the affirmative) so now I have a set schedule, and hopefully the Amherst registrar will now stop sending me threatening emails about how I need to submit a schedule.  Sorry I'm not sorry that I'm just living a laid-back, fashionably late Dakar lifestyle these days.
Things are sdefinitely settling into a more regular routine, so I don't have a ton of new things to report...though in the past 3 days, I have been followed at some point by the following things:
a feral dog who decided tojoin me on my morning run
a socially awkward Senegalese student who creeps on the foreign students
2 taxis
a car rapide
a pickup truck full of teenaged boys making kissy noises
and a group of small children shouting "toubab" and demanding that I buy them all juice boxes from a street vendor.  (Not:  juice boxes are not, in fact, boxes.  Rather, I am pretty sure that the containers are the same things that hospitals use as blood bags that hook up to IVs.  Because that's normal here.)
Also a man named Mustafah stopped me in the road and tried to give me Wolof etiquette lessons amidst a torrent of bulldozers and other cinstruction work.  People (and animals, apparently) just have a verrry different conception of what personal space is here.  Actually, there doesn't seem to be any conception of it at all.
But, while it does get overwhelming, I am definitely acclimating...I'm actually finding that, instead of wanting to retreat and have alone time, I am craving other people's company more and more. It's nice to be able to be with people all of the time with no expectations other than proximity.
Also, I discovered that the way to Muhammed's heart (my 4 year old brother) is through his stomach...as many 4 year old boys are apt to do, he would perform such delightful little acts of affection such as coming into my room to dump his trash (often chewed up orange pieces), taking my soccer ball and punting it full force at my mirror, or starting neighborhood-wide chants of "toubabi."  Luckily he's so tiny that I can usually just pick him up and throw him somewhere (in the words of my host mother, "il faut le frapper," "It's a necessity that you smack him.").  However, thanks to my genius mother who packed Swedish fish in my suitcase, we are now friends and he likes to sit, docile as can be, and play catch with me in my room.  So yay for domestic tranquility.
This weekend we have a fieldtrip to...somewhere.  Nobody really seems to be sure, and we are repeatedly told that we will be receiving detailed emails but alas.  I figure I'll just show up at WARC along with the other students on the day of and hopefully we'll all get taken to the same place. 
I feel like when I come back home I will be abslutely useless in terms of functioning in any remotely efficient setting.  I guess we'll see.  But as for right now, I'm thoroughly enjoying the low stress levels so I'm not goign to worry about the long term affects for now.  Off to do some homework but I will write again soon.
Ba ci kanam