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