2012-05-02
Rhythms run through the blood of the Senegalese. As much they depend on their daily dose of thiebudiene, rice and fish, or atayaa, sweet tea, seldom can you find them without music. Radios broadcasting ensembles of drums, some full and steady, others quick and pattering — the nation’s most popular genre, mbalakh — accompany my...
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2012-05-02
In mid-October, the second week in my village, I caught the flu. Fatigued and dehydrated, I arrived at the local clinic, accompanied by my host father. After laying down, I proceeded to doze off. Still, I remember precisely how every few minutes, the blurriness cleared to reveal the distinct faces of members of the village...
Read More2012-01-24
The endless dunes and savanna scrub pass by, as we rumble down winding, dirt roads. Yet I’m hardly aware of the landscape’s warming morning orange and spotty green; rather, I sense only the rhythmic pounding of the rocky road beneath our aging vehicle. Most of all I feel the tranquil pulse of life in the...
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2011-12-21
Tucked away in the north of Dakar surrounded by green lawns and palms trees, the Meridien President Hotel is glaringly different from the swelling, sandy neighborhoods and bustling, littered streets through which our taxi weaves. Within the five-star conference center’s halls, the environment is abuzz with the conversations and presentations by dignitaries, professors, and representatives...
Read More2011-12-12
Silhouetted against a crackling fire, the children chant. To me, the words are a song of dynamic gibberish, though I know them to be beautiful verses of the Koran. The recited text is passed around the circle of restless brothers, sisters, and cousins, one child reading at a time while the rest provide a fervent...
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2011-10-10
Legs churning. Bodies weaving. Ball zooming. Drums beating. Voices calling. Minds rushing. The match has begun. Like the soccer stadium, Senegal is alive with football. Without many words, the world of football has hurriedly welcomed me to a new playing field, a new environment. Similar to my general adaptation in Senegal, my first steps on...
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2011-09-26
“Alhamduliliay!” I say, with a sigh of relief, as my brother, Djibril, and I arrive at home from our long run through the dark yet lively streets of Dakar. He laughs at my Wolof, an Arabic saying meaning “Thanks be to God (Allah).” For once the power is still on at my family’s compound, a collection...
Read More2011-07-06
These days I often find myself on a bus or a train, alone, absorbed in my thoughts, yet my eyes and ears opened to the surroundings. I pick up a bit of a conversation in Spanish here, a mother talking to her young baby there. I look out of the windows over the neighborhoods of...
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