Battle against the 'Toubab'

The perks of living in a small village include a Cheers type familiarity - it's where everybody knows your name. No little kids screaming "white person, give me gift" because you're known, you're one of them. No incredulous stares when you speak Wolof well, or not well, or somewhere in between, because your village is used to you.

Of course, I live in a city, so all bets are off. 

I have to re-explain my purpose, my name, my single marital status, my job, no I don't know how to cook the national dish of rice and fish, no I don't want to buy you a plane ticket to France! - to almost every person I encounter. I think some Senegalese kids are trained from birth to yell "toubab!" ("white person!") whenever they see one. What really gets me is when adults yell too. Come on, people. 

Yesterday I was biking furiously to the Pentagon (my field) and a woman called "toubab!" as I passed. I stopped. I turned around. I biked back. She looked blankly at me. I told her politely that "toubab" was not my name. Would she prefer be called simply "African person" or did she go by something else? Did she, in fact, want to talk to me? Or was she just being vocally observant? Yes, there's a white person! Ta da. I got back on my bike to leave. She waved and said "bon voyage, toubab!" as I biked away. Lesson decidedly not learned. 

There's a French grocery store near to my house that sells a lot of my favorite foods such as Pringles, gummy bears, Twix bars, fruit yogurt and olive loaf. (As I write that, I realize I sound like a bizarre five year old. Can't help it...) This store, besides being the reason I don't have any money ever, is also a local hang out for the talibe gangs of Tamba. You'll remember, the talibes are the young Koranic students who are told to beg most of the day, to learn humility. Well, they see me a lot as I come in and out of this store, so I finally taught them all my Senegalese name (Aida) to avoid the typical "toubab" situation. Somehow this information spread all over Tamba so that when I see a talibe now, even in the far reaches of the city, he will know my name! I was pretty impressed by this until another female volunteer came into the regional house one day wondering why all the talibes were calling her "Aida". Drat. 

In my somewhat reluctant role as the white foreigner, I can get away with things that normal Senegalese eschew. Having a pet, for example. Pets here are very rare; most animals serve one sole purpose, I think you can guess what. 

It can be hard to see the too-skinny cows and goats and know where their destiny lies. Of course, there is something more honest in this type of butchering than in buying a pack of chicken breasts at Stop&Shop. At least you know where the meat came from.(Or is that worse? I can't decide.) Unfortunately you don't often know which part of the animal it came from...and that is how I ended up eating sheep testicles last week. Not good. Not even remotely good. 

In March I arrived in Tamba towing my tiny black cat, unnerving half the neighborhood and earning myself a reputation right from the start. Now it's September and I've adopted a puppy to live at the Pentagon, so he can run free in the field and keep us company as we work. I recently took him on a walk through the small village area next to the field and earned myself a whole new reputation. It's important to remember that as strange as Senegal seems to me, I'm giving just as much as I receive; in terms of weirdness, of course. Yes - I'm pretty sure most of Tamba thinks I am very weird. But there are worse things!

Until next time, 

<3 Phoebe