A Thousand Little Stories

There are always about a million things that go on in my village that I see everyday and think, 'wow, i could write a whole blog just about that'. But of course, something bigger or better jumps in the way as i sit down to write and it is lost to time. I thought itd be nice to make a quick pass over some of the many things that have happened in the past days and weeks, (even months at this point) that I have not (and probably will not) otherwise mention.


Guitar guy. Ok, first one not in my village. In Dakar actually. Everytime I go to the big long main market in Dakar where lots of tourists walk up and down I get hassled by the same guy. Not sure if he recognises me or just always thinks i am interested for some reason, but i always see him. Down that street you can get things from wood carvings to glass paintings, sunglasses to scarfs, dresses to running shoes, phones and senegalese fabric, its all there. But this always finds me when market shopping is the last thing on my mind. I am headed somewhere or coming back from a meeting or somethign and he follows me. He holds out a couple small senegalese musical instruments. Like little guitars with big round bodies. He starts by telling me some outrageous price twenty, twenty-five mille. I half laugh at his hopeless attempt and walk away and of course then he follows me. I am not even barganing, not saying any price, just 'next time, next time, i have no money now'. And he just keeps lowering it, and lowering it. I am not even talking to him, not looking at him, not encouraging him or anything, I just keep walking. And always, eventually, often right before i about to turn down a side street or go in somewhere, he says 'ok one mille.' And always this makes me hesitate. I mean, they are not the best looking things in the world and they would probably fall apart with more than a small amount of abuse. But at the same time, they arent too bad, a nice little souvenir that could just sit on a mantle somewhere or something. And for two dollars! This always makes me turn and look at him, give a long frowning glance to his little guitars, before turning and going on my way. 'Next time,' I say, 'next time.'

Grat mephloquine dreams. So I have had several good memorable ones, here are a few. One was super dark, german expressionistic - lightning, huge manor on a high craggy plateau, bats, the whole deal. Demon vampire bad guy, me and nerdy sidekick had to subdue him, had him tied to a table but before we could put him out cast a spell that blew up the house and leveled the terrain. Thrilling. Second one, beach with palm trees, rocky brown cliff set back up the beach edged an emerald rainforest. Laboratory pearched near the top of the cliff, long row of glass windows across the front. Down in the surf, in the loudly crashing waves and the white sand, epic, cinematic, an African bull elephant head to head with a T-Rex. Amazing camera angles, ferocious fight. Woke up before the end, I think the elephant was going to win, tried desperately to fall back into the dream, no dice. Third one, was long and dont remember much of it other than that when I woke I thought it was surely the craziest string of events I have ever thought of. At one point, a group of PCV friends and I were sitting around eating jelly beans of unknown flavors. I had a dark green one, thought apple or watermelon or some such flavor. Tried it, was really not sure, then someone found the guide. Sea-turtle... yeah. Other people had ones like tiger, porqupine, moose, and there were non animal ones I dont remember. Mine tasted rubbery, salty, mildly fishy. Dont recommend it.

Tree names. So, I am sitting with a handful of village folks, men, most of them older, not my usual crowd though, but nice neighbors. One points to a nearby baobab, 'do you know its name?' This was one of the first words I learned, of course. I say the word. 'No no,' he says, 'Its name.'I try 'tree?' Wrong again. He tells me all the all the baobabs have individual names. Or, as I learn more percisely in the next few days, most of the big older ones do. As it is in Seereer, the way you say something is famous is to say that it has a name. The smaller ones, less than a couple meters wide, are too babyish to have a name, to have a story. Even some of the big ones just dont have names know even village-wide. I learn the main four in my part of the village, at first stumbling over unfamiliar sounds pushed together when I realize what they mean, its so obvious that i almost laugh out loud. Many are descriptive to their usual flavor of fruit, sweet like sugar or bitter or powdery. Some are related to thier location, the one that sits in a puddle in the rainy season. Others are more just other ranom stuff the tree is known for, one doesnt drop fruit when you throw sticks at it, one is where folks used to dance around, one is named for a guy that fell out of it and died more than sixty years ago (not sure how long ago, before this old guy i talked to was born), one is the monkeys tree cause they always steal the fruit. And the nice thing is all these names roll of the tongue in Seereer pretty well. 'baak koi age' for example, 'the monkeys baobab'. I wanna learn all the ones in my village.

Abdou. My little brother has recently begun to venture into the world of organized, even purposeful speech. He still generally tottles around aimlessly, but he will throw a word or two at you sometimes in a very cute little voice. Recently he was super fussy one night. He cried for a long while, wanting his dad, who was out and hadnt come home from work yet. My other younger brothers did their best to calm him down, but he generally wasnt having it. When dad did come home, he followed him around, holding his pant leg, repeating over and over, 'dad, dad, DAD! ball.' over and over. Eventually, just before dinner, my dad gives in, as is usual in my house. Another brother goes off to the local boutique and comesback with the a mini rubber soccer ball. He carries it around, kicks it uncoordinatedly around, crys when anyone else touches it or gets too close to it, he even refuses to put it down when he goes to eat. He pays more attention to the ball than anything else and in watching it to make sure it doesnt roll away on him, he gets most of his food on his shirt and on the ground in front of him. Then he wants, as is usual, to go to sleep on his dads lap. Well, first off, dad is eating so that is a tricky endevor, but he is persistent and gets up on his knee. But he wants to hold the ball clutched to his chest. He also wants to sleep, but everytime he starts to doze off the ball slips and falls and he starts crying, 'it fell!, dad, dad, DAD! it fell.' And when my dad gets tired of picking it up, Abdou gets so fussy that he rolls himself off my dads lap gets the ball and climbs back up. 'put your ball away in the room until tomorrow?' my dad suggests. No dice. Eventually Abdou falls asleep, both him and dad holding the ball to his chest. The next day the ball pops and Abdou more or less forgets about it.