Well, I'm writing this from the departures lounge of Sydney's domestic terminal as I await my Virgin Blue flight to Cairns this afternoon. I made it here in the end, but the last 48 hours have probably been some of my roughest since the 'Typhoid in Africa' incident...
Firstly, home was great. Being back in Hatch End, if only for 5 nights was lovely - you really do appreciate home comforts so much more after being in a place so alien to your usual surroundings. My family were genuinely happy to see me (I'm confident they had doubts as to my returning from Senegal in one piece) and I just enjoyed the simple pleasures of bathing indoors, washing machines and a distinct lack of mosquitoes. I did have a lot to get done though - law school acceptances, fighting off the Student Loans Company, hostels and buses to book for Oz etc. - it was far from a lazy few days, though I confess, I failed to complete all my tasks.
Wednesday night Barney flew in and I went to pick him up from Heathrow (of which I am now a pro at mastering all the damn lanes etc). I intend to maintain a gush-free nature to my blog but obviously I was pretty damn excited to see him, it having been almost 8 weeks since he was in London. Anyways, all was well that evening, we got back home fine, had a lovely meal and an early night in anticipation of our belated Valentine's day of fun the next day. Alas, our fun-packed trip into town never happened.
Barney's company had been hit earlier that week with an awful stomach virus that had seen more than 30 of them off sick that day. And of course, Barney having not seen his girlfriend in almost 2 months, was doomed to get it too. So Thursday was spent with me faffing about on my laptop getting little done, and poor Barney in bed all day. Still, we were lucky in that he seemed to have mostly recovered by Friday night and we went for a lovely meal at Black Pepper restaurant in Hatch End (Harrow people - go eat there, it's lovely!), and on to two of his uni friends' wedding the following afternoon in town (NB. Malaysian weddings are infinitely more beautiful than English ones)!
Anyway, all seemed fine in the run up to my departure on Sunday morning. Barney was better, I had mostly finished everything I needed to do, and I had managed not to catch the bug from him... or so I thought.
I left London on Sunday morning for Heathrow on a Qantas flight that I was half nervous and half excited about (22 hour flight versus infinite choice of movies to amuse myself)! The first few hours of the flight were fine. I was lucky enough to have a window seat with no one next to me or in front of me (I hate when people lean their seats back), and I amused myself by reading my East Coast Australia Lonely Planet book and watching and laughing out loud at a few episodes of Family Guy (unedited and fantastic as always). However, I had clearly not earned my right to be disease free for this part of my travels, despite my fairly good effort in Senegal to get it out of my system.
I threw up. Lots. The plane was going through a particularly rough bit of turbulence at that particular moment and so I was unable to leg it to the bathroom. I did get to the sick bag in time though. Alas, being similarly unable to go to the bathroom to empty its contents, the bag eventually broke and spilled all over the footspace of the seat next to me - ew ew ew! I was absolutely mortified. I'd tried to get up and wave frantically at the air stewards to get them to throw me one of those fantastic, strong-looking yellow plastic bags they seem to have everywhere, however, I was met with shaking heads, gestures to sit down and a final "passengers are reminded that whilst the seatbelt sign is on..." announcement. The nice lady in the row next to me sympathised however. She threw me a newspaper to cover up the mess and passed me a box of mints. Still, I was so embarrassed.
The mess was cleared up by a poor air steward who insisted it was fine and happened all the time. Still, there was more to come. The leg to Singapore (our 40 minute stopover) was 12 hours long and I spent a good deal of it filling up various other sick bags that I acquired from the secret stash in the bathroom (though this time I was able to empty them pre-disaster spillage), and I became increasingly dehydrated and faint. I eventually told the chief flight attendant that I wasn't sure I could fly on to Sydney and what were my options re getting a later connection. He asked me a few questions, and after finding out that I'd just returned from West Africa the week before, seemed to air on the side of caution and advised me to consult a Doctor at Singapore airport.
After umming about the cost of it all, I came down on the side of not passing out on the 7 hour final leg to Sydney and infecting everyone else, and saw a doctor at the airport. The cabin crew were fantastic at arranging everything and I was met at the cabin door by a guy with a wheelchair to take me to the medical centre. After initially insisting that I could walk, after lagging behind the guy so much as I was feeling unsteady, I succumbed and went for the chair (mildly fun even when ill in case you were wondering). I was seen relatively quickly by the doctor there who said I had a high fever, was severely de-hyrdrated, had an infection of some sorts and was most definitely not fit to fly yet (you need an actual certificate to prove this for the airline).
So I lay in the medical centre for a few hours, calling my family/Barney to update them, inbetween falling asleep/drinking re-hydration salt solutions. Eventually I was transferred to a lounge with a bed, then a transit hotel within the airport, where I slept for lord knows how many hours, inbetween getting confused about what time it was (I hadn't anticipated needing to know what the time difference was in Singapore!) and when to take the million drugs the doctor had proscribed me. Still, I made it on to a later flight, and landed in Sydney this morning only about 12 hours later than scheduled. I still feel a bit dodgy but am so drugged up on stuff that I think I should be ok for my Cairns flight this afternoon. Not sure my bus tour starting tomorrow at 7:30am will be happening though...! Just a bit gutted at having to be on yet more medicine and not getting to see Maria last night, who (bless her) had planned to come and meet me at the airport.
Still, I anticipate fun times in Oz come the end of the week, when I hope to be back to some state of normal. We'll see though. So far Sydney is lovely, and everyone has been very helpful, except the crazy man from my flight in this morning, who on the way through to baggage reclaim, thought it would be funny to grab me and tell me I was under arrest, then waffle on about crap - weird. But yes, Australia = good so far. Hopefully Cairns will give me the sunshine I've been craving all this week too!
More soon, hopefully when I'm not quite as diseased!
Tuesday 25 March 2008
Thursday 20 March 2008
Back home and my last weekend in Senegal (should have posted this a few days ago)
Well, I survived Africa, typhoid, bush taxis and 'LE FEU', and have managed to get back to London in one piece.
My flight home was actually very good, and after landing in Madrid on time, and easyJet being nice, I was able to get on an earlier flight home and was back in my house in Hatch End by 11am Tuesday morning - not bad considering I'd only flown out of Dakar 11 hours earlier! Had I not been able to get on an earlier flight, I would have been stuck in Madrid airport for 5 hours and wouldn't have been home until the afternoon, so all in all, a very good run!
Home is pretty much how I left it. Though our extension is now quite far along and there's now a new kitchen roof under my bedroom window - slightly disorientating having not seen the work progress! I'm also feeling the weather pretty hard - when I left Dakar it was 35 degrees, and so the cold has been something of an unpleasant shock! Still, once I leave for Sydney on Sunday, I'll be pretty much guaranteed nice weather until July when I come back (bar New Zealand in April/May possibly), and so I shouldn't really complain.
My last weekend in Senegal was pretty good. Friday evening, Megan, Helena, Sarah and I saw a Belgian film at the French Institute in town - it wasn't cheerful (or possibly even very good), but it was still nice to go to the cinema. We got dinner afterwards at a lovely African restaurant called Chez Loutcha, who did a mean Yassa (my favourite Senegalese dish - chicken in onion and lemon sauce with rice), and then they went on to a bar and I went home, since I was still recovering from being housebound and ill all week.
Saturday we went on a mini day trip to Lac Rose, a lake about an hour and a half outside of Dakar famous for it's pink hue due to its salt content. SYTO (the organisation responsible for us over there) actually paid for it and took us there which was about the only good thing they've done for us since we've been there. It was a good thing too as if we'd paid for it ourselves I think we would have been quite annoyed - it was a bit of a disappointment, and anyone can see from the pictures that it wasn't very pink. And there was the usual horde of sellers prowling the shores of the lake attempting to force hideous pieces of artwork and jewellery on us, whilst trying to start conversations in the little English they knew - I've never been asked my name more aggressively. Nonetheless, it was still nice to go on an excursion with all the volunteers. We found a nice cafe to sit in for an hour and had a drink, before heading back into town. We travelled there in a sept place that SYTO had hired for the day (see previous entry for what this is!), and on the way back I managed to wangle a seat in the middle row which is far more preferable to the back row - a real squish! But other than that it wasn't a bad journey as long as I didn't watch the road too much - Senegalese drivers are, as mentioned before, MAD!
When we got back to town we went for another meal together and then went on to the nicest ice cream place in Dakar. Having not eaten properly all week from being ill, this made a pretty damn good end to the day!
Sunday, was supposed to me my final full day in Dakar and so me, Megan and Helena had planned to go to a fancy swimming pool/bar/restaurant/casino place along the coastal road into town, and pretty much just chill for the entire afternoon (obviously, topping up my tan for my pending return to the UK). Unfortunately there was a posh buffet going on that day and so it would have cost us about £20 to use the pool - not happening! We tried another couple of hotels in town and eventually found a good one that would let us use the pool for free if we ate in their restaurant - quite a good deal in the end. The food was good and we got at least an hour or so in the sun by the beautifully quiet pool, before the shadows from the neighbouring tower blocks put an end to our sunbathing time. Still, it was a nice afternoon in the end - Hotel Faidherbe recommended anyway!
We went on to Sandaga market in town just to browse, but I made the mistake of getting into a haggling war over a gift for Barney, and after deciding not to buy the item in question, still got stalked up and down the market. We took it in good humour but poor Megan got blamed for me not buying the item and one crazy old man decided that I was nice, and she was clearly a racist. And a 'sale blanche' to boot. Lovely. For some reason the Senegalese street hawks think that calling you racist if you ignore them/aren't interested in what they're selling, is the sure fire way to make you part with your money. Luckily we saw the funny side of it anyway.
My last day in Dakar, I rose bright and early to go to school for the last time, given that there had been a strike all of last week. I got there, just after 8am and yet again there was some kind of holiday and the school was closing. Apparently it was something to do with one of the Mouride brotherhoods(?) or something, but regardless, I reckon they just couldn't be bothered to open school properly for a couple of days before closing for 3 weeks on Wednesday for the Easter holidays! Nevertheless, I was able to see a few of my class who had turned up to school anyway, and gave them some gifts which they were really appreciative of. It did make me sad that I didn't get a proper final lesson with them though.
I went straight from school into Dakar to buy some last minute things and generally take some photos of town before leaving that evening. I failed miserably in this last respect and on going through my photos now at home, realised I have not one photo of Dakar street life - a poor effort. The problem is the people - they have really strong objections to having photos taken of them on the basis that you're going to take them home and make lots of money off them. Not true, obviously, but I think I just didn't want the abuse on my last day there. Or the demands for money. Knowing that I was going home made me feel more positive about my feelings on the city and I didn't want to ruin my rose-tinted perspective!
At lunch, I met Kat (a friend of a friend of Sarah's from Wales who was out there doing a photography project for 2 weeks) and Helena at La Veranda in town, a lovely little air conditioned(!) place that does good paninis. Was definitely a bit emotional saying goodbye afterwards - crazy considering I've only known my fellow 'toubabs' a few weeks! However I think there being so few of us made us out there made us feel like we were 'in it together', and so friendships were more intense.
Anyway, I got home mid-afternoon, and began the packing extravaganza that was squeezing everything into my rucksack. I came home with less definitely, considering a lot of what I'd brought out were gifts for people over there, but somehow without Caroline's help that I had the night before I left, packing was far more difficult! Still, I managed to get it all in (though lifting it was amusing) and after fairly relaxed goodbyes with Madame D and Alain, they hailed a cab for me and I went on to the airport. It felt quite surreal knowing I was going to be home pretty soon and I did feel a kind of sadness at leaving. Helena rang me in the cab as well which made me tear up a bit. Still, I know I'll go back one day.
Anyways, more soon, probably from Sydney/Cairns!
My flight home was actually very good, and after landing in Madrid on time, and easyJet being nice, I was able to get on an earlier flight home and was back in my house in Hatch End by 11am Tuesday morning - not bad considering I'd only flown out of Dakar 11 hours earlier! Had I not been able to get on an earlier flight, I would have been stuck in Madrid airport for 5 hours and wouldn't have been home until the afternoon, so all in all, a very good run!
Home is pretty much how I left it. Though our extension is now quite far along and there's now a new kitchen roof under my bedroom window - slightly disorientating having not seen the work progress! I'm also feeling the weather pretty hard - when I left Dakar it was 35 degrees, and so the cold has been something of an unpleasant shock! Still, once I leave for Sydney on Sunday, I'll be pretty much guaranteed nice weather until July when I come back (bar New Zealand in April/May possibly), and so I shouldn't really complain.
My last weekend in Senegal was pretty good. Friday evening, Megan, Helena, Sarah and I saw a Belgian film at the French Institute in town - it wasn't cheerful (or possibly even very good), but it was still nice to go to the cinema. We got dinner afterwards at a lovely African restaurant called Chez Loutcha, who did a mean Yassa (my favourite Senegalese dish - chicken in onion and lemon sauce with rice), and then they went on to a bar and I went home, since I was still recovering from being housebound and ill all week.
Saturday we went on a mini day trip to Lac Rose, a lake about an hour and a half outside of Dakar famous for it's pink hue due to its salt content. SYTO (the organisation responsible for us over there) actually paid for it and took us there which was about the only good thing they've done for us since we've been there. It was a good thing too as if we'd paid for it ourselves I think we would have been quite annoyed - it was a bit of a disappointment, and anyone can see from the pictures that it wasn't very pink. And there was the usual horde of sellers prowling the shores of the lake attempting to force hideous pieces of artwork and jewellery on us, whilst trying to start conversations in the little English they knew - I've never been asked my name more aggressively. Nonetheless, it was still nice to go on an excursion with all the volunteers. We found a nice cafe to sit in for an hour and had a drink, before heading back into town. We travelled there in a sept place that SYTO had hired for the day (see previous entry for what this is!), and on the way back I managed to wangle a seat in the middle row which is far more preferable to the back row - a real squish! But other than that it wasn't a bad journey as long as I didn't watch the road too much - Senegalese drivers are, as mentioned before, MAD!
When we got back to town we went for another meal together and then went on to the nicest ice cream place in Dakar. Having not eaten properly all week from being ill, this made a pretty damn good end to the day!
Sunday, was supposed to me my final full day in Dakar and so me, Megan and Helena had planned to go to a fancy swimming pool/bar/restaurant/casino place along the coastal road into town, and pretty much just chill for the entire afternoon (obviously, topping up my tan for my pending return to the UK). Unfortunately there was a posh buffet going on that day and so it would have cost us about £20 to use the pool - not happening! We tried another couple of hotels in town and eventually found a good one that would let us use the pool for free if we ate in their restaurant - quite a good deal in the end. The food was good and we got at least an hour or so in the sun by the beautifully quiet pool, before the shadows from the neighbouring tower blocks put an end to our sunbathing time. Still, it was a nice afternoon in the end - Hotel Faidherbe recommended anyway!
We went on to Sandaga market in town just to browse, but I made the mistake of getting into a haggling war over a gift for Barney, and after deciding not to buy the item in question, still got stalked up and down the market. We took it in good humour but poor Megan got blamed for me not buying the item and one crazy old man decided that I was nice, and she was clearly a racist. And a 'sale blanche' to boot. Lovely. For some reason the Senegalese street hawks think that calling you racist if you ignore them/aren't interested in what they're selling, is the sure fire way to make you part with your money. Luckily we saw the funny side of it anyway.
My last day in Dakar, I rose bright and early to go to school for the last time, given that there had been a strike all of last week. I got there, just after 8am and yet again there was some kind of holiday and the school was closing. Apparently it was something to do with one of the Mouride brotherhoods(?) or something, but regardless, I reckon they just couldn't be bothered to open school properly for a couple of days before closing for 3 weeks on Wednesday for the Easter holidays! Nevertheless, I was able to see a few of my class who had turned up to school anyway, and gave them some gifts which they were really appreciative of. It did make me sad that I didn't get a proper final lesson with them though.
I went straight from school into Dakar to buy some last minute things and generally take some photos of town before leaving that evening. I failed miserably in this last respect and on going through my photos now at home, realised I have not one photo of Dakar street life - a poor effort. The problem is the people - they have really strong objections to having photos taken of them on the basis that you're going to take them home and make lots of money off them. Not true, obviously, but I think I just didn't want the abuse on my last day there. Or the demands for money. Knowing that I was going home made me feel more positive about my feelings on the city and I didn't want to ruin my rose-tinted perspective!
At lunch, I met Kat (a friend of a friend of Sarah's from Wales who was out there doing a photography project for 2 weeks) and Helena at La Veranda in town, a lovely little air conditioned(!) place that does good paninis. Was definitely a bit emotional saying goodbye afterwards - crazy considering I've only known my fellow 'toubabs' a few weeks! However I think there being so few of us made us out there made us feel like we were 'in it together', and so friendships were more intense.
Anyway, I got home mid-afternoon, and began the packing extravaganza that was squeezing everything into my rucksack. I came home with less definitely, considering a lot of what I'd brought out were gifts for people over there, but somehow without Caroline's help that I had the night before I left, packing was far more difficult! Still, I managed to get it all in (though lifting it was amusing) and after fairly relaxed goodbyes with Madame D and Alain, they hailed a cab for me and I went on to the airport. It felt quite surreal knowing I was going to be home pretty soon and I did feel a kind of sadness at leaving. Helena rang me in the cab as well which made me tear up a bit. Still, I know I'll go back one day.
Anyways, more soon, probably from Sydney/Cairns!
Friday 14 March 2008
Bush taxis, love letters, FIRE!!!, typhoid, and yet again grève
Well, it's been appallingy long since I last blogged. I do actually have a good excuse though...
So apparently I have typhoid. Though not the bad kind. I have felt exceedingly rough all week which is all the more sad because I leave Dakar for London in just 3 days time. I had such plans for my final week in Senegal - the theatre, drinks, fantastic lessons with my darling brats at school...alas no, it was not to be. I haven't been majorly ill, but ill enough not to have left my room all week. Still, I have some drugs now which should work, so I'm looking forward to my final weekend here with cautious optimism.
In other news, the last two weeks have been quite busy! I met two other volunteers - Megan and Sarah, and we now seem to have a bit of a volunteer posse which is good. Sarah is in fact from Warwick and here on her year out as she studies French. Apparently there's another girl here from Warwick too, so what with me and Helena (who plans to go there in September) as well, there seems to be a bit of a Warwick epidemic here in Senegal!
Last weekend, Helena, Megan and I ventured down the coast for a change of scenery and quite frankly, some decent beach time. All went well on the journey down. There's a system of bush taxis here that run to all the major towns in the country via Peugot 504s called 'sept places', which is actually quite efficient. Sure, the cars (which take the driver + 7 people, hence sept place) look like they're about to fall apart but the drivers we had on the way there and back were actually quite good. I did have to grip my seat a couple of times when they overtook lorries on a single carriageway though!
Anyway, we left Thursday and ended up in a place called Somone at a tiny hotel with an overexaggerated pool (more a paddling pool) called the Hotel Tamarin. All seemed well enough at first - the lady was incredibly friendly and showed us to a huge studio type apartment which had 2 double rooms, and a mini lounge-kitchenette, complete with fridge and TV. We were quite tired after the journey and had some dinner, then headed up to bed about 9pm. We sat in the lounge, and after contemplating playing cards decided to indulge in a bit of TV... this was where it all went wrong.
After plugging the set in and attempting to turn it on, a horrible hissing noise and smoke started emerging from the offending socket. After briefly standing there and murmuring expletives, it suddenly went whoosh and flames were dancing dangerously close to the oil painting hung above it. Being the brave soul I am, I grabbed my bag and legged it from the place, telling the others to do the same and began screaming "LE FEU! LE FEU!" running into the adjoining restaurant (much to the amusement of the diners). I'll never the forget the panic going through my mind at that point, along the lines of "oh fuck, we've gone and burnt down a hotel". Nonetheless, they got to the fire in time and nothing was damaged except for a nasty black smudge on the wall above the socket. For the next 24 hours that we stayed in Somone, everytime we passed the waiter from the hotel he would insist on mimicking me and screaming in a high pitched voice 'le feu, le feu!'. Screaming 'Fire!' in french just really doesn't seem to have the same urgency it does in english. Still, that was our adventure for the first night. They moved us into one room with an extra mattress on the floor (which was actually cheaper and suited us better) though it did take a while to calm down and for us to get to sleep.
The enxt day we paid up and went to another hotel down the road which we'd discovered through our morning stroll down the beach. The 'Africa Queen' was much more what I had in mind for our weekend of sun, sea and sand, and consisted of a lovely room with proper beds for 3 people, a proper shower with HOT water (oh how I'd missed it) and a TV that didn't explode - all good really. Though we couldn't check in til much later in the day, we were allowed to laze on the private beach at the front of the hotel hassle free (alone worth paying money for) and take advantage of the swimming pool, beach bar and restaurant. A good day!
On the Saturday, we headed to Saly, which is supposed to be the touristy area of the Petite Cote. Sure enough, it was exactly as expected - much like the resorts you find throughout the Med in Europe. However unfortunately, because of the Conference that is taking place in Dakar this week, all the nice/affordable hotels were full and we didn't have much luck haggling for a good room. By this point as well, my typhoid (though unknown as that to me at the time) was starting to kick in, and having thrown up the night before, I spent the day overcoming the most awful stomach cramps. Safe to say anyway, Saly wasn't working for us! We found a cab and headed down to Mbour, the town most southerly to Dakar on our route, and the plan was there to find a nice hotel and then be in the right place to catch a sept place back to dakar on the Sunday.
Unfortunately, knowing little of where exactly to be dropped and a taxi driver who seemed none to sure of the place either, we were dropped off by the fish market and left to our own devices to find a suitable place to stay. Armed with our bible (the Lonely Planet guidebook), which told of a lovely place with cheap rooms and a nice pool not too far from the market, we set off in search. We walked for what felt like an hour, with the hot sand burning our feet and little children running around us pointing and shouting 'toubab' (white person), yet finally turned up and what was without doubt a lovely hotel. It had African charm, a friendly management and a gorgeous looking pool. We thought we had made it. Unfortunately what we hadn't counted on was the hotel being full. More annoyingly so still, we realised it was full with the same people who had just packed up and left from our last hotel in Somone - such bad luck! It was late by now and not fancying spending more money on a hotel that we wouldn't have time to enjoy after finding it, we decided to head back to Dakar, where we all shared my bed for the night after indulging in a (relatively) expensive meal at a swanky place in town.
Sunday we did some haggling at the market but generally had a chilled out day - though it's a Muslim country, practically everything closes in Dakar on a Sunday, so there was little to do. The next day I rose bright and early, despite still feeling rough, and ventured to school at 8am sharp. What did find, there was yet again another strike, though this tim, for the whole week! Pissed off as I was at the time, thinking my last week here would be spent wasted, it's actually worked out quite well considering my being ill. Being off sick in my last week woiuld have looked quite bad, especially after taking the Friday off for a holiday at the weekend!
So that's it I think. Last week was pretty uneventful despite meeting the other volunteers and doing normal teaching. Though I did receive a love letter which was quite amusing. One of the guards at the place where Helena works felt the need to put pen to paper and declare his undying love for me despite only seeing me once and our exchange being limited to "merci" "de rien" after his opening the gate for me. How random Senegalese men are.
And now I await the weekend cautiously. I hope to go to Lac Rose tomorrow, and on Sunday intend to spend the day lazing by the pool at Casino Terrou Bi in town. We'll see though. I'm supposed to stay out of the sun with the antibiotics that I'm on, but I'm determined to arrive back in London on Tuesday with a decent tan! It may be my imagination but I feel like my bronzed arms are starting to look pale again!! We'll see anyway. Back home on Tuesday so will probably write again then.
So apparently I have typhoid. Though not the bad kind. I have felt exceedingly rough all week which is all the more sad because I leave Dakar for London in just 3 days time. I had such plans for my final week in Senegal - the theatre, drinks, fantastic lessons with my darling brats at school...alas no, it was not to be. I haven't been majorly ill, but ill enough not to have left my room all week. Still, I have some drugs now which should work, so I'm looking forward to my final weekend here with cautious optimism.
In other news, the last two weeks have been quite busy! I met two other volunteers - Megan and Sarah, and we now seem to have a bit of a volunteer posse which is good. Sarah is in fact from Warwick and here on her year out as she studies French. Apparently there's another girl here from Warwick too, so what with me and Helena (who plans to go there in September) as well, there seems to be a bit of a Warwick epidemic here in Senegal!
Last weekend, Helena, Megan and I ventured down the coast for a change of scenery and quite frankly, some decent beach time. All went well on the journey down. There's a system of bush taxis here that run to all the major towns in the country via Peugot 504s called 'sept places', which is actually quite efficient. Sure, the cars (which take the driver + 7 people, hence sept place) look like they're about to fall apart but the drivers we had on the way there and back were actually quite good. I did have to grip my seat a couple of times when they overtook lorries on a single carriageway though!
Anyway, we left Thursday and ended up in a place called Somone at a tiny hotel with an overexaggerated pool (more a paddling pool) called the Hotel Tamarin. All seemed well enough at first - the lady was incredibly friendly and showed us to a huge studio type apartment which had 2 double rooms, and a mini lounge-kitchenette, complete with fridge and TV. We were quite tired after the journey and had some dinner, then headed up to bed about 9pm. We sat in the lounge, and after contemplating playing cards decided to indulge in a bit of TV... this was where it all went wrong.
After plugging the set in and attempting to turn it on, a horrible hissing noise and smoke started emerging from the offending socket. After briefly standing there and murmuring expletives, it suddenly went whoosh and flames were dancing dangerously close to the oil painting hung above it. Being the brave soul I am, I grabbed my bag and legged it from the place, telling the others to do the same and began screaming "LE FEU! LE FEU!" running into the adjoining restaurant (much to the amusement of the diners). I'll never the forget the panic going through my mind at that point, along the lines of "oh fuck, we've gone and burnt down a hotel". Nonetheless, they got to the fire in time and nothing was damaged except for a nasty black smudge on the wall above the socket. For the next 24 hours that we stayed in Somone, everytime we passed the waiter from the hotel he would insist on mimicking me and screaming in a high pitched voice 'le feu, le feu!'. Screaming 'Fire!' in french just really doesn't seem to have the same urgency it does in english. Still, that was our adventure for the first night. They moved us into one room with an extra mattress on the floor (which was actually cheaper and suited us better) though it did take a while to calm down and for us to get to sleep.
The enxt day we paid up and went to another hotel down the road which we'd discovered through our morning stroll down the beach. The 'Africa Queen' was much more what I had in mind for our weekend of sun, sea and sand, and consisted of a lovely room with proper beds for 3 people, a proper shower with HOT water (oh how I'd missed it) and a TV that didn't explode - all good really. Though we couldn't check in til much later in the day, we were allowed to laze on the private beach at the front of the hotel hassle free (alone worth paying money for) and take advantage of the swimming pool, beach bar and restaurant. A good day!
On the Saturday, we headed to Saly, which is supposed to be the touristy area of the Petite Cote. Sure enough, it was exactly as expected - much like the resorts you find throughout the Med in Europe. However unfortunately, because of the Conference that is taking place in Dakar this week, all the nice/affordable hotels were full and we didn't have much luck haggling for a good room. By this point as well, my typhoid (though unknown as that to me at the time) was starting to kick in, and having thrown up the night before, I spent the day overcoming the most awful stomach cramps. Safe to say anyway, Saly wasn't working for us! We found a cab and headed down to Mbour, the town most southerly to Dakar on our route, and the plan was there to find a nice hotel and then be in the right place to catch a sept place back to dakar on the Sunday.
Unfortunately, knowing little of where exactly to be dropped and a taxi driver who seemed none to sure of the place either, we were dropped off by the fish market and left to our own devices to find a suitable place to stay. Armed with our bible (the Lonely Planet guidebook), which told of a lovely place with cheap rooms and a nice pool not too far from the market, we set off in search. We walked for what felt like an hour, with the hot sand burning our feet and little children running around us pointing and shouting 'toubab' (white person), yet finally turned up and what was without doubt a lovely hotel. It had African charm, a friendly management and a gorgeous looking pool. We thought we had made it. Unfortunately what we hadn't counted on was the hotel being full. More annoyingly so still, we realised it was full with the same people who had just packed up and left from our last hotel in Somone - such bad luck! It was late by now and not fancying spending more money on a hotel that we wouldn't have time to enjoy after finding it, we decided to head back to Dakar, where we all shared my bed for the night after indulging in a (relatively) expensive meal at a swanky place in town.
Sunday we did some haggling at the market but generally had a chilled out day - though it's a Muslim country, practically everything closes in Dakar on a Sunday, so there was little to do. The next day I rose bright and early, despite still feeling rough, and ventured to school at 8am sharp. What did find, there was yet again another strike, though this tim, for the whole week! Pissed off as I was at the time, thinking my last week here would be spent wasted, it's actually worked out quite well considering my being ill. Being off sick in my last week woiuld have looked quite bad, especially after taking the Friday off for a holiday at the weekend!
So that's it I think. Last week was pretty uneventful despite meeting the other volunteers and doing normal teaching. Though I did receive a love letter which was quite amusing. One of the guards at the place where Helena works felt the need to put pen to paper and declare his undying love for me despite only seeing me once and our exchange being limited to "merci" "de rien" after his opening the gate for me. How random Senegalese men are.
And now I await the weekend cautiously. I hope to go to Lac Rose tomorrow, and on Sunday intend to spend the day lazing by the pool at Casino Terrou Bi in town. We'll see though. I'm supposed to stay out of the sun with the antibiotics that I'm on, but I'm determined to arrive back in London on Tuesday with a decent tan! It may be my imagination but I feel like my bronzed arms are starting to look pale again!! We'll see anyway. Back home on Tuesday so will probably write again then.
Sunday 2 March 2008
02/03/2008
So another week has gone by, and I thought a new blog was in order. Kept quite busy this week so I think I should have lots to say, but we'll see. I may just waffle into oblivion...
The week started with, as usual, me going to school for 8am on Monday, ready and willing to shape young minds. Unfortunately I turned up to find about 20 pupils, no teachers, and all the classrooms locked...
I discovered it was on account of a pilgrimage to a town called Touba, just under 200km East of Dakar. As mentioned previously, Senegal is predominantly an Islamic country and within this, there are different brotherhoods where the faith is channelled through certain saintly intermediaries (marabouts). They hold a kind of divine position within the country's religious sphere and on the anniversary of Cheikh Amadou Bamba's return from exile (one of said spiritual leaders), the Senegalese flock to Touba to celebrate the day. It's apparently quite impressive to observe, with all the permanent residents of Touba opening their doors for people to stay the night. However, relative to me and my placement here, the value of this random piece of information is that school wouldn't commence until Thursday and so I essentially had 3 days off! I somehow managed to bare this prospect of no work quite well, and busied myself with various activities (see below). However, my first day back on thursday was less than great.
I said in another one of my blogs that the teachers here hit children should they need to discipline them. Thursday in particular, Monsieur rounded up a handful of pupils who hadn't done the work (or had, but not to his satisfaction), and began beating them with his riding crop (like a whip but a long strip of leather). To be fair, despite my objections, most of the kids don't complain. They may yelp a bit whilst it's happening, but generally, they take it as a normal part of their schooling and sit back down quietly afterwards. However, today one girl in particular was so scared of being hit that she ran away from the teacher and was crying her eyes out in fear - it was horrible. Did Monsieur take pity on a crying 11 year old, clearly frightened out of her mind? No - he simply got 4 older boys to hold her down whilst he proceeded to beat her ignoring her crying screams. It was really was unbearable to watch, and so I got up, said "Pardon Monsieur, je dois quitter la salle" and left. This was about 11 o'clock, so there was still 2 hours left of class, but I walked right out of the school, straight home.
It's really hard to explain how much it upset me, but it was honestly so distressing to watch - like watching someone get beaten up in front of you and being expected not to care. Safe to say, I did calm down a bit and went back to school for the afternoon session where nothing was said, but I really don't know how I'm going to handle it next time he does it. I understand that when in another country you have to respect their culture and way of doing things, but at what point do you draw the line between culture and outright abuse? Obviously it's a slippery slope that I am less than keen to get into debate over with the school, but I really don't know whether I should be more understanding of the way they teach here, or if it's my 'moral obligation' to be more forceful (or at least vocal) in my objections.
The teaching conditions here are hard - education isn't compulsory, resources are minimal, and the average class size is 60 - very different from the education I'm used to, and perhaps merits making an allowance for slightly harsher methods. However, when a country has a literacy rate of less than 50%, I'm inclined to argue that perhaps we've got the right idea and they haven't... But again, it's a slippery slope and a potentially inflamatory opinion to hold whilst I'm here. And I must admit, pupils defintiely respect their teachers here more. But anyway, we'll see what happens over the next few weeks.
In other teaching news, the pupils are still struggling with atrocious pronunciation in my English classes! I'm even resorting to transcribing some popular songs they know (Umbrella - Rhianna, is a favourite here!) to try and show them how the words are supposed to sound! In less amusing news, the teacher whose class I'm working with (Monsieur something) is getting a little too creepy for my liking, and I'm fairly sure was coming on to me. He wanted me to write down my address for him (this was before the barbaric child beating incident), and I did so, on the basis that if I said I didn't know it, he would simply walk me home to work it out! However I did write it down wrong deliberately and when he further asked for my number later in the week, I said I didn't have one. But yeah, that's a bit uncomfortable.
I was also paid a visit this week by a guy from the organisation who set up my placement, who wants me to help out with his after school club - ATPE (Association Tout Pour les Enfants). Aside from being less than impressed at him turning up in only my 4th week, with not much time to go (he said sorry, he'd been too busy to come and see me), I went along on Wednesday and it was actually really fun. The kids are lovely and Moise (pronounced like Morris but without the 'r's), the leader, is so good with the kids. He feels really strongly about children's rights as well and a good hour was spent making the kids memorise the 10 principle rights of the Convention on the Rights of the Child - a subject clearly totally up my street! So I'm hoping to at least make a bit of an impact there since I don't feel I'm making much of one at school.
On my days off from school, aside from catching up on sleep, laundry and room cleaning(!), I went to visit my friend Helena at her volunteer placement, a place called Empire des Enfants. It's a place for street children to sleep, learn, and pretty much have fun. It's a really great place that does a lot of good, and I have to say, it's somewhere I'd much rather be working. Street children is a real problem here, with the streets littered with children begging for money (which also links back to education not being compulsory here) and so there's a lot of scope to really make a difference.
Then on Wednesday, after studying the online bus timetable and asking the nice bus conductor to tell me when to get off, I went to visit the British Council office in Dakar. Having worked in the London office for 5 months before coming here, it really was so nice to be in a familiar environment. Unfortunately, the scope of the BC's programmes isn't as wide as I'd hoped here, and so I couldn't get some literature on international links for my school here. However, after mentioning to the assistant there that I used to work for BC London, he sent me through to the offices to speak with one of the project managers. She was so nice and when it turned out that she lives near me, gave me her home number and said I could call anytime whilst I'm here. And she told me of an event happening at one of the high schools in the suburbs celebrating their Connecting Classrooms link with Malawi and Leeds. She said I could go along, and, going on a whim, said I would! I went on Saturday and aside from confusing the BC Director of the Dakar office, who had no idea who I was and why I was there (she warmed up later though and was v nice!), I had a really good time. The school were so welcoming and happy that I wanted to see their displays, that I felt quite ashamed for writing off much of Senegal's population on the basis of the people you can encounter in Dakar - it's nice to be reminded that not everyone is trying to get into your purse/pants!
The journey there also involved a 30 minute comedy journey in a taxi, with a guy who insisted that even though I had a husband, I still needed a Senegalese husband as well, as to "coucher tout seul" is not good. This kind of joking I could handle, but you will have noticed that I've this week upgraded my fiancé to my husband. Whilst it's not an entirely convincing lie, I've decided that if I'm going to have to lie, I might as well go the whole hog!
Nightlife this week has been pretty fun. Helena and I, and some other volunteers, went to a bar called Just 4 U a few times this week. It's pricey for Dakar but nothing compared to London prices, so we had a nice time. It was so good to have a glass of wine having not drunk anything for a month! Then last night (Saturday), we went on to a beach party happening at the diving centre in town (Oceanium) that had a really good international crowd. It's crazy, sometimes you can feel like the only foreigner in Dakar, and yet here there were hundreds of French/Belgian/Canadian/Moroccan/American people there - I think they must all hide during the week. It was really fun though. Nightlife here doesn't really get going until 1-2am and unfortunately I only lasted until 3:30. Still, was good to go out, speak english (woo!) and drink/dance for a night.
Today, after sleeping off last night, Helena and I ventured to Ile de Madeleine, an island/national park off the coast. We had a great day, clambering over rocks, seeing random birds (birdspotting is a big thing in Senegal!) and generally chilling at the beautiful lagoon there. I hopefully topped up my tan a bit as well :) Unfortunately, whilst wading through the lagoon to get to a nice looking spot of beach across the way, one of my flip flop straps broke. Having nothing to keep the shoe in place, I had to resort to sporting a rather fetching freezer bag/hairclip arrangement on my foot on the way home, but I don't think too many people noticed. Still, a good day!
Next weekend is Helena and I's trip down the coast to see some lovely beaches, and generally have a 'proper holiday weekend', so I'm quite excited about that. In the mean time though I'll be teaching Senegalese children how to conjugate english verbs - fun fun fun.
More soon...!
The week started with, as usual, me going to school for 8am on Monday, ready and willing to shape young minds. Unfortunately I turned up to find about 20 pupils, no teachers, and all the classrooms locked...
I discovered it was on account of a pilgrimage to a town called Touba, just under 200km East of Dakar. As mentioned previously, Senegal is predominantly an Islamic country and within this, there are different brotherhoods where the faith is channelled through certain saintly intermediaries (marabouts). They hold a kind of divine position within the country's religious sphere and on the anniversary of Cheikh Amadou Bamba's return from exile (one of said spiritual leaders), the Senegalese flock to Touba to celebrate the day. It's apparently quite impressive to observe, with all the permanent residents of Touba opening their doors for people to stay the night. However, relative to me and my placement here, the value of this random piece of information is that school wouldn't commence until Thursday and so I essentially had 3 days off! I somehow managed to bare this prospect of no work quite well, and busied myself with various activities (see below). However, my first day back on thursday was less than great.
I said in another one of my blogs that the teachers here hit children should they need to discipline them. Thursday in particular, Monsieur rounded up a handful of pupils who hadn't done the work (or had, but not to his satisfaction), and began beating them with his riding crop (like a whip but a long strip of leather). To be fair, despite my objections, most of the kids don't complain. They may yelp a bit whilst it's happening, but generally, they take it as a normal part of their schooling and sit back down quietly afterwards. However, today one girl in particular was so scared of being hit that she ran away from the teacher and was crying her eyes out in fear - it was horrible. Did Monsieur take pity on a crying 11 year old, clearly frightened out of her mind? No - he simply got 4 older boys to hold her down whilst he proceeded to beat her ignoring her crying screams. It was really was unbearable to watch, and so I got up, said "Pardon Monsieur, je dois quitter la salle" and left. This was about 11 o'clock, so there was still 2 hours left of class, but I walked right out of the school, straight home.
It's really hard to explain how much it upset me, but it was honestly so distressing to watch - like watching someone get beaten up in front of you and being expected not to care. Safe to say, I did calm down a bit and went back to school for the afternoon session where nothing was said, but I really don't know how I'm going to handle it next time he does it. I understand that when in another country you have to respect their culture and way of doing things, but at what point do you draw the line between culture and outright abuse? Obviously it's a slippery slope that I am less than keen to get into debate over with the school, but I really don't know whether I should be more understanding of the way they teach here, or if it's my 'moral obligation' to be more forceful (or at least vocal) in my objections.
The teaching conditions here are hard - education isn't compulsory, resources are minimal, and the average class size is 60 - very different from the education I'm used to, and perhaps merits making an allowance for slightly harsher methods. However, when a country has a literacy rate of less than 50%, I'm inclined to argue that perhaps we've got the right idea and they haven't... But again, it's a slippery slope and a potentially inflamatory opinion to hold whilst I'm here. And I must admit, pupils defintiely respect their teachers here more. But anyway, we'll see what happens over the next few weeks.
In other teaching news, the pupils are still struggling with atrocious pronunciation in my English classes! I'm even resorting to transcribing some popular songs they know (Umbrella - Rhianna, is a favourite here!) to try and show them how the words are supposed to sound! In less amusing news, the teacher whose class I'm working with (Monsieur something) is getting a little too creepy for my liking, and I'm fairly sure was coming on to me. He wanted me to write down my address for him (this was before the barbaric child beating incident), and I did so, on the basis that if I said I didn't know it, he would simply walk me home to work it out! However I did write it down wrong deliberately and when he further asked for my number later in the week, I said I didn't have one. But yeah, that's a bit uncomfortable.
I was also paid a visit this week by a guy from the organisation who set up my placement, who wants me to help out with his after school club - ATPE (Association Tout Pour les Enfants). Aside from being less than impressed at him turning up in only my 4th week, with not much time to go (he said sorry, he'd been too busy to come and see me), I went along on Wednesday and it was actually really fun. The kids are lovely and Moise (pronounced like Morris but without the 'r's), the leader, is so good with the kids. He feels really strongly about children's rights as well and a good hour was spent making the kids memorise the 10 principle rights of the Convention on the Rights of the Child - a subject clearly totally up my street! So I'm hoping to at least make a bit of an impact there since I don't feel I'm making much of one at school.
On my days off from school, aside from catching up on sleep, laundry and room cleaning(!), I went to visit my friend Helena at her volunteer placement, a place called Empire des Enfants. It's a place for street children to sleep, learn, and pretty much have fun. It's a really great place that does a lot of good, and I have to say, it's somewhere I'd much rather be working. Street children is a real problem here, with the streets littered with children begging for money (which also links back to education not being compulsory here) and so there's a lot of scope to really make a difference.
Then on Wednesday, after studying the online bus timetable and asking the nice bus conductor to tell me when to get off, I went to visit the British Council office in Dakar. Having worked in the London office for 5 months before coming here, it really was so nice to be in a familiar environment. Unfortunately, the scope of the BC's programmes isn't as wide as I'd hoped here, and so I couldn't get some literature on international links for my school here. However, after mentioning to the assistant there that I used to work for BC London, he sent me through to the offices to speak with one of the project managers. She was so nice and when it turned out that she lives near me, gave me her home number and said I could call anytime whilst I'm here. And she told me of an event happening at one of the high schools in the suburbs celebrating their Connecting Classrooms link with Malawi and Leeds. She said I could go along, and, going on a whim, said I would! I went on Saturday and aside from confusing the BC Director of the Dakar office, who had no idea who I was and why I was there (she warmed up later though and was v nice!), I had a really good time. The school were so welcoming and happy that I wanted to see their displays, that I felt quite ashamed for writing off much of Senegal's population on the basis of the people you can encounter in Dakar - it's nice to be reminded that not everyone is trying to get into your purse/pants!
The journey there also involved a 30 minute comedy journey in a taxi, with a guy who insisted that even though I had a husband, I still needed a Senegalese husband as well, as to "coucher tout seul" is not good. This kind of joking I could handle, but you will have noticed that I've this week upgraded my fiancé to my husband. Whilst it's not an entirely convincing lie, I've decided that if I'm going to have to lie, I might as well go the whole hog!
Nightlife this week has been pretty fun. Helena and I, and some other volunteers, went to a bar called Just 4 U a few times this week. It's pricey for Dakar but nothing compared to London prices, so we had a nice time. It was so good to have a glass of wine having not drunk anything for a month! Then last night (Saturday), we went on to a beach party happening at the diving centre in town (Oceanium) that had a really good international crowd. It's crazy, sometimes you can feel like the only foreigner in Dakar, and yet here there were hundreds of French/Belgian/Canadian/Moroccan/American people there - I think they must all hide during the week. It was really fun though. Nightlife here doesn't really get going until 1-2am and unfortunately I only lasted until 3:30. Still, was good to go out, speak english (woo!) and drink/dance for a night.
Today, after sleeping off last night, Helena and I ventured to Ile de Madeleine, an island/national park off the coast. We had a great day, clambering over rocks, seeing random birds (birdspotting is a big thing in Senegal!) and generally chilling at the beautiful lagoon there. I hopefully topped up my tan a bit as well :) Unfortunately, whilst wading through the lagoon to get to a nice looking spot of beach across the way, one of my flip flop straps broke. Having nothing to keep the shoe in place, I had to resort to sporting a rather fetching freezer bag/hairclip arrangement on my foot on the way home, but I don't think too many people noticed. Still, a good day!
Next weekend is Helena and I's trip down the coast to see some lovely beaches, and generally have a 'proper holiday weekend', so I'm quite excited about that. In the mean time though I'll be teaching Senegalese children how to conjugate english verbs - fun fun fun.
More soon...!
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