Senegal part 7

We needed to check our email and found a small internet cafe by our hotel that seemed to run 24/7. It was dirty, hot and stuffy inside, but beggars can't be choosers. The computers were all run down and running Windows 95. English-language soap operas blared from radios and many of the people inside spoke English, which I found strange, but rationalised that it was an internet cafe, after all.

Whenever we came to the cafe and there were no computers free, the owner would kick one of the youth off a computer and give us his place. I found that strange, but figured that maybe he was getting free service and that once a paying customer came, they would be given priority. A few times, while waiting, I glanced around at what the others were doing. Most of the other customers were my age, and I was curious as to what Senegalese youth looked at online.

The guy beside me was writing from a yahoo account, enticing people to send him their bank account details in exchange for splitting a large amount of cash due to a disposed minister in some western African country. Another was having cybersex with a guy in the US. Another was searching through pages and pages of returned mail.

Suddenly, I put two and two together. I was in a 419 Scam cafe. I thought this was hillarious, since I had fun spambaiting a scammer earlier in the year. He was supposedly from the Ivory Coast but could not speak a word of French. I eventually got bored and ignored him.

Anyways, I wrote in an email "Hey, guess what! The guy beside me is a 419 scammer! Hah! Guess they are in Senegal as well as in Nigeria and the Ivory Coast." I kept going back to that cafe, even though it was getting dodgier by the second. The internet would cut out randomly, the management was suspicious and the place was filthy.

Then we found another nearby Internet cafe. This one was immaculately clean and sparkling white. The owner smiled and welcomed me when I came, instead of glowering. I loved looking at him. He was tall and regal with dark chocolate brown skin and a pure white floor-length robe. The computers were new and running Windows XP. I glanced around at these customers. They were reading online newspapers, working on college applications and playing video games. A much nicer place, and I enjoyed the time I spent there.

On our last day, I was preparing to go to the market with some of the participants. One of them called me back and said that someone wanted to talk to me. The owner of the first internet cafe stormed out and started screaming obscenities at me.

"You know what you did! How could you do that? Do you know how much trouble you could have caused?"
"Excuse me?"
*censored*
"Excuse me? I don't know what you're talking about!"
*censored*

Suddenly, it dawned on me. He knew that I knew what was going on there.

Another flurry of racial insults started.

"You think that we wouldn't know...you think you're the smart white girl who think's she's smarter than Africans. We're smarter than you. We're smarter than you'll ever be."
"I made a comment in an email."
"DO YOU KNOW WHAT KIND OF DAMAGE YOU COULD HAVE CAUSED???"
"No"
"WE COULD HAVE LOST EVERYTHING"
"I'm sorry"
"You're lucky to be alive. We saw you walking alone last night. We almost kidnapped you and killed you. No one would ever have found your body. But we decided to teach you a lesson, because you're just a stupid white girl who doesn't know any better. You're going to go in there and apologise to each and every person because of the damage you could have caused".

I'm not going to lie, I was pretty shaken up.

So then, he marched me into the internet cafe and made me apologise to a room full of internet scammers. I contemplated doing a mock Rick Mercer-type apology. My common sense got the better of me and I decided to make it as short and as sweet as possible.

"I'm sorry I saw and said things I shouldn't have. I did not know how much damage I could have caused. I'm sorry if I inadvertently got you into trouble. I do apologise for my actions and I will never do it again".

Everyone accepted my apology and then went back to scamming innocent internet users. I felt sick for the rest of the day and I allow myself to be alone.

Of course, all the other participants wanted to know what was going on. Luckily, they were there while it was happening and formed a protective circle around me. I just explained the 419 scam and what was going on in the cafe, and we all just laughed it off. Well, I tried to, but I was so shaken up.

I spoke to one of the local participants and she said that people make threats like that all the time and that they wouldn't really have tried to kill me. Still, I didn't want to play around with people who would even threaten me that way.

I was surprised at how they brought race into it, how I was the "stupid white girl" and they were the "smart black men", instead of being the "foreign girl" or the "English-speaking girl". I never realised how much resentment there was between the races. We're always shown images in the media of racism on behalf of white people. This was one of the first times I've encountered racism from black people, even though it does exist, and not just in rap lyrics. This man expressed pure rage that someone, especially someone white, could take away his (illegal) livelihood. I mean, to each his own, and while it's illegal, I wasn't exactly prepared to race to the FBI to report them. I've been scammed enough in my travels where I just live and let live.

In hindsight, while it's probably not smart to make a comment in an email, they weren't exactly hiding what they did. They probably logged everything that went out of there, in case one of the employees hit gold and refused to share the wealth with the bosses. He probably thought I was a narc for the FBI, reporting back to my superiors in code, while in reality, it was a "heh, guess what, I'm surrounded by 419 scammers, teeheehee".

I didn't relax until I was on the plane out of there.

Senegal part 6

I started feeling quite sick during the days. Cramping, lightheadedness and weakness told me I either a) had food poisoning or b) had malaria.

I guessed it was probably food poisoning as I had yet to get a mosquito bite.

I started decreasing the amount of food I was eating as we were given literal feasts at every meal. Jerri told me that this was not normal and most people did not eat like this on a daily basis. Rich sauces with oil slicks glistening on top. Couscous and various grains. Thick, greasy slabs of meat. Marinated potatoes and carrots. No desserts.

I tried to eat moderately but it was hard since each mealtime ended up like a festival. Many of the participants were Muslims practicing Ramadan and could not eat during daylight. The rest of us were starving when we were finally served. To the point where Jerri almost passed out the final day.

Strangely, the food wasn't especially special. Most meals included a grain, whether couscousm pasta or rice with a meat and oil sauce with marinated vegetables or a salad on the side. We were served fish one evening with fresh grilled vegetables and that was the best meal of the week. Especially since they used a big tomato and lemons for the eyes.

Our last night, we had mutton. We in North America are used to foods hiding where they came from. It's hard to link a pink chicken breast to a feathered clucker. Beef comes from a beef tree, not placid cows. This mutton really was mutton. I have never before stared into dead sheep eye sockets before. The participants reached into the carcass to tear off bits of meat. It was delcious.

Anyways, all the oil I was consuming was giving me the runs. I only drank bottled water, but I was experiencing severe cramping and stomach problems. I would be huddled in the bathroom for half an hour at a time. I figured it was food poisoning, my poor body not used to the foreign ways of cooking. Sadly, this was not the case, and it was only the beginning.

Senegal part 5

I learned a lot about tolerance during this conference. As stated below, I consider myself a tolerant person.

I was not prepared for "the African way" of doing things. They're not wrong, we're not wrong. We're just different.

I was shcked to realise how dependent on the clock we are in the west. If I'm not wearing a watch, I feel naked. If I don't have access to a clock, I panic. At previous seminars and meetings, everything was planned down to a T. Breakfasts, lunches, breaks, activities, discussions...all had a set start and end time.

I was not prepared for Africa.

Time operates differently there. We would spend so much time waiting for meetings to start that sometimes it felt like we could have accomplished what was eventually done in an hour instead of five. It was frustrated, sitting there, ready and waiting to work, while we waited hours for people to come downstairs. It was to the point where Jerri and I would arrive two hours late for meetings and even then, they would not have started yet.

We had a group meeting at 3:00 pm. We were supposed to discuss women and the media.

3:00 Arrive at meeting room
3:10 Am the only one waiting
3:20 Go find other team members
3:30 Find one of them asleep on the couch - he says that our team meeting has
been pushed back to 4:00
4:00 Go to meeting room
4:10 Am still only one waiting
4:20 Grab random people walking by and form new group
4:30 Have meeting
4:40 Member of team comes downstairs
4:50 Another member of team arrives
5:00 Meeting is full swing

Later on, all the groups came together to discuss our findings. Other groups did presentations on women and family, women and education, women and culture, etc etc. Since this was a seminar on empowering females, I expected to hear from "liberated" males arguing on behalf of their female colleagues.

Wrong.

One of the participants argued for female circumcision, saying that if it limits female pleasure and keeps her faithful to her husband, than it's alright. Not "full" circumcision, mind you, but enough to let her know her place. Another argued against higher female education because while female education is good, women shouldn't be too educated.

Eventually we got into a discussion about Islam and education. A lot of shouting voices later, all we concluded was that Islam encourages women to be educated, but not too educated. I contrasted this to the Muslims I met at university in France. The women were all extremely bright and educated while the men at least showed no outward sighs of resentment.

Senegal part 4

I was surprised at the amount of culture clash I felt. I think of myself as a fairly tolerant person. Although I grew up in eastern Canada, the whitest place I've ever seen. Skin colour is nothing to me. Blond, redhead, brunette...blue eyes, brown eyes, green eyes... It's all the time to me. I don't understand judging someone on the colour of their skin because it's superficial... just like hair and eye colour.

Many of the girls, after the first night, gave us Canadians a rather frosty reception. Jerri and I kept trying to talk to them, but they either made excuses not to talk to us, ignored us or put themselves in situations where they weren't near us. With the exception of a lovely Senegalese girl named Aminata and the Malian girl, the others wouldn't give us the time of day.

I asked Jerri if she felt the same way. She started asking some questions, and it's true, they were avoiding us. Apparently, according to them, "white girls don't like black girls". I was shocked, but I realise that we've all got prejudices deep down. After that, we made a conscious effort to really be personable and friendly and by the end of the conference, many of them did start to warm up to us.

Senegal part 3

We woke up the next morning bright and early. I was excited for breakfast, wondering what sort of Africans foods we would be eating. I was disappointed to realise that it would be stale white bread, an empty jam bottle and tea or coffee.

We had a quick meet and greet and then went to a meeting hall where we would meet with the Senegalese minister of education (I think). She was amazingly beautiful. I had a hard time with the African accent and all the fans twirling around. Instead, I was captivated by her brilliant orange turban and dress.

Later on, we hung out on the grass, talking, laughing and eating. I sampled several types of local juices. One was a gritty green, another a super sweet purple. Needless to stay, I stuck with water for the rest of the day.

I made friends with one of the Malian girls. She had long braided hair and reminded me of a cat, she was so feline. Within five minutes of meeting me, she was asking my complete sexual history, including names, times, places, occasions and positions. Within five minutes!

She asked how many girlfriends my boyfriend had.

"Just one," I replied. "Me."
"That can't be true. Seriously...how many girlfriends does he have?"
"Just me. That's the point of a relationship. One person with one person."
"So he doesn't have any other girlfriends?"
"He better not!"
"Oooohhhh....My boyfriend has two other girlfriends."
"He told you?"
"No, he said I was his only girlfriend, but I know he's lying. He tells me he's going to visit his sister and he's really going to his girlfriend. Do Canadian boys do that?"
"Yes they do, but when their girlfriends find out, they usually break up with them."
"I don't want to break up with him."
"That's very sad."
"Wait...I don't understand. You mean to say that your boyfriend only has one girlfriend? He doesn't want more girlfriends?"
"No. Why would he?"
"Well, Muslim men are allowed to have lots of girlfriends."
"I don't like that...if the men are allowed to have more girlfriends, the girls should be allowed more boyfriends!"
"You don't mean that!"
"Of course I do. Equality for the sexes!"
"Wow...I still can't believe that your boyfriend is only with you. Here, men want a different girl for each day of the week. One for Monday, one for Tuesday, one for Wednesday... I hate it, but we can't help it".
"Well, my boyfriend knows that if he ever had another woman on the side, he will never be able to *be* with another woman again!"

I made a snipping motion with my fingers. We both laughed.

Day 1: Total mosquito bites: 0

Senegal part 2

We walked out to the bus, my hair already a ball of frizz. What a great way to make a first impression. We walked into the airport and I was shocked. It looked like a dank little cellar basement. It didn't help that it was about 50 degrees with 200% humidity. We were jetlagged to hell, travelled through5 time zones (strangely enough, Senegal is only three hours ahead of eastern Canada) and could barely walk.

I desperately needed the bathroom, so Jerri stayed with our luggage while I found a toilet. They pointed me to the lavoratory and I was delighted to discover that it had a real, honest to goodness toilet (fans of this blog will remember my aversion to Turkish toilets). No toilet paper, but I had tissues with me. Flies buzzed around while sweat dripped off my face.

We looked around the waiting room for our hosts but no one was holding a "Welcome Karla and Jerri!" sign. Did they forget about us? We walked outside and luckily we saw a sign for the conference. We loaded everything up in the car and sped off.

We drove about fifteen minutes to a small residential area outside the downtown area. We were staying in a guesthouse beside a mosque and a few shops.

We were led upstairs and introduced to everyone. I saw Adriana again, which was awesome! I bounced up and down for a good five minutes. I didn't know anyone else. Since I knew the Romanians, I would be sharing a room with them, while Jerri would share a room with one of the French participants, Gwen.

I think we "Romanians" got the worst part of the deal. Adriana and Oana were sharing a double bed while I slept on a mattress on the floor. No air conditioning, a weak fan and no cross breeze. Some of the male participants were sharing rooms five times as big as ours with excellent AC.

Everyone was super friendly and welcoming. We joined in a big game of Assassin, which brought back memories from Bulgaria. Instead of five people, we played it with twenty and everyone had a specific role.

By now, I caught my second wind, and I had to force myself to go to bed. I couldn't wait for the conference to start!

Senegal part 1

The trip to Senegal did happen. I know it's been almost three months since I've been home, but better late than never! The experience was neither good nor bad, just different. I'm glad I went, but I was ultimately disappointed in the end.

I was travelling with my friend Jerri from university. She was in my French class and coincidentally, we had both been exchange students in Helsingborg! She went in 95 and I was there in 99, but it is still neat nonetheless.

We met up at the airport. As we were checking in for our Paris flight, they gave us a heart attack. The plane was overbooked and they wanted us to take a later flight to London and then take a connecting flight to Paris. We protested. We already had to go from Paris to Lisbon to Dakar. We didn't want to take the chance of missing any of those flights! Luckily, there was room, so we settled in for the long flights ahead.

We arrived at Paris CDG and had to switch to Orly. I've never been to Orly before and was surprised how small it was. In preparation for Portugal, I changed into a skirt and tank top. We checked in and relaxed before our flight. While waiting in line to board the plane, they announced our names over the loudspeakers. Jerri went up to speak to them while I held our place in the line. Turns out they forgot to give us our bording passes. Luckily, everything was sorted and we arrived problem-free in Lisbon.

I had been to the Lisbon airport the December before, but I was a little sad this time. We wandered around, checked out the gift shop and wrote some postcards home. We headed outside to enjoy the Portuguese sunshine and were shown a thing or two about public displays of affection by a few overamorous Portuguese tweens. No wonder they were so thin: making out is an Olympic sport!

The airport itself was freezing. Little did we know that in a few hours, we would give anything to be back there!

We boarded the plane at 11:00 pm. It was a mixture of Senegalese, French tourists, a few Portuguese and two pasty white Canadians. We got settled in and tried to get some sleep before arriving. I drifted in and out of consciousness. Every little bump was an impending crash. I was afraid of falling asleep in case I needed to quickly escape. I had a window seat and I could tell we were flying over the coastline. Lights twinkled sporadically. By 2:00 am, we had arrived. We descended into the hot, wet, humid African night.