#anyway i have had this blog for almost 3 years now ( literally in sept is my 3rd anni - inSANE!!! ) and i still live

[dangaer]

a couple of points i wanted to speak about which i think i haven't mentioned before ( or if i did, it was briefly ) was mainly around the idea that my muses are prone to misinterpretation, whether that is through conception of other muses as characters, reasons as to why they are saying things to them or simply how things should come through after they have made a point / your muse has made a point. now, we're all aware that mun doesn't equal muse but small reminder that because my character has taken it someplace, doesn't mean i too think it's the same way. the majority of the time i'm letting them drive the plane as i watch and scream in the time. sometimes interacting with my muses will feel like a 50 chapter manhua / manhwa where you're stuck watching 50 chapters of easy to clear misunderstandings ... and that's okay, if you feel frustrated with this please take my sincere apologies and know i am more than happy to portray something else with you, just give me a heads up and we can work on it.

second of all, a psa i once reblogged stated this but honestly friendly reminder that you have pretty much a lot of free reign in how your muse responds to how they react. otom.e men can be, bastards and honestly if they walk into a fight i am more than happy to have that progress. treat them like the iconic dangan.ronpa slap scene, i'll understand <3

[everyonethinksmynameiskayla]

Coding data and binge eating clementines

I’ve been meaning to sit down and write another post for a while now but since my head is no longer preventing me from having a coherent thought (I do still get occasional headaches), I’ve been working on coding my interview data and by the time I’ve done that all day I just want to lie down and not use my brain. Coding is so exhausting - it requires such intense concentration. I had to jump through all these absurd hoops to get the software for it too, I had to download VirtualBox to run Windows 10 on my MacBook in order to run the coding software, QDA Miner, and getting Windows 10 for free or really downloading anything is a huge challenge with crappy internet. So that took almost a week. But now I’m in the groove, so to speak. I’ve got giant pieces of paper hanging in my apartment so I can work out my ideas etc. and I’ve got all of my transcripts back from Oumoul as of this morning. 

^ My giant paper  

Starting next week I’ll be in Thies (about 1.5 hours east of Dakar) for almost two weeks for a training that Tostan is doing on their human-rights based non-formal education approach to community empowerment. I didn’t know about it until last week but they’re letting me slip in at the last second for a fraction of the price that the other representatives from other African development NGOs are paying for room/board/training (I think that’s basically who’s going to be there, but we’ll see) since they’re my sponsoring organization and my research, which the training will be useful for, is going to be helpful for them.

Last weekend Brittany’s friend from the US, Teresa, was here visiting so we went to spend a night in Simal in Sine Saloum, a region on the coast of both the ocean and the river about three hours south of Dakar. I think I’ve probably already talked about this, but to get anywhere outside of Dakar you have to take a “sept-place” the ridiculous old, worn-out circa-1980′s Renault station wagons which hold 7 people, hence the name “sept-place” which means “seven places”. To get a sept-place you have to go to the garage baux maraichers, which 3 years ago when I was here was the apex of chaos in the universe but has since gotten a bit cleaner and more organized. So we found a guy going to Fatik, which is past Sine Saloum but we were just going to get off early. We had to wait a little while since no one else was there for Fatik yet but that actually worked out okay because we got the three best seats (the passenger seat and the two window seats in the middle, you have to be a contortionist to sit comfortably in the way back). It took forever, as per usual, to get out of Dakar and Rufisque, the next city which at this point is being swallowed up by Dakar, because there was an insane accident that seemed to involve a giant truck flipping over into a ditch so a crane had come and pulled it out and so we sat in completely stand still traffic (engine off and driver nowhere to be found) for at least an hour. So by the time we got out of the sept-place in Tataguine (which I enjoy because when you say it with a Senegalese accent it sounds like Tataouine) it was dark. After much negociation and confusion we found a guy who had a car and who claimed to have a vague idea of where Simal, the coastal village where we were going to stay, was. However once we got closer to the village it became clear that he in fact had no idea where he was going, and we proceeded to drive around in the sand for approximately an hour, asking random people who clearly did not know where the campement was either for directions, at one point a little boy even got in the car to try to help but he kept changing his mind about which way the driver should turn so that was useless. The driver kept calling the lady from the campement, which was likely also useless since the only descriptor of where we were at any given moment was “near some sand and a fence and some donkeys”. But eventually we made it and boy, was it worth it, we sat at a table right on the water and had tabouleh and chicken and then the next morning had an assortment of jams with tappalappa (the village bread that I like) and coffee that wasn’t instant. Then we had a ride on a pirog that came with the room, so for about two hours a very nice man steered us down the river and through the marches on a very large pirog (there are pictures of that on the photo blog). He explained how the women would wade out and plant what looked like tiny mangroves in the marsh in these perfect rows, and showed us the shrimp nets that were tied to long bamboo poles propped up in the trees, which you have to come collect in the middle of the night. Then I had a headache so I hung out in the restaurant area while Brittany and Teresa kayaked, which was fine because it was serene and beautiful and I was happy to sit and do nothing for a while. 

As we were discussing how we should get home and when we should leave, this young French woman came up and said she couldn’t help but overhear and explained that she and her husband were about to drive back to Dakar in about ten minutes, did we want a ride? We obviously wanted a ride. Her husband was Senegalese but they met in France and they turned out to be the absolute coolest people ever. We all chatted the whole three hours back and he let me borrow a book about microlending in Bangladesh and Brittany promised to show the woman, Sophie, around the art scene in Dakar (since she’s an artist and they had just moved here when they got married in January - she had some incredible stories about the marriage rituals Souleman’s mom had guided her through). 

^ Where we stayed, Campement Simal

Other than that little jaunt to Sine Saloum (and I would say another day trip to Ile des Madelines, but I’ve been there so many times it doesn’t really count anymore, although this time I did ride in the trunk on the way there), life is fairly normal (by Dakar standards).

^ In the trunk on the way to the island, at the top of the cliff once there

I go home for lunch a couple of times a week and over to Moussa’s for attaya every couple of days. During the day I mostly code and work and read either at home or at a café. My new friend who works in the monitoring and evaluation department of Tostan invited me to come use the extra space in their office to work but I have’t gotten around to doing that yet because it’s not super close to where I live. Every Thursday Brittany I go to “Marché Jeudi” (Thursday Market) which is a labyrinthine collection of people selling giant piles of clothes and various other random things that pops up around the corner from my apartment every Thursday and you have to really dig (literally) but everything is about 200-300 francs and we’ve had some amazing finds. Like last week I got an Eddie Bauer button down and a top from Zara (for less than 50 cents a piece!!). Right next to Marché Jeudi is the “beignet lady” and I go to her fairly often and bring beignets (which are fried balls of sweet dough) to Moussa’s to go with the attaya. She’s legendary and always surrounded by a huge crowd waiting, but it’s a very modest set-up, just a woman sitting on a stool on a particularly narrow street surrounded by a giant vat of boiling oil, buckets of dough, and a big bowl where she deposits the beignets when they’re done so her daughter can wrap them in Swedish newspapers (my bread I get from the boutique next door also is wrapped in Swedish newspaper…I don’t understand where it’s all coming from…maybe Sweden…but why???) and bag ‘em.

I go every now and then to Marché HLM also, which is the fabric market in the HLM neighborhood, which is like the projects but for Dakar. I love Marché HLM for a couple of reasons. The fabric is so vibrant and beautiful so I enjoy being surrounded by it (it’s also only about $1 for a yard) but I also like that it’s one of the only spaces in Dakar that feels ruled by women. Most of the sellers and shoppers are women, and even if they’re men they aren’t crazy aggressive like they are at markets like Sandaga where they gets lots of tourists so when they see a Toubab they descend and won’t leave you alone until you buy something. At HLM I’m pretty much always guaranteed to be the only Toubab and it’s also just quieter in general even though it’s absolutely massive and ten times as labyrinthine as Marché Jeudi. There are tiny little corridors lined with fabric stalls and you can only pass through one person deep. It’s also my favorite place to practice my Wolof, because everyone there is super game to speak Wolof to me instead of French and because of the repetition of buying and selling and each stall owner asking me the same questions over and over I learn the words better and it’s easier to repurpose them later.  

^ Some of the fabric I’ve gotten at HLM that hasn’t become clothes

I’ve really gotten to know the bus and informal public transportation systems (car rapides, kolandos) even better and only take cabs if it’s too late at night for buses. It’s great because I know the city so well now and taking public transport everywhere makes me feel more connected to Dakar and my fellow Dakarois (most ex-pats just take cabs all the time, since relative to the West it’s cheap, but relative to the buses here it’s astronomically expensive). It can be frustrating as public transport can be anywhere else; waiting forever, insanely crowded buses (like the kind of crowded where you don’t need to hold on to anything because you can’t move at all anyway), people accidentally stepping on you or elbowing you in the head etc. But now that I’ve gotten used to it I can never justify a cab to myself. 100 francs (16 cents) versus 1500 francs ($2.50) for the same distance…not a hard choice. That might seem petty but it’s all relative, I don’t convert currencies unless I’m making a big purchase when I’m living abroad.

One instance where I do convert and allow myself to splurge a bit (by Dakar standards at least) is this new restaurant about 10 minutes from my apartment called Mawa’s Taste of America, which is owned by a Senegalese woman who lived in the US for decades and makes absolutely incredible American breakfast food. I’ve also been obsessed with clementines (about $1.20/kilo…I eat A LOT of them) but the season is ending soon and I’m so bummed. Speaking of food, Brittany and I also recently tried some sort of weird cake called the Dakaroise from the bakery near my apartment and it was not only twice the size of our faces but one of the strangest things I’ve ever eaten. It was fairly dry yellow cake with layers of filling that was what I can only assume pure butter whipped with some sugar in it. It was like if I was making cookies and stopped after the first two ingredients and then used that to fill the cake.

^ Brittany’s head for scale 

Also here’s the most adorable picture ever of me having a tender moment with my baby cat who fell asleep with his paw on my face (not at all my cat, but I like it more than Brittany and it’s her families’):